Page 9 of Love is Blind

“Anyway,” I continue, slurring the single word. “I’m a major movie buff. It sucks not being able to see them come to life on the screen, but I can hear them and still enjoy them. I think I’m especially fond of the ones I remember.”

“LikeDirty DancingandGhost.”

I smile.

“Exactly.” Then I shrug. “I can recall Johnny shaking his hips and Baby stepping all over his toes and missing the lift and it’s like I’m watching it.” I pause, the smile falling from my lips. “But I’ll never know if the awkward adolescent girl I used to stare at in the mirror grew into her features.”

I’ve accepted my disability and I like to think I put up a good front, but then the booze wears off. The orgasms fade and the men pick up their pants from the floor. All the things I use as a crutch disappear and I’m left alone in the dark, feeling sorry for myself, wondering what life might be like if I wasn’t dealt such a shitty hand.

“Turn your head,” Ghost orders, pulling me away from my thoughts. The raspy sound of his voice jolts something inside of me and I fall under his spell, turning my head slowly. His fingers move under my chin, guiding me to where he wants me.

Rough.

Calloused.

All man.

Then I feel his hand slide up the side of my cheek.

“I don’t know what you looked like when you were fourteen, but, Babe, I gotta tell you, there ain’t a single awkward thing about the woman I’m staring at now.” There’s a pause and then his voice drops low. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

Men don’t have to work to get in my pants. They don’t have to shower me with compliments to woo me into their bed. They just have to be willing to fuck a blind chick and most of the time it’s curiosity that gets their dick hard. And no one, not a fucking man on the green Earth, has ever called me beautiful before.

Not sure how to react or what to say, I force a laugh.

“You don’t have to try, Casper, I’m easy and totally down for a good time.”

My voice sounds vulnerable even to my own ears and I hate that. I don’t bode well with being the damsel in distress.

I’m tough as nails.

A self-proclaimed badass.

I get by just fine without any sweet talk.

His hand quickly leaves my face and the silence stretches between us. I rack my brain for something to say—a joke to lighten the mood, but nothing comes to mind and the tension thickens.

Suddenly the arm that was draped across the back of my stool fades away and I hear the legs of the stool drag across the floor.

“I have to take a piss,” he grunts.

This is the part where he disappears. Where he decides I’m not worth the trouble.

Smiling, I try to keep my tone light as I reach for my empty glass.

“Need a hand?”

“I think I got it under control,” he mutters.

“Yeah, I think it’s weird when people offer to help me too,” I quip as I wrap my lips around the straw to hide my disappointment. “Have fun.”

“Peeing? Yeah, I’ll have a fucking ball.”

Then he’s gone. I lower the empty glass back onto the bar and drag in a deep breath.

He said I was beautiful.

A moment later, I hear Em.

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