The Blind Date Read online

  The Blind Date

  Lauren Landish

  Edited by

  Valorie Clifton

  Edited by

  Staci Etheridge

  Copyright © 2021 by Lauren Landish

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Also by Lauren Landish

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Excerpt: Rough Love - Tannen Boys Book 1

  About the Author

  Also by Lauren Landish

  Big Fat Fake Series:

  My Big Fat Fake Wedding || My Big Fat Fake Engagement || My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

  Standalones:

  Drop Dead Gorgeous || The Dare

  Bennett Boys Ranch:

  Buck Wild || Riding Hard || Racing Hearts

  The Tannen Boys:

  Rough Love || Rough Edge || Rough Country

  Dirty Fairy Tales:

  Beauty and the Billionaire || Not So Prince Charming || Happily Never After

  Get Dirty:

  Dirty Talk || Dirty Laundry || Dirty Deeds || Dirty Secrets

  Chapter 1

  Riley

  “Hey, Sunshiners!” I say to my phone, holding it at arm’s length in my right hand while my left hand is under my chin, fingers out and wiggling in what I affectionately dubbed the ‘Sunshine Salute’. It’s my way of sending my followers some Rays of Sunshine, and I do it at the start of every video because who wouldn’t want a little extra brightness in their day?

  “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” I ask, doing a slow twirl to give everyone a quick view. Spring has sprung in Briar Rose, and the days of rain have made every flower bloom full and lush. The sun hits them to create a dazzling array of colors everywhere you look. “Mother Nature is truly an artist, isn’t she? Makes me feel . . .”

  I pause dramatically, my smile lifting another inch before I look directly into the camera, “Everything. Because joy is right here in front of you, if only you take the time to see it. What’s bringing you joy today? Tell me in the comments so we can enjoy it together.”

  I see a flower that’s fallen off its stem to the dirt below and focus my camera on the blooming plant and then the loose, wilting pink flower. Some people would only appreciate the larger plant, but I pick up the slightly crumpled flower, making sure to show my yellow-painted nails in the frame, and then place it behind my ear. I give one more smiling wave to the camera, tilting my head to highlight the bloom with sunlight. “It doesn’t have to be perfect to be appreciated. It’s all good enough if it makes you smile. You’re good enough to make others smile.”

  I give another wiggle and click off, still grinning widely as I double-check the video before posting it to my Instagram timeline. By the time I tuck my phone back into my bag, it will have already been shared across multiple platforms, gotten hundreds of likes, and have comments listing out what brings my followers joy today.

  I love them. Not just the little hearts and compliments about my fresh manicure. I mean, I love all my followers, the people who let me lead the life I enjoy. Without them, I couldn’t get ad revenue from my daily videos and photos, and I couldn’t get companies to hire me for sponsored posts. So it’s to their credit that I’m able to do what I do. But it’s more than that too. They let me into their hearts, trusting that I’ll bring a bit of my special brand of Riley Sunshine to every day. It’s a responsibility I take seriously, not because it’s my trademark but because it’s who I truly am.

  “Are you done yet?” a faux-bored voice sighs out next to me. My eyes lift from the phone screen, and I stick my tongue out at my best friend, Arielle Daniels. She does it right back like we’re six instead of twenty-six.

  “Ladies, ladies . . .” Eli Taylor, the third of our motley group of musketeers, scolds. He holds his hands out, one toward each of us as though we’re going to throw down. To be clear, we’re not. The only thing Arielle and I will fight over is the last garlic knot when we order pizza. Or the last egg roll. Or donut. Okay, food. We’ll fight over food, but who wouldn’t?

  “I think we need to continue heading to our lunch date, post haste, before we have bigger problems.” He leans toward me, talking behind his hand as though Arielle can’t hear him. “You know how she gets when she’s hangry. I estimate ten minutes before she starts stealing ice cream from babies.” He lifts his chin toward an adorable toddler with chocolate smeared across his face and a cringing mother standing by with a wet wipe.

  I look from Eli to Arielle, who’s rolling her eyes. I answer with an eye roll of my own to be safe because I can see that Eli is right. Arielle’s scanning the street like a hot dog cart might pop up out of nowhere. Luckily, our favorite burrito place, which was our destination to start with, is right ahead and undeniably safer for our bellies than dirty-water-soaked meat sticks. Or half-eaten, stolen ice cream.

  “Ten minutes? I’m leaning more toward seven-point-five, five if Miguel is cooking fresh carne asada.”

  Arielle’s stomach growls loudly, and she slaps her palms over her belly as Eli and I laugh. “Come on,” Eli says, leading the charge toward the best burritos in Briar Rose. Miguel’s place doesn’t even have a name. It’s just a window in the side of a building with some picnic tables scattered outside. If you know it’s there, you’re lucky. If not, well, you’re missing out.

  We order and sit, claiming one end of a table for ourselves. We attract attention no matter what we do. I’m Riley Sunshine—not famous, exactly, but more well-known than the average social media influencer, and my style is rather in-your-face sunny with my trademark yellow knee socks, white Doc Martens, and a halo of blonde waves held back with big yellow sunglasses. Eli is gorgeous, to put it lightly. He’s six feet tall, broad-shouldered, tanned, and dresses like a Ralph Lauren ad. Today, he’s wearing a slim-tapered navy Italian suit and chestnut brown loafers with no socks. He’s every preppy-lover’s dream come true. And Arielle is a stunner with dark hair pulled back in a carefree ponytail, thick, dark lashes, and red lips. Her work scrubs do nothing to hide her luscious curves.

  We look as though we would have absolutely nothing in common. A business guy, a no-nonsense medical field worker, and a flower child who never grew up. But we couldn’t be closer.

  Years ago, we met at the mall, of all places, each of us holding down jobs at various stores there. We’d walk in at opening, out at closing, eat in the food court, and over time, the head nods of recognition became our own little world of friendship. Ultimately, we created a group called “The Crew” comprised of us musketeers plus a few others we met at the mall. But today, it’s only the three of us for lunch.

  As we tuck into our burritos, Eli drops a bomb. “I had a date on Friday.” It’s not that Eli’s dating is a surprise. It’d be more of
a shocker if he hadn’t gone on a date, but Arielle’s right brow lifts the tiniest millimeter.

  Eli’s more than good looks. In fact, he’s very smart, one of those types of people who knows a little bit about everything. It makes every time we meet up a fun time, because Eli’s interests are always unpredictable. He can talk at length about everything from photography to politics to the Police Academy movies, and often without ever quite explaining why he’s doing so or where he gleaned the varied knowledge.

  But he’s usually careful to not throw out too much dating detail in front of Arielle. They’ve had a super-casual, friends with benefits situation off and on for years. They’re ‘off’ right now, neither of them having an itch to scratch, but their dating lives aren’t something we usually discuss together.

  “He or she?” I ask, thinking maybe that has something to do with the hook Eli’s dangling, and Eli laughs. That’s another thing about Eli. He’s all about ‘hearts, not parts’ and dates based on connection, not genitalia. His conversations about sex can be very eye opening, and I’ve learned quite a few things from Eli.

  “She,” Eli says matter-of-factly.

  A thousand questions go through my head, each wanting to jump off my tongue at once. But Arielle is glaring fiercely at Eli, though he is blissfully oblivious. He’s usually not tight-lipped with me, but he seems to have said his piece, and Arielle has nothing to say for a change. I decide that I really don’t need to know details right this second, especially if it’s going to hurt Arielle. I would never do that, though I’ll definitely ask her what’s up with the reaction later.

  Instead, I decide to steer the conversation in a different direction. “And the bank?”

  It’s part of Eli’s charm and intelligence, his ability to be so multi-faceted and yet achieve so much so quickly. At twenty-five years old, he’s a branch manager with Metro Savings & Loan despite not having an MBA. Or at least not having one yet, but he’s working on it online.

  “Making million-dollar moves,” Eli says with a shrug. “I mean, it’s a bank, babe. Trust me, unless someone shows up with a shotgun, which I hope I never see” —he pauses to kiss two fingers and hold them to the sky in either a prayer or a wish— “it’s pretty much the same thing on a daily basis. Check this, sign this, balance that. But you’ve been making a few million-dollar moves of your own. Or more precisely, half a million follower moves.” He gives me a polite golf clap and a warm smile.

  Still amazed, I shake my hands and kick my feet, stomping my boots on the green grass beneath the picnic table. I’ll never be a cheerleader, but it’s my best cheery celebration because it’s true. When I started my path of becoming an influencer, I had a series of signposts that I wanted to achieve. A thousand, then ten thousand, a hundred thousand . . . now a half-million followers.

  “Thanks,” I reply, taking a bite of my burrito to keep from squealing loudly. “Mmmph, these are so good!”

  Eli cuts his burrito with a knife and fork as he nods in agreement. I’d give him shit for it, but I can only guess at how much his shirt cost, and I know that when he’s in non-work clothes, he’s the first to snatch up a slice of pizza and shove the whole thing in his mouth with zero cares about manners, so I’ll let this slide.

  “So, what’re you going to do to celebrate?” he asks.

  “Well, first off, the next time we get The Crew together, it’s all on me,” I assure him. Arielle raises her hand like we’re in elementary school, and I add, “And I need to do a thank-you post for my followers—“

  Arielle is done being ignored and slaps her palm to the table, making our water bottles jump. “I know!” she exclaims, getting both Eli’s and my attention. “You need to date.”

  “Date?” I repeat dumbly. “I date.”

  “No, you don’t,” Arielle argues.

  Eli sends a look Arielle’s way, quietly communicating something, and then, a bit softer, asks, “How long has it been?”

  “Fine. Too long,” I admit, smiling that they care enough to have even noticed. It has been a while, but I’ve been so busy. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “That’s no surprise. You never complain about anything,” Arielle declares.

  “But I’ve been really focused on building the Sunshiner brand.”

  “And it’s paid off,” Arielle tells me, softening her approach now too. “You deserve to do something for yourself. Not your followers. Get a little joy for you,” she adds, letting me know that she was paying attention as I filmed my video this morning.

  “Or even a little dicking if that’s all you need,” Eli suggests.

  The idea has definite merit. The dating, not the dicking. Well, maybe both if I’m being honest with myself, and I try to always be. “That could prove to be a little harder now . . .”

  Eli laughs. “You mean there might be a bunch of horny ass dudes out there who’ll see you as a sugar mama? Or a notch in their bedpost?”

  I nod, eyes widening at Eli’s way of putting it.

  “Pssh . . . you’re overthinking it, girl! Just have some fun. Don’t worry about getting too serious.” He would be the one to suggest that.

  Arielle drops her hand at the wrist. “Leave it to me. I have an idea and a plan. I’ll arrange everything for Friday night happy hour?”

  Eli and I look at each other. When Arielle concocts a plan, we’re best to go along with it. “Sure. My place?” I offer.

  Plan made, we gather up our trash and drop it in the nearest can. “Back to the grindstone?” I joke since none of us have jobs that feel like drudgery work. “I need to script my gratitude post.”

  Eli points off to our right at the fountain in the park. “Orrr,“ he draws out, “how about I take a picture for you and then you can wax poetic as much as you want? You need to mix up the videos and photos, Riley.”

  I laugh. “Like you’d know?” But he does have a point. I think I’m going to have a lot of words about this milestone, and I try to limit my videos to around a minute because those get the most interaction, so a photo with a long caption that could be clipped and quoted would be a good compromise. “Okay, let’s do it. You mind doing the honors?”

  Eli bows graciously. “It’d be my privilege.”

  We head over to the fountain, and I try a variety of poses, but Arielle clucks her tongue and takes over as photo director, though I’ve done this for myself hundreds of times. “Hop up on the edge of the fountain. It’ll make a better color contrast.”

  I look around for anyone who might have a problem with that, but no one is paying us any attention. Trusting Arielle, I climb up on the wide concrete edge of the fountain which is used by a lot of people for sitting and enjoying the park. Turning to the side, I use the fountain edge as a balance beam and stick one leg out behind me, straightening my back, concentrating on balancing myself on one foot and giving my best smile. It’s what I like to call the ‘contemporary flirty pose’, something I saw on the cover of a romance book and have since added to my standard poses. In my mind, it says ‘I’m sexy, but that’s not all I am’, a bit ballerina meets fairy with a dash of legs-for-days and peach booty.

  Garbed in a white sundress and my boots, with the sun shining on my face, I probably damn near look like a flower girl at a wedding, but it’s just me. I like being sunny and happy, and that’s what I want to share with the world.

  “How’s this?” I ask, my voice strained as I try to balance myself. I hear my phone click, click, clicking away for shot after shot. Still smiling, I say through my teeth, “You keep this up and I’m going to be in the water!”

  I start to get crazy looks from people as they walk by, and I hear a few laughs and even some guy calling out as he passes by on his bicycle, “I got an extra leg you can stand on, baby!”

  Forget him. I’m too happy to pay the heckler any mind, and someone else calls out, “Work it, work it!” I choose to focus on that voice, letting it add to the chorus of positivity in my head, reminding me of what this photo will be used for. />
  I wobble back and forth on one leg. “Got it?” I beg.

  Eli grumbles something about ‘working for a crazy chick’ to Arielle, and I call out, “I heard that!” Eli arches his blond brow in response and aims the phone at me. “Do not move,” he orders, and then he counts down from three and says, “Smile!”

  At that exact moment, the fountain starts up behind me, surprising me and causing a huge gust of wind. Time slows, clicking by with every frame Eli is still taking, and I fight valiantly but lose my balance. My dress flies up to my chest, my mouth and eyes go wide in shock, and several onlookers let out scandalized gasps.

  No, no, no! Oh, my God! No! I think to myself as I struggle to control my dress, hoping a cop isn’t lurking somewhere in the park, waiting to give me a citation for indecent exposure. Thank God I wore the granny panties that came in my new sponsor’s monthly box today! They’re the only thing hiding my ass from the people behind me and my vajayjay from the camera!

  I drop my pose and any semblance of decency to fight with my dress, trying to push it down against the wind while balancing two-footed now on the too-narrow fountain edge. Eventually, I get the fabric locked between my thighs in the front and can hold the back down with my hands. Arielle runs over, holding a hand out, trying not to laugh.