Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“Jillian.” She says her name, and her whole face lights up, making her blue eyes crystal blue, but if you look deep enough in them, they have a light green on the bottom. “My name is Jillian.” She holds out her slender hand for me.
My hand reaches out to take hers. “Michael,” I say, smiling at her. “Or Zander, whatever.” She laughs, but her hand still stays in mine. “So what do you say, Jillian?” I tilt my head to the side and smirk at her, hoping she says yes. “Have a drink with me or a meal. You can order food also.”
She smiles shyly and looks down. Her hair falls in front of her face, and she lets go of my hand to tuck it behind her ears. “Sure,” she agrees, looking at me. “Why not? I don’t think my ego can get more bruised than being stood up.”
I let go of the breath that I was holding as I hold out my hand for her to walk in front of me. I put my hand on the base of her back and then immediately drop my hand, and I can still feel the silkiness of her shirt.
The waitress follows me, and when we get to the table, Jillian takes out the seat in front of me that was empty not five minutes ago. “I’ll be back with a menu,” she says, smiling at me, and I sit back down in the chair I was just in.
I’m about to say something when the waitress comes back. “Would you like to start with something to drink?”
“Um,” Jillian says, looking at me, and then the waitress, and I can see her hesitating.
“I can afford whatever you want to drink,” I say, and she laughs even louder. It’s the only thing I can hear, and I love it.
“I’ll have a whiskey sour and a shot of nineteen forty-two,” she orders and then looks at me. “I’m not driving.” I look at the waitress who waits for my order.
“I’ll have water,” I say and look back at Jillian. “Do you want something to eat?”
“No,” she says. “I’m planning on drowning my sorrows.” It’s my turn to laugh out loud, and I swear in the ten minutes I’ve been with her, I’ve laughed more than in the past five months. “Oh,” she says, “actually.” She puts her fingers up. “I’ll have a plate of french fries.” The waitress looks at her. “Like a whole plate.” She uses her hands to make a circle.
I look at her, and I’m suddenly so fucking nervous my heart starts to speed up, and my mouth gets dry. “So do you come here often?” I ask and then groan, putting my head back. Taking the cap off my head, I dig my nails into my scalp and put it back on my head when she just laughs. I hold up my hands. “As you can tell, I have no game.” I shake my head.
With a chuckle, she puts her purse on the table next to my phone. “Are you saying you don’t go on many dates?”
I look at her for a second and see if she’s playing with me. Does she really not know who I am? “Not really,” I say, and she tilts her head to the side.
“I find that hard to believe.” Her eyes go big when she realizes what she said, and I’m about to ask her what she means when the waitress comes over with our drinks.
“Here is the whiskey sour and a shot of nineteen forty-two,” she says. “I brought another one on me,” she says, looking at Jillian with a smile and walking away.
“Well, I get stood up and get drinks,” she jokes. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.” She smiles sadly. She grabs the one shot of yellow liquid. “To Zander. For making me cross off blind dating from my list.” I shake my head as she takes the shot and then hisses. “Smooth,” she says through clenched teeth.
“I have to ask…” She looks at me, her thumb wiping away something from the corner of her mouth. “What made you decide to go on a blind date?”
She laughs. “Well, I figured why not.” She shrugs. “I tried the whole Tinder thing and then Bumble, and it was all…” She holds up her thumbs and points down. “So I figured why not.”
“Did you know him?” I ask, so curious, and she nods.
“He is my hairdresser’s son,” she says. “Guess who is never going back to that hairdresser?” I can’t help the laugh that escapes me as she picks up the second shot. “I knew that it was a bad idea.” She shakes her head. “Besides rescuing women,” she asks, “what does Michael do?”
I think about how to answer this, and for the first time, I lie, saying the first thing that comes to mind. “I’m a fitness trainer.”