The Blind Date by Landish, Lauren (suggested reading .txt) 📕

She holds up the dog’s paw, which looks . . . like a dog’s paw. Black, a little bit of callus, some fur between the pads. Nothing looks particularly special to me, but what do I know?

But to Riley, apparently, it’s important. “And then I tuck him in and sing him a lullaby.”

I blink, not sure what I just heard. “Sing? A lullaby? Are you serious?”

“It’s his favorite,” she says, scratching behind Raffy’s ears. “I made it up myself.”

Well, I always knew she was unique, and I always knew she had some different points of view. Now I see that she’s a little crazy too. Then again, it’s a cute, sunshiny, good kind of craziness, and I have to smile a little. “Can I hear?”

“Nope,” she says immediately. “It’s only for Raffy and me.”

I thought I was jealous before, but now, I’ve never been more jealous of a dog in my life. I consider putting on a dog costume so Riley would snuggle me, rub my belly, and sing me to sleep.

Shit, I need to get out of here. Head home to pump some iron, or eat a whole pizza while chugging beer, or maybe hit a late-night cowboy bar and ride the mechanical bull on the way home. Something rough and tough. Like me, I think, but I’m wondering if that’s true considering I’ve never been to a single cowboy bar and bedtime snuggles sound infinitely more pleasurable.

“I get it. I know when my time’s up. But tomorrow night, get a dog sitter or something, ’kay?”

“I think I can arrange that,” she says with a sweet smile. She leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “In fact . . . I already know who to call.”

I stand up, and it hurts . . . literally. It physically hurts me to leave. My dick’s rock hard, jammed against the fabric of my pants, and my arms feel empty. But my face? My cheeks are aching from smiling so much. I think Riley’s sunshine is infecting me.

Chapter 11 Riley

Noah stands in my doorway, grinning as he looks me up and down. “So, you ready?”

Am I ready . . . that question’s been running around in my head since he walked out the door last night.

It was there when I did my photo shoot earlier today, highlighting my stay-cool water bottle for #MotivationalMonday.

It was there while I researched some quotes for possible inclusion in future posts.

It was there as I responded to emails, liked comments, and answered questions on everything from my hair conditioner to what I think happens to our souls after we die. That’d been a hard one, and definitely not my usual wheelhouse, but I’d done my best at explaining that our energy and impact go on beyond our lives, as the legacy we leave behind.

And it was definitely on my mind when I called Loretta, arranging for her to watch Raffy for the night.

At least that part was easy. Loretta said she could work Raffy in for his grooming early and then take him home with her. He loves staying at Loretta’s because she’s got four dogs of her own, so it’s really like a doggy sleepover. And luckily, she’d been so busy when I dropped him off that she hadn’t had time to ask any questions about why I might need an overnight dog sitter.

But as to Noah’s question . . . am I ready?

Looking at him now, in his slacks and deep blue shirt, I’m reminded of what Eli said to me. That maybe what I need is the moonlight to my sunlight. Well, right now, Noah’s definitely giving off romantic moonlit vibes.

Yeah . . . yeah, I’m ready. Tonight’s a big deal. An actual date, out in public. Not a ‘hang out’ session on my couch with some snacks and chatter. No, this is different. This is pre-planned—a big deal to Noah—and we’re dressed up to go out where people might see us. People who might know us, either as Riley Sunshine or Mr. BlindDate app, or more importantly, people who might know us as Brother or Sister or Best Friend. Not that I’m expecting to run into River or Arielle.

Oh, wait . . . I forgot.

“No, hang on. I need to do a quick shot of my makeup. I’ll use it later for a sponsor ad,” I tell Noah.

I scoot over to my photo set-up, expertly getting it ready to go. It feels weird to do this in front of someone, but Noah watches with a soft smile on his face. He’s not judging me. If anything, it seems like he’s enjoying watching me play to the camera.

I do the few shots I need and then ask, “You want in on this? Not for social media, but just for . . . us?”

Us.

It’s a big word for being only two little letters.

Noah lifts an eyebrow but says nothing as he steps into frame. He pulls me in close, but not too close, as we take a trio of shots. “Wait,” I tell him before turning around, “another trio. From the back.”

“Ah . . . the booty shot,” Noah jokes, popping a hip and making me laugh. I wouldn’t have thought he’d be funny, and he’s not some outrageous clown sort or stupid dad joke type, but he’s quietly humorous in his own way. And that’s coming out more and more as he feels comfortable with me. I can see it actually happening before my eyes—the uptight, cocky asshole who maybe wasn’t as much of an asshole as I thought morphing into a sweet, caring, funny man who makes me smile.

We take the three and I take a moment to look them over. There’s one from the first series that I love. I can’t believe how handsome he is behind me, his hands around my waist and smiling.

Then again, I look good in his arms too. My smile’s megawatt, and I didn’t have to fake it at all. I look . . . happy. And not just Insta-happy, but really happy and looking forward to the night. Just the image of us