AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 3
Dean
Thismightjustbethe single most humiliating experience of my life.
I can think of at least a thousand places I’d rather be, and one of them includes on the back of a non-airconditioned bus, playing Mariah Carey’s Christmas Special on repeat with a crate of squawking chickens on my lap, crossing sub-Saharan Africa.
Yes, I’d rather spend time with lice-riddled poultry in hundred-degree heat while my ears bleed than go through with this arrangement my mom cooked up. Initially, I thought I could go through with it, but as the reality of it set in, so has my resentment. I’m going to be forced to go on dates that I don’t want to participate in, all in the name of securing a date for James’ wedding and my future happiness tacked on.
I’m here because I feel immense pressure from my parents mainly, some from James’ wedding, and a little from myself, which rankles me the most. As I sit here, I know without a doubt that this isn’t going to work. I’ll have to go on three shitty dates, and it’ll be a complete waste of time. But in a show of good faith, in the interest of being a good son and also not wanting to turn up to the wedding stag, I’ll put in the time. I’ll then quickly make sure my mother knows not a single word about this debacle can ever be spoken of again. And that my love life is officially and forevermore off-limits. At one point this morning, I did consider asking her to sign a contract to that effect, but that’s over the line and would be difficult to enforce.
I’m grinding my teeth and doing my best not to shred the linen napkin on the table in front of me when I spot a shapely brunette with wavy hair resting over one shoulder of her dark, fitted coat. A big smile on her face, her plump rose-colored lips turn up at the corner as she gives me a small wave and then approaches.
For a second, I think I must have mistaken the message—this isn’t a date, this is meeting my consultant, Abbi, right?
When she reaches the table, she holds out her hand. I stare at her glossy dark nails a moment and start to imagine what they’d look like scratching down my naked chest or wrapped around my…
“Abbi. Pleased to meet you,” she chirps in an overly pleasant tone, pulling me from the start of a nice fantasy. She’s my consultant.
Shit. I shake her hand. She’s cold from being outside, and the chill leaves behind a little tingle in my palm.
“Dean, but you already know that,” I respond and cringe inwardly at how petulant I sound.
She shrugs off her outer layer before sitting down, and somehow, it pulls taut over her back, trapping her just as both shoulders come free. For a couple of seconds, she’s caught, chest sticking straight out, elbows pulled in at her sides. The button-down maroon blouse she’s wearing pulls tight across her chest, and all of a sudden, it’s like the world goes into slow motion. A button between her breasts strains and then slides free of its buttonhole. Then a second follows suit. I completely stop breathing as a third button fails, and I find myself staring at almost all of two very nice breasts cupped in sheer black polka dot lace.
“Oh my God,” she whisper shrieks, finally wrestling free of the coat and letting it drop. She clutches the two sides of the blouse together and sadly ends the best peep show I’ve ever had. She tries to turn discreetly to do up the buttons, but we’re in the middle of a restaurant, and her options are limited. Side on, she makes quick work of adjusting her top, although I can see her hands shake lightly and red tinges on the cheek facing me. I feel my pants start to get tight. Shit, I’m getting hard in public, but at least I’m seated, and nobody will be any the wiser. I have no idea what I’d do if I were in her shoes. Probably run screaming.
She pulls out the chair across from me and gracefully takes a seat.
At that moment, I decide that rudely spurning her task here would be cruel. She blinks furiously, batting her long eyelashes as she tries to regain her composure and takes a deep breath. Again, I study her as she braces herself. I like watching her in these moments.
She’s beautiful. How could I not notice? She has amazing curves, breasts that I’ve seen quite a bit of, an even nicer ass, and a pretty smile. She’s put together—classy and understated in her dress and makeup. She’s also composed. I can see why Mom chose the dating company and why she liked this woman.
Abbi pulls out a notebook and a pen from her tote, and I have to say, I much prefer this to sitting across from someone typing right into a laptop. She holds my eyes, too, which is ballsy, given her tits were just on display for me.
“So, Dean, I have quite a bit of background on you, but I have a short questionnaire I need to go over with you.” Thank God not hours of small talk and trying to ingratiate herself. “Would you like a coffee? Something to eat?”
“Just a coffee, thanks.” She nods, catches the attention of a nearby waiter, and places an order for two cappuccinos. I decide I should come clean with her about me being here.
“Listen, Abbi, I’m only here because I’m pretty much being forced into it. I’ll cooperate with you, to a point, but I don’t think this is going to be a success story. I can’t see how this can possibly find me a match. That’s where I stand.”
Abbi frowns and throws me one of those looks that mothers give toddlers. The one that shows disappointment and just the right amount of hurt to get you in the heartstrings. Pretty impressive for a woman in her mid-twenties, at a guess. She must have little kids. And a husband, I guess?
I look for other signs—no ring on her left hand, no barf on her shoulder.
Something in my gut pulls. I think it’s just a natural male response to an illicit flash of her chest and because she’s a perfect combination of polished yet sexy. Any guy would be checking for signs of a prior stake on her because that’s just the way guys are wired.
“Well, I appreciate you being frank with me, Dean. It’s a great quality, but as you know, Match X has been retained to do a job, and I plan on doing it to the best of my ability. Hopefully, I can change the way you’re looking at this. Stamp out any obstacles betweenyouand you finding happiness with a partner. Please give yourself a chance.” Abbi smiles at me disarmingly, despite delivering a verbal uppercut. I mean,give myself a chance? As though there’s something actually wrong with me?
She extracts a couple of sheets of paper from her notebook. “I’m just going to ask you some questions to determine what kind of match would be best. Oh, here’s our coffee. Perfect timing.”
The coffee is good. Good enough to slightly improve my mood.
Abbi takes a long sip and savors the hot drink. The tip of her tongue sweeps across her lower lip. I watch every move she makes. Under the table, she’s crossed her legs, and a pointed show is in my line of vision. She flexes and points her toes a couple of times, baring a slim ankle.
I’m not sure why, but it strikes me as ridiculously sexy. The pale skin over her ankle bone calls me to run my tongue over it. I’d love to feel the spike of her high heels in my backside as she wraps her legs around my waist. My cock jerks in my pants, and I shift in my seat—it’s fucking uncomfortable at this point. Christ, do I have a foot fetish? And is that something I should be telling my dating consultant?
What the hell is in this coffee? One sip and I’m turning into a deviant.
