But then an awful feeling roils my stomach as Justin beams broadly at me. Oh fuck. I pull out my phone as we’re being seated, and sure enough, in my texts with Justin, it says we’ll meet here, at this time on Friday, not Saturday like I put in my calendar.
Oh shit! What have I done? This is such a titanic disaster because I don’t even date much, and yet now I’ve got myself double booked for tonight. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is a total clusterfuck, and I’m not sure how I’m going to get out of it.
Meanwhile, Justin makes his way towards us. He’s godawful handsome, with black hair, blue eyes, and broad shoulders. He too is wearing a dark, well-cut suit, with a white shirt that highlights his bronzed skin. I manage a shaky smile as he approaches our table.
“Hi, Corrie!” he growls, kissing me on the cheek. “I got here early and was sitting way in the back. Sorry, I hope you weren’t waiting for me long. I didn’t see you at first. Is this your friend?” he asks, nodding towards Cameron.
Cameron looks between Justin and me, and then Justin looks between Cameron and me, and I wish I could shrink like Alice in Wonderland before finally sinking into the floor. After all, what am I supposed to do now? How could I have been so careless? I should’ve triple-checked my appointment with Justin before setting a date and time with Cameron. Plus, it certainly would have been smarter for me to keep the two dates a week apart instead of the same fucking weekend!
Oh shit. I look helplessly between the two men, my heart curdling as everything about me deflates. I want to slap my forehead before running screaming from the hotel, but it’s too late now. Cameron and Justin are sizing each other up before turning to me with questions in those blazing blue eyes.
5
Justin
* * *
I’ve been looking forward to this date ever since Jemima suggested it. My sister knows my taste in women, and she assured me that her friend Corrie is exactly my type. That’s good because I only have a vague memory of the girl from ages ago. She and Jem were friends from when they were kids, but because I’m ten years older, I don’t really remember Corrie as anything but a tween with buckteeth, messy hair, and a greasy nose and forehead. But after proposing the set-up, Jemima showed me a picture and it seems that little Corrie McNeil is all grown up now. The woman I saw was voluptuous and curvy with a sweet smile and a dimple in her cheek. I wanted in immediately.
So here we are, on a blind date of sorts. I scan the bustling bar area and don’t see Corrie yet. But then, my eyes squint because there’s a beautiful woman at the other end of a room, and as she laughs, she throws her head back and I see that it is indeed, Corrie. She looks gorgeous in a tight black dress that shows off her curves without being obscene and scandalously high heels that emphasize those long legs. Good. I like a woman who can dress well.
But the situation is confounding because why does Corrie have her hand tucked into another man’s elbow? Is it a friend she just ran into? I hope so because it would be a little weird if he weren’t, but then she laughs again at something he says, and I have to say that it really looks like she’s flirting with him. What the fuck? What the hell is she doing?
I double check my phone to make sure I got the date right, but yep, our texts definitely point to tonight as the big night. So what the fuck is going on? Surely, she wouldn’t have double-booked a second date tonight. She’s not that kind of girl, so this all has to be some kind of misunderstanding. Maybe this man’s just an old friend or colleague and I’ve misread their body language. To be sure, I text my sister really quick.
Yo, your friend Corrie is weird.
Jemima’s response comes immediately. Oh shit. Did she blow you off?
I text back, No. She’s at the bar, but she’s talking to some other dude.
Jem sends back emojis of a vomiting face, but then she writes, I talked to her a couple days ago and she was definitely on board about meeting you, so it’s probably just a misunderstanding. Go talk to her!!!
I don’t respond to this last message because my sister’s right. I’m not just going to act like a doormat without any fucking balls. Instead, I’m going to figure out what the hell is going on. Standing up, I approach the table where Corrie and her man have just been seated, my stance casual and confident.