No Pink Caddy (ACE Book 1) (8 page)

Seconds after we sit, our waiter shows up with food. As if I could eat right now.

“Sir, madam, paneed rabbit with spaetzle, wilted greens, turnip purée, and sauce grenobloise. Here is your pickle jar and side of hand-cut fries. Enjoy!”

I attempt to make a joke. “You did learn a lot from my site.” I lean forward and grab a pickle. The food looks divine and smells even better but my stomach is way too tied up in knots to eat.

Aaron smirks. “Watch it, MK. I wouldn’t want to make you feel stuff again.” He says “stuff” with enough mirth that I have to laugh at myself. His joke seems to cut the sexual zaps of energy enough that I can actually look at my plate of food.

He takes a bite of the rabbit. “I like to try different meats when I travel.” The fork slips into his mouth, and I’m jealous that it isn’t my tongue.

“Do you travel a lot?” I ask as I cut a piece of meat.

“A fair amount. Eat, MK.” He takes another bite and sighs in appreciation.

I drop the bite of rabbit. “I don’t think I’m able.” Quickly, I reassure him that he made a good choice. “It’s just that my stomach isn’t settled.”

“Are you getting sick?” The troublesome
V
appears.

“I’m . . . uh . . . I’m . . .” I can’t finish. I don’t know what to say. I’m horny. I’m confused. I’m certifiably crazy and need to be locked in a padded room.

Aaron signals for the waiter. “This is wonderful, but my date isn’t feeling herself.” He cocks one eyebrow and gives me a smoldering look. “Would you mind boxing this and our dessert up and bringing the check?”

“Sure, Mr. Knite. Would you like the bottle of wine to go also?”

“That would be great.” He smiles confidently.

Our plates are quickly removed and the table cleared.

“You didn’t have to do that. You could eat.” I feel like a real jerk. Let’s add it to the list of faults I have. Poor guy put in so much effort and his date is crazy. At least he’ll have a great story to share with his friends.

“No need. This evening is about you and not the food.”

Did he really just say that? Was that a great line or does he mean it? “Your last name is Knite?” I ask as I fiddle with my napkin.

“No.” He looks perplexed. “It’s Emerson.”

MK Landry
@NoPinkCaddy

Why do I have to be me? Isn’t it my time to change from a caterpillar to a butterfly? #INeedAMetamorphosis

MK Landry
@NoPinkCaddy

Can’t sleep. Can’t breathe. Can’t believe I’m such a first date failure. #I’mBecomingCelibate

MK Landry
@NoPinkCaddy

Googling how to join a convent. #JustSayNoToMen

“So that’s it?” Bella asks at lunch the next day. I activated our emergency signal, only saved for dire circumstances like this, and she agreed this situation definitely was cause for a long lunch with wine.

“Yes. We got our food to go. There was a town car waiting for him. He gave the driver my address—it’s not like I told him. He walked me up the steps of my house, gave me an innocent peck on the cheek and turned around and walked back to the car.”

“And then?” she asks as she takes a sip from her glass of wine.

“And then I went inside and texted you the emergency code and took a cold shower, which didn’t come close to cooling me off. And I laid in my bed staring at the ceiling pondering why I’m such an idiot and putting it all on Twitter while I wondered if he joined Twitter and was reading my posts.” I push my salad away. I’d only been moving the lettuce from one side of the plate to the other anyway.

“Any conclusions?”

“I can’t explain it, Bella. I’ve never been this all-consumed with someone before. I can’t eat; I can’t sleep; I feel constantly agitated. Look.” I show her my hand. “I’m shaking. I’m a fool around him. It’s like I couldn’t form a coherent sentence. He’s got to think I’m the biggest dork who’s ever lived.”

“Have you Googled him?” she asks, grabbing her phone.

“No. That’s just it. The waiter called him Mr. Knite, but he said his last name is Emerson.”

“So Google, Aaron Knite and Aaron Emerson and see what happens.”

“No.” I shake my head and add my fork to the discarded salad plate. There’s no use pretending I can eat. “I think I’m too afraid to Google him. I mean, I know I should. He’s already cyberstalked me, but he’s not asking me out again. I mean, why would he? I ruined a very expensive and nice date he arranged. I’m sure he hates me or thinks I’m a total freak.”

She ignores basically everything I said and replies, “I’m not sure it counts as stalking if he viewed your very public website.”

Thinking for a moment, “I guess you’re right. It’s just the first time that someone I’ve dated has admitted to viewing NoPinkCaddy. It felt odd.”

“I think you should Google him. You don’t want to get too far down the rabbit hole and find out he’s not a good person.”

Instinctively, I trace my star tattoo. “You’re probably right, but you’re not listening to me. He’s never going to ask me out again. He thinks I’m certifiably insane.” I down the rest of my wine.

She drops her fork and leans in. “Listen to me, Mary Kay Landry. I love you more than my own sister. You’re not crazy. Not always eloquent and a little quirky, sure. Stop berating yourself.”

Flagging down the waiter, I order another glass and pick up my phone to let Sandra know I won’t be at work for the rest of the day. I use being ill as my excuse, which she doesn’t question. I barely slept two hours last night so I know I look like hell.

“Put this in a post,” Bella suggests. “I’m sure you’re not the first person to become hot and bothered on a first date. Readers can relate. This is good stuff.”

She’s right, as usual. “Good idea. But, it was more than just wanting to hump him in a public restroom. It’s as if I discovered this other part of my heart or brain or whatever that I didn’t know was there. Imagine living in the same house your whole life and then realizing there was this other wing that you never knew existed. I can’t explain it, but I feel completely different. I guess that makes me a moron, right?”

Bella smiles. “That’s the chemistry you’ve been looking for.”

“Really?” I tilt my head. “I don’t know this guy. I guess it could be chemistry. I did see fireworks.”

Bella just smirks.

I catch the waiter’s attention. “Instead of the glass I asked for, make it a bottle to go.” Then I excitedly grab Bella’s hand, “Now, tell me about the wedding plans . . .”

“In a minute,” she says. “What happened to the food you took to go and the bottle of wine?”

I laugh. “Umm . . . I left it in his town car.”

Her eyebrow cocks. “Girl, the number-one rule of dating is you never leave free food or booze. Just think—you could have had it for lunch instead of pushing around a pile of lettuce.”

“Noted,” I reply, staring at the bowl of leaves. “The rabbit would’ve been so much better.”

Two hours later, I’m home. Instead of hanging up my purse, I throw it down on the marble coffee table that I found at an antique store. It’s amazingly gorgeous. Tripp sent two of his employees to help me get it back to the carriage house because it’s so heavy. Grabbing my computer, I settle into my over-stuffed fluffy chair. My half-drunk bottle of wine rests next to my purse, tempting me, and I prop my feet up.

Okay. Time to pour my heart out to my readers in a post instead of 140 words on Twitter.

I think I may have fallen in lust
I type, but then quickly erase it. That feels almost demeaning to what I experienced last night with Aaron. I’ve had lustful one-night stands and none of them held a candle to what happened in the public restroom. It’s like Aaron found a way to mentally and physically make me crave him.

I’ve met someone.
I delete that also. That sentence feels too heavy. It’s the kind of sentence that one writes before they announce an engagement. We’re certainly not at that step.

Have you ever fallen head over heels in lust for someone?
I read it and reread it. Once again, it’s not quite what I mean, but I determine it’s good enough. The wine bottle is distracting me so I pull out the cork and drink straight from it.

Have you ever fallen head over heels in lust for someone? I think I have, and I’m not sure what to do about it. He’s all I can think about. I haven’t slept or eaten in two days. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I don’t recognize my own image. My skin is flushed. My eyes are wide. My lips are swollen. I have crazy thoughts like showing up at his doorstep (I don’t know where he lives). I fantasize about what it will be like when we make love. I don’t recognize me, and I don’t know what to do about it.

Bella says that I need to Google him and learn all of his dirty secrets. I need to make him real instead of a fantasy. I can’t bring myself to type his name in the search bar.

Remember what it was like when the kids at school said that Santa Claus wasn’t real? You didn’t want to believe it. You put blinders on and hoped against hope he wasn’t your parents. That’s how I feel. If I don’t Google him, then he can stay my perfect mythical person, and I can enjoy being head over heels in lust with someone for a bit longer.

Our first date was a nightmare (all me. Not him). I could be this emotionally distraught over nothing and completely putting the cart before the horse. I acted neurotic. We didn’t even finish our meal.

On one hand, I keep checking my phone hoping he’ll message me. Then, on the other hand, I’m terrified he will.

I’ve never felt this way before, and I’m completely out-of-sorts.

By the time I’m finished, the bottle of wine is empty and I’m beyond tipsy. I hit
submit
and stumble my drunk ass to my bed.

As I fall asleep, a mental picture of Aaron forms. He’s naked except for a loin cloth around his waist and a large pair of angel wings attached to his back. He’s a gorgeous statue sculpted by the masters.

I dream of fair-haired boys, flowery wallpaper and the smell of cinnamon. In my dreams, I have a witty conversation with him. I don’t get tongue-tied or say anything inappropriate. In my dreams, I’m Audrey Heburn in
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
instead of a comedian trying to make a romantic comedy.

The next thing I know someone is banging loudly on my door. I turn over and look at the clock on my phone. It’s midnight. Shit. I’ve been passed out for a long time. Hoping that the knocking will stop, I grab the spare pillow and place it firmly over my ears and silently plead for Bella to find a new best friend. It has to be Bella right? Who else would show up on my door step in the middle of the night?

It continues.

“What?” I yell. Bella needs to go play with Nyall and leave me alone.

“MK, it’s me. Can I come in?” Aaron replies loudly through my thin front door.

What’s he doing here? Haven’t I made a big enough fool of myself to chase him away for good? I’m excited he’s come, but the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I don’t know him well enough that he should feel comfortable showing up at my place in the middle of the night.

“Ugh,” I mutter to no one in particular. My head pounds and my stomach rumbles. I know I look like hell. There’s not a doubt in my mind that I also smell like a winery.

I drag my sorry excuse for a self out of bed and use my fingers as a comb to tame my hair. I’m dressed in fitted shorts and a tank with a shelf bra. The top was sent to me by one of my followers. Printed in orange letters across the teal shirt are the words
A Girl Without a Man is Like a Fish Without a Bicycle.

I unlock the door and open it as I move to the side. He, of course, looks like a million bucks. Another fedora is in place, and he wears tattered old jeans with rub spots in all the right places, an AC/DC concert T-shirt, and an open flannel shirt as a jacket.

He steps inside and says, “You didn’t show up at Eddy’s.” The infliction in his voice and knitted brows indicate he’s confused.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to.” I walk around my kitchen island and open the fridge. I need food, and the pickings are slim. Damn him for keeping our leftovers from last night.

“You also left work early.” He stands on the other side of the island as he informs me of my movements.

How does he know this? My heart starts racing, and I immediately regret opening the door. It’s one thing to run a background check on someone and read my public website. That’s a part of dating these days, but knowing I left work early is troublesome to say the least.

“Quit stalking me,” I state as I rub my temples. I think someone may have shoved a knife in my skull while I was napping/passed out—whatever the terminology is.

Of course he ignores my accusation. “When’s the last time you ate?” He walks to my cabinets and opens them like he owns the place, and I stand there watching him, feeling like I’ve flown to another land where this sort of behavior is okay. He’s concerned about me, and he knew where I wasn’t this afternoon. He seems harmless . . . I think. Then I hear my mother’s voice
that’s what every girl said right before she was hacked to death with a dull machete.
“Where’s your food?”

Two can play the not-answering question game. “Look, I think it’s very nice you came over here to check on me since I didn’t show up for our phantom date, but now isn’t a good time. I’ll give you my number and you can text or call me like a normal person and ask me out. I’ll check my calendar and then get back to you. Now, it’s time for you to go home.”

It’s as if I haven’t spoken. He grabs his phone out of his back pocket and calls someone. “I need you to go grocery shopping. Get the normal things you buy. Diet Coke, chips . . .” He covers the receiver. “Anything else you want, MK?”

I stand there dumbfounded with my mouth hanging open. Who is this guy? He’s ordering someone at midnight to grocery shop on my behalf.

He waits for me to respond, but I don’t. “I think that’s all, Seamus. Thank you.” He ends the call and walks around the island, sitting on the stool I purchased for my cooking video with Tripp.

There’s probably only seven feet between us, and I need more distance. My racing pulse makes a
whoosh
noise in my ears. I try to stay calm. “Aaron, I asked you to please leave. I’m feeling very freaked out right now.” My phone is in my bedroom. I could yell, but no one would hear me. “My parents and sister love me very much. They would miss me if I was gone.” Slowly, I back away from him and toward my bedroom door.