Page 26 of Cupid Calamity

“On it.” He winks. And now he’s ruined his own mystique. I’m not sleeping with a winker. And you know Schlong is a winker.

No one is looking around, just me. I’m the only one here for a blind date on Valentine’s Day. A whoosh of cold air cyclones around me, and I glance towards the front door. Tight, neatly done tawny hair, golden-green hazel eyes, tall, broad shoulders, when he smiles at the host I hold my breath. It’s a kind of cockeyed smile that says he’s not going to take anything too seriously, but everything matters. Everyone around him lights up. He’s wearing a deep charcoal cashmere coat, buttoned up, and black leather gloves. It’s not bitter cold tonight, but it’s still February in New York. I sit up straight, tug my deep V-neck into place, and flip my cascading hair behind me. Please, god, let his tie have red stripes. The hostess laughs, and he appears to fake laugh back at her. The air in the room eases around all of us. He’s got that thing certain people have. I don’t. But he does—the thing that sets everything right with his smile.

He’s looking around, and my breath catches. Anticipation crashes over my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Maybe my sister doesn’t have shit taste in men. Perhaps she’s a matchmaking genius, and this man, who does something vague and suspicious in the medical or construction field, is actually this sophisticated and stunning gentleman. The way he moves, so sure of himself, is enough to sell me on him. I want to climb him. And I’m super unmotivated to rock climb, mountaineer, or adventure anything at all. But this. This man is my Everest. I will summit him. I want to set up my tent at his base camp. I need the oxygen to thin and to hallucinate and see stars in front of my eyes. I’d actually exercise if I could have this man.

OceanofPDF.com

PATRICK

It’s like the lights dimmed in the rest of the restaurant, and there’s a spotlight on her. I’m a little lightheaded, locking eyes with her in a way that suggests I’ve taken a blow to the head. It could be a stroke. I feel under my glove for my pulse. It seems fine.

I break our gaze for the briefest of seconds to let my eyes rake down her body. And fuck it all. Fuck it right up the middle. Fuck all the diners and bosses and assholes because she’s wearing a blue dress that matches her electric eyes. Who has bright enough eyes to be seen all the way across the room? They’re like beacons or a lighthouse calling my cock to shore. Why can’t that one be mine? I scan the room for the yellow-dress woman I’m supposed to meet. Melanie Tinywhole. I’m told it’s pronounced Tihinyho. Either way, it’s fucking bad. She sent me a Google audio file that pronounced her name for me. I giggle every time I say it either way.

She said she’d be in her signature yellow dress—she wanted to shine bright for me. That was the moment I almost called off this idiocy. She’s in a different department, so when my boss suggested the date, I didn’t even put it together. It’s Valentine’s Day. I don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day. Too mushy and riddled with pitfalls and potholes. I don’t usually have a problem finding a date, but it felt like a good career thing to do. I’m pitching another show next week to the producers at Sirius, and thought this would help. Now I want out, or if this blue-eyed stunning girl is her, then I want in.

Traditionally I avoid cuffing season altogether. I only date from March 19th to October 12th. The smell of roses and chocolate fondue is choking me. Or it was until that fresh, beautiful face lit up when our eyes connected. She’s still glancing over as if she’s waiting for someone, but the way she’s staring, it’s like she’s waiting for me. Perhaps my blind date changed her mind about the yellow. What god have I pleased for this to actually work out? It won’t go past tonight. I don’t date. And it’s ridiculous to date a woman in this city. But what if it could be tonight with this stunning blonde in the blue dress?

I walk over, and her smile gets even more breathtaking. Seriously, no breath. Not sure I’m going to be able to say hello. She’s a tractor beam pulling me towards her.

She looks eagerly as I unbutton my coat and slide it off my shoulders. Then her face falls. No. NO. I need that smile back, sexy blonde in the blue dress. Please be Tihinyho. I promise not to mock you if you're her. Please.

“Did I do something wrong already?” I speak. The brave thing reaches for my tie, and I see her slender fingers slide up and down. She’s looking intently as she fingers my silk.

“Only gray. No red stripes. Not even a thin one.” Her shoulders slump as she pouts and looks up at me. Looking down at her in this position has my brain going to all kinds of places it shouldn’t. Damn. My cock jumps. Her lips are so close to the perfect angle to really do some damage. Why the hell is her dress blue?

I smile and slide onto the stool next to hers. “Are you ok?” She still has my tie in her hands like it’s a leash. This one crackles and pops like popcorn in oil. She realizes she’s still holding me and quickly removes her hand. She shakes her head, releasing a slight herbal perfume, and now I’m pretty sure I’m under some kind of voodoo spell. I turn towards her and smile. The bartender places a martini in front of her, and she puts her finger up to him.

Her voice is sultry without being raspy. “You want a drink?”

I lean on the bar and say, “What I want is world peace and a decent night’s sleep, but I’ll settle for a gin martini and slumming it with you.”

She laughs. It’s light and deep at the same time. I’m trying to be cool. I hope she thinks so, and please, for the love of my cock, let this be Melanie.

“Melanie?” I say, locking eyes with her as if I’m willing it to be so.

She exhales loudly. “Of course you’re looking for someone else. Everyone always is.”

She pulls the drink towards her and bends down and sips before picking it up. It’s sexy and also really fucking adorable.

“Please tell me you’re looking for Patrick. For the love of Eros and manufactured holidays please pretend you’re looking for Patrick.” She pushes the drink away from her, puts her head on the bar, and playfully taps her head on it. I laugh as she groans.

“You’re not Melanie Tinywhole. I mean Tihinyho.”

She laughs. “Was that a sneeze or an insult? I’m not Tinywhole—that can’t be real.”

“Afraid it is.”

She says, “And you’re sure you’re not Ricky Schlong pronounced Schlein?

“Wait. We’re waiting on a pussy and dick?” She laughs hard, then moans. I’m surprised cartoon steam doesn’t pour out of my ears at the sound of her moan. Fuck.

“No. No. Of course I’m not looking for Patrick. I’m looking for Ricky. A grown man named Ricky, who does something in the medical field or construction but isn’t a doctor or a contractor. A Ricky, my sister says, is perfect. But my sister is a shitty judge of character.”

“Not interested in your sister’s choices.” I smile at her. She curls her lip and I want to nip at it.