Page 7 of Love is Blind

At least that’s always been the case for me but maybe that’s simply because I’m broken or fucked beyond measure—you decide.

When I realized my sight wasn’t going to magically return and that I didn’t want to get hit by a fucking truck crossing the street, Itrainedmyself to pay more attention.

To stop and pause.

Listen for oncoming traffic before entering the crosswalk.

Smell the milk before I drink it.

Touch the shoes, make sure they’re both alike before putting them on.

Shit like that.

But tonight, my senses threw me for a fucking loop because I smelledhim—the man who goes by the name of Ghost—before I heard the legs of the stool scrape across the linoleum floor. The clean, crisp scent of his cologne wafted past my nose. It was woodsy with undertones of leather and tobacco and mixed into all that goodness was the faintest hint of gasoline. All those scents combined drove my senses into overdrive and I knew for certain there was a man beside me.

He didn’t try to strike up a conversation with me and when my cousin Emmy greeted him, he was short and to the point, ordering himself a shot of whiskey.

His voice was deep and gruff.

Sexy as all hell.

My mind immediately went to the gutter and I found myself wondering what kind of gravely noises he makes when he has his head buried between a woman’s thighs. Yes, I know how that sounds…but you should know I don’t care. Two to three vodkas a day will reduce your risk of giving a shit about anything.

I highly recommend you try it some time.

You don’t have to be blind to live life on the edge and these days having a filter gets you nowhere. When you suppress your true self, you’re only giving people permission to shit all over you.

But that’s enough life lessons from me, let’s get back to the grumpy brute who smelled like a walking orgasm.

As soon as Emmy disappeared, I decided to go in for the kill. They say the best way to get over someone is to get under somebody new. Well, I don’t know who ‘they’are, but they sound very wise.

“Can I call you Casper?” I ask, slurping back the rest of my vodka cranberry. I slam my empty glass on top of the bar. After Emmy tried to poison me with a Shirley Temple, my new pal intervened, and the booze began flowing freely. I just hope she squashes the tab because I’m broke as fuck.

“No,” Ghost grunts, leaning close.

Did I mention he slid into the stool directly next to mine? I wasn’t even aware he was sitting two stools over but then I felt his thigh brush against mine and his voice got louder. The scent of him even more powerful.

“But he’s my favorite.” I let out an exasperated breath, feigning annoyance. “Fine, Patrick Swayze it is. But I should warn you, I’m not very artistic and our pottery scene will be awkward as fuck.”

Needing a refill, I pause and listen for my cousin.

“Em?” I call.

If she didn’t take my bell, I would be shaking the damn thing like a lunatic right about now. Mostly to piss her off, but also because I don’t want to lose the nice buzz I’ve got going on. It’s been too long since I felt this… well, I guess free is the right word.

“She’s not here.”

I frown, then sigh and tap my fingers against the bar.

Of course she isn’t, she’s on a mission to save me from alcohol poisoning. What kind of bartender does that?

“I guess another shot of whiskey won’t kill me.”

I hear him drag my glass toward him. His leg brushes against mine once again and a moment later his whiskey scented breath hits my ear. He’s close, closer than before. I wonder if I turn my head if our noses will touch. What about our lips?

I bet he has a great mouth.

It’s always the quiet broody ones that make the best kissers.

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