Cheryl Porter - Blind Date

“Yeah. A year is a long time. So, what if he hadn’t cheated on you and had asked you to marry him tonight? Would you have said yes?”

The man could come up with some probing questions. “Again, I don’t know. I guess I’d have told him I needed to think about it.”

Joe nodded. “You’d have to think about it—after a year of being exclusive?”

Meg was about to say yes, but her next thought caught her up short. “Oh my God, I see what you’re getting at. If I had to think about my answer, then it was probably always no, right?”

“Most likely.”

“Well, what do you know—I didn’t love him and was wasting my time. Joe, I owe you a big, fat thank-you for that insight.”

“No big deal. I’ll send you my bill. Still, Carl’s a fool for cheating on you.”

“You’re sweet to say so. Besides, it was all so unnecessary. All he had to do was tell me he didn’t want me around. How hard is that?”

Joe looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Sometimes it can be really hard, if you have any kind of a conscience, and if you suspect the other person cares for you a lot more than you do for her.”

Her? He was no longer talking about her and Carl, Meg realized. “So, Joe. You sound like you know how that feels.”

He exhaled roughly. “I do. Meg, I think I should tell you something. There’s…Well, I have a…Okay, her name’s Linda.”

“OH.” JOE’S WORDS hit Meg like a slap to the face. “I see. You have a Linda. How nice. Is she your—” Meg winced “—wife?”

“Oh, hell no, nothing like that. We’ve been together now for about six months…and she wants the relationship to be more.”

“I see. Well.” A sudden sense of loss made Meg want to sit down in a big, dejected heap and cry. “Maybe we should introduce Linda and Carl, since they both seem to have a case of the commitment bug. That is, unless you’ve caught it, too.” She looked over at him.

When he didn’t reply right away, Meg surreptitiously crossed her fingers against his answer—and held her breath.

Joe rubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. That’s why I came to Tampa. Time away to think.”

There was hope. Her mood suddenly lighter, Meg pointed at him. “So, that’s why you were asking me all those questions a minute ago. You’re looking for some insight yourself.”

Joe had the grace to nod and look sheepish. “I am, yeah. But my situation is different.”

“Is it? How so?”

“Well, no one’s been cheating.”

“Really?” Meg crossed her arms and shrugged. “Don’t give up so easily, cowboy. The night’s still young.”

Joe laughed. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

“Good.” Though she now adopted an air of sophisticated confidence, inside Meg was quaking with the audacity of what she’d just said…and implied.

Joe’s eyes twinkled. “You’ve certainly given me a lot to think about in the few short hours I’ve known you, Meg Kendall.”

“Yeah? Thinking of doing something stupid, are you, Joe?”

“You mean like this?” He grabbed her by her arms and pulled her tight against him. Before she could react, he’d lowered his head and crushed his mouth against hers in a bruising, passionate kiss that curled Meg’s toes and scattered her senses. His tongue explored her mouth…probing…pushing in and out…mimicking perfectly the thrusting act of sex.

People driving past wa-hoo-ed out their car windows or honked their horns.

Meg wouldn’t have cared if an actual cheering crowd, complete with marching band, had gathered behind them. Her heart was beating triple time and her knees had become weak with desire. She was helpless, unable to resist.

When Joe broke the kiss and pulled back, Meg stared deep into his magnificent eyes. “Yeah. Like that. We shouldn’t do that…again…Joe.”

That quirky little Elvis grin of his appeared on his lips—lips Meg now knew intimately.

“No. We shouldn’t.” Joe lowered his head, and Meg raised her mouth to meet his again. But he pulled back at the last second, teasing, staring intently into her eyes.

Meg’s blood heated. “Damn you, Joe Rossi.”

She reached up, gripped him around the muscular column of his neck and pulled him firmly down to her. This time, she took the lead, allowing only the tip of her tongue to dart in and out as she tasted the sensual fullness of his lips. With an evilly sexy chuckle, Joe finally captured her mouth and again plundered its willing depth as he put his arms around her and held her to him, her breasts hard against his chest, her hips hard against his thighs.

And then, unbelievably, a cell phone rang.

“AW, SON OF A BITCH!” Joe could not believe they’d been interrupted—again—by a damn cell phone.

Meg pulled back, gasping. “Is that your pants ringing—or my ears?”

“My pants. In more ways than one.” He gently released her and reached for the phone at his belt, tugging it off its clip. “I ought to throw the damn thing in the water.”

Meg stepped away from him and hugged herself as if she were cold. “I hope Linda can swim.”

Poised to push the talk button, Joe held off and looked into Meg’s smoldering bedroom eyes. He was hungry to kiss her again…and not stop there. “It doesn’t have to be…Linda.”

He hated that he’d hesitated over her name. But right now, with Meg standing less than a foot from him, the last thing Joe was thinking about was his girlfriend. Hell, he was no better than Carl, was he?

The cell phone continued to ring.

Meg’s gaze locked with his. “You might as well answer it, cowboy,” she said, sounding practical. And angry.

“You’re right,” Joe said, resigned. He pushed the button and put the phone to his ear. “Hello.” To his infinite relief it wasn’t Linda. It was… “Uncle Maury!”

Meg looked at him questioningly. Joe shrugged. He had no idea why his great-uncle would be calling him. Then, when he heard the tone of Maury’s voice, he tensed. “Wait. Slow down. What are you saying? What mob?”

“A mob?” Meg said. “At the complex? Does he mean a party at the pool?”

Joe shook his head and held up a hand to Meg. “Oh, I get it. Not a mob, but the mob?” His tensed muscles relaxed. “No, Uncle Maury, we’re not doing this. You know there’s no mob at the door.”

Meg clutched Joe’s shirtsleeve. “Is he okay?”

Joe covered her grasping hand with his free one and nodded, mouthing I think so. He turned his attention back to his great-uncle. “Well, just don’t answer it,” he told Maury. “What do you mean we can’t come home? We weren’t on our way home…. Not ever? Uncle Maury, have you been drinking?”

“What’s going on?” Meg hissed.

“Hold on, Uncle Maury. Let me talk to Meg. Don’t hang up.” Joe released Meg’s fingers and held his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “Uncle Maury says we can’t ever come home because the mob is after him—and now they’re after us because we’re in The Stogie,” he said matter-of-factly. “He means the car,” he added.

Meg shook her head, looking confused. “But Maury’s called The Stogie, not the car.”

“They both are. I think Uncle Maury’s letting his imagination get the best of him.”

Meg pulled back. “But he always talks about the mob.”

“Yeah, but this is going a bit too far.” Aware of his elderly uncle hanging on the line, Joe spoke quickly to Meg. “You see, there’s a legend in our family that someone, at some time in the past, was in the Mafia. Uncle Maury decided he was that person and we’ve always gone along with it. It gave him stature. But he’s never made phone calls like this saying the mob is after him or anyone else. This is new.”