Page 8 of Love is Blind

“It’s in front of you,” he says huskily.

God, that voice.

It screams sex and sin—two of my favorite things.

I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the company I’m keeping, but suddenly I’m very hot. Feeling around for the shot glass, I plaster a smile to my face.

Act cool, Birdie.

Don’t let him know you’re sweating like a three-dollar hooker singing in the church choir.

“Cheers,” I say before downing the shot. My throat burns something fierce as the alcohol makes its way down to my belly and I cringe. I have no idea how he drinks this shit straight. I’ve had three shots and I think I’m going to die every time I swallow.

“Who’s this Patrick guy?” he asks, draping an arm across the back of my stool. I turn my head and sadly our noses don’t touch. I guess he’s not as close as I figured.

Masking my disappointment, I say, “Please tell me you’re kidding.” When he doesn’t reply, I continue, “Dirty Dancing.” Crickets. “Nobody puts Baby in the corner?”

If that doesn’t ring a bell, there’s no hope.

“What are you talking about?”

I scoff.

The horror!

“You’ve never seen the moviesDirty DancingorGhost?”

“You have?” he returns, sounding shocked.

“Are you even living if you haven’t? I’ll admit I definitely preferDirty DancingoverGhost, but that’s probably because I’m a sucker for the bad boy. Sam was just too straight for me. Plus, Johnny dances. There’s something really hot about a man who can dance.”

I’ve got two left feet, but in my next life, I’m coming back as a dancer. Every dream can be a reality if you believe in it enough.

“You’re blind,” he admonishes in that gruff tone of his.

“Thank you for noticing,” I deadpan, leaning my back against the stool. I wait for him to move his hand, but he doesn’t. A win for me. That’s probably why the next sentence tumbles out of my mouth with ease. “I wasn’t born blind.”

A one-night stand is supposed to be fun. A reckless decision that can either liberate you or make you forget everything you’re running from. There is no room for heavy stuff and yet here I am giving him more than I give most men, including my ex. Granted, most men don’t give a shit about my blindness, especially when they’re using me to get off. Then, I’m just a girl with a willing body.

I hiccup.

That last shot put me a little over the edge and in case you didn’t get the memo, I decided I’m going home with the movie-challenged guy next to me. I hope he’s game.

“When?” he presses.

Figuring he’s asking when the lights went out for me, I say, “About two months after my fourteenth birthday. I lost vision in my right eye first and then almost immediately after my left eye decided to join the party.”

When the man upstairs was giving out diseases, he decided to gift me with a rare genetic one called Retinitis Pigmentosa. I’m like some sort of statistic because people diagnosed with my disease don’t usually go completely blind. They lose their vision over time and are classified as legally blind, but they’re still able to make out shapes and sometimes even color. I can tell the difference between light and dark—that’s it.

I wait for Ghost to ask another question, or to say anything at all, but he remains silent. The only reason I know he’s still next to me is because his hand doesn’t move from the back of my stool. Well, that, and his scent. He should bottle it up and sell it. I’d buy it and spray it all over my sheets.

If I had sheets.

Or a bed.

I should probably start with an apartment, though.

Nope, a job. I need a job, one that’s legit and can’t get me in any more trouble.

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