date. Trouble with that was he was only looking for someone who was right or at least tolerable for me, and I was shopping for two.
Hudson and Jack.
And let me tell you: Finding a date for an overbearing, bossy stick in the mud and a seven-year-old who was more mature than I was was a challenge.
I’d gone through my phone, but all the women in it were married, in a relationship, or way too into themselves to have enough to give two of my guys. I needed a woman who was sweet and nurturing. Someone I could trust to take care of them.
Nearly a week after our bet, I lay on my fur-covered bed, wiggling to get my date-night jeans zipped, mentally patting myself on the back. Hudson had a date I could feel good about.
I really wasn’t worried about who he’d set me up with. He wasn’t going to win. However, I was getting tacos out of the deal, so I cleaned myself up, and for the most part, I was optimistic about the whole thing.
Was Hudson going to make me a love connection? Hell fucking no.
Was Hudson going to win my Chevelle? Again, not a chance.
Were my cats going to live a life in the lap of luxury? You’re damn right. I would inadvertently get to see how some of my extra, extra bells and whistles looked in my design.
So I had plenty to be positive about. Plus, as bratty as I was, I knew how to be a good sport.
Knowing I’d need at least one strong margarita, I called a Lyft to take me to Mejor Mexicano, where Hud had arranged for my date to take place. My mouth watered the whole ride. To be honest, my palms were a little sweaty too. I wasn’t nervous per se, but what if Hudson had found someone quasi-decent for me?
I’d have to cross that bridge when I got to it—and then set the bitch on fire. How had I found myself—yet again—pacifying another person by going out with someone I knew I’d never end up with?
“Thanks,” I called to the driver while walking to the restaurant’s door, straightening my tank top and wiping the corners of my mouth. There was no way I was getting into a relationship, but being the optimist I was, I reminded myself that maybe I’d get lucky and still have fun. Hopefully, Chase, my blind date, would be pleasant to talk to, easy on the eyes, and—if all went well—a good kisser too.
Maybe I was more of an opportunist than an optimist. Fuck if I knew.
At the very least, I was getting a great dinner, so the smile on my face as I walked in was genuine. The familiar scents of Mexican food hitting my nose made my stomach growl, and then I saw who I assumed was my date at the bar, where Hudson had told me he’d be. Plus, he was the only guy at the bar, so I didn’t feel too weird approaching him. The odds were in my favor.
“Chase?”
He glanced over his shoulder, smiled, and then stood. “Alexis?”
I held my hand out to shake his in greeting. His was soft and smooth, and his grip was a tad weak. But I pushed that out of my mind as I stared at his face. He looked so familiar. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Tall, probably over six-three, his head an easy foot higher than mine.
“Nice to meet you,” I told him.
“You too. I just ordered a drink while I was waiting. I thought I was early.”
Chase’s style was clean cut and strait laced, but there was something about him that was throwing me off a bit—purely on first impression. I couldn’t put my red-tipped finger on it yet. Maggie and I had gone for manis and pedis that week in the name of first dates and due dates. So I peeked around him to see what he was having: Stella Artois in a gold-rimmed chalice.
“Can I get you a drink? Or if you’re hungry, we can get a table and order.”
“A table would be great,” I answered as my tummy rumbled again.
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
Quickly, while he went to the front to get a server, I pulled my phone out and sent Hudson a quick text. It was unlikely that he’d answer since he was on a date too, but my mind was racing, trying to place Chase.
Me: Where do I know this guy from?
Seconds later, while Chase was still waiting