Page 97 of Blindsided
“So, Freya, I’ve been doing all the talking since we sat down. Please…tell me about yourself,” Jasper says, sitting across from me in a romantic restaurant called The Rooftop St James. It’s a posh, outdoor space that overlooks Trafalgar Square. The city lights and people milling about below set the perfect scenery for a new beginning.
Jasper is the complete opposite of Mac. He’s an accountant from Southampton who’s well over six feet tall with a narrow frame that gives him the Lurch vibe. He’s dressed in smart pleated trousers, and I think he’s sporting a very nice dad bod beneath that shirt. Just my type.
“I’m a seamstress,” I state like a reflex. “Well…a designer now, I guess. I work in a clothing boutique with two very dear friends of mine, and I’m currently working towards expanding their shop into pet wear.”
“Pet wear?” Jasper asks, his voice rising in pitch at the end. A nervous look fleets across his face. “Do you…have pets?”
I nod proudly. “I have an orange cat named Hercules. He’s completely mental, but he’s my baby.”
Jasper begins tugging at the collar of his shirt. “That’s nice. I, erm, don’t have any pets.”
I smile and lean forward, narrowing my eyes at him in a playful challenge. “Are you a dog person or a cat person? This is a very serious question, and there’s only one acceptable answer.”
He smiles awkwardly. “I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”
I nod and lean back while taking a sip of my wine. This date is off to a very strange start.
Dinner is served, and Jasper begins telling me about the luxury hotel chain he works for and how expensive it is to stay there. He tells me that even with his deep employee discount, he still stays at the cheaper hotel across the street when he has late-night meetings. What a travesty. It takes everything in me not to cringe when he says that he doesn’t even buy the coffee at his hotel because even that with a discount is “exorbitant.”
I’m so paying for half of this dinner cheque.
By the time dessert is served, I’m exhausted. Jasper has this annoying need to fill in all the silences. There were so many nights Mac and I wouldn’t say much to each other at all. We’d just sit on the sofa, watch telly, and enjoy the other’s company. Most of the time, there were arguments peppered in there, of course, but on top of all that, there was this ease between us. Contented silence. It was lovely. And I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever find that with another man. And will I ever stop comparing all the men I date to Mac? God, I hope so.
“So anyway, I took my shirt back to the dry cleaner, and I said, ‘This stain was not here when I brought it in, and I refuse to pay for the service’.”
“So, you still have the shirt then? They didn’t offer to replace it?” I ask, taking another big sip of wine.
“Yes,” he replies, his lips twitching nervously. “I didn’t think they’d go for replacing the shirt. It cost me twenty pounds.”
I purse my lips together and turn to look out at the view again—the one saving grace of this evening.
“Freya?” A familiar voice says my name and I think I might be imagining Jasper’s voice to sound like Mac’s because I’m so bored, I’m just making shit up in my mind. I look to Jasper, who isn’t looking at me, he’s looking at someone standing beside me.
I turn, and my jaw drops when I see Mac standing over me in all his broad, ridiculously muscled, and sexily inked glory. He’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, and he’s holding a giant batch of pink balloons, and a bouquet of pink carnations are stuffed under his arm.
“Wha—what are you doing here?” I stutter, shocked at the man before me. My eyes quickly fall to the very obvious grey pet carrier in his other hand.
“It’s your birthday, Cookie.” His shoulders lift with a shrug as he half smiles down at me. His eyes are soft and dancing all over my face like he’s committing it to memory all over again.
“What is that?” I ask, pointing to his hand, and as if on cue, a high-pitched meow erupts from the cage.
“Jesus Christ,” Jasper bellows, pushing back from the table. “Is that a cat?”
Mac looks over to my date, a stony, intimidating look causing Jasper to shrink into his chair. “Aye.”
“I’m…allergic,” Jasper stammers, his face turning a beet red shade before my very eyes. “I break out in hives whenever I’m within ten feet of a cat.”
Mac’s voice is flat when he replies, “You better be on your way then.”
My jaw clenches because Mac has a lot of nerve coming in here and scaring my date away. “You don’t have to go,” I say to Jasper, pressing my hand on the table. “Mac will go.”
“Who’s Mac?”
“I’m Mac,” Mac growls, stepping closer to Jasper, who leaps up out of his seat to back away from the kitten. “I’m her best mate, and this woman loves cats more than breathing, so if you’re deathly allergic, then trust me, pal, I’m doing you a favour.”
Jasper clumsily moves to stand behind the chair, and I can’t fully tell who he’s more terrified of at this moment—Mac or the cat. He looks to me, his hands trembling as he says, “Mind picking up the cheque?”
I blink back my shock, and without another look back, Jasper takes off out of the restaurant, probably feeling like he won the lottery because he didn’t have to pay for his dinner.
