The Blind Date by Landish, Lauren (free children's ebooks pdf txt) 📗

This past week, the girl I’ve been talking to is . . . my best friend’s sister?

Riley Watson.

An instant later, another train hits me with the realization that I am so fucked. Royally, epically, massively fucked.

River’s going to kill me. Especially after what we did last night.

But where I should find horror and regret about that, about all of it . . . I don’t feel that at all. I feel . . . the loss of Rachel, this connection with someone who got me, and who I felt like I understood too.

I’m a ninety-six percent match with Riley Watson. I don’t know what to do with that.

I haven’t seen her in years, not since a rather unfortunate event when I was fresh at Life Corp and she was just starting college. Back then, River talked about his sister like she was this flighty, naïve, idealistic innocent. In hindsight, I think he might’ve been worried about her being hurt by the cruel realities of the world, but at the time, I hadn’t realized that.

She was all eternal optimism and the sun’ll come out tomorrow, and based on River’s frequent eye rolls, I suspected that she might actually break out into song like some Disney princess if given half a chance.

It got under my skin at a really difficult time because I was focusing on work, Mom, and Arielle. The differences in what I saw in Arielle and what River said about his sister were marked. Arielle fought and scrapped for everything she’s gotten, right along with Mom and me. She’s hard hearted with a tough exterior because she had to be. And it irritated the fuck out of me that Riley, someone Arielle hung out with, had the opportunity to be . . . soft, sweet, and to see the world as a beautiful place when Arielle had never had a chance to do that.

And I took that out on Riley.

Sighing, I get up and try to leave the café with some shred of pride left, but judging by the eyebrow lift the waiter gives me, I don’t succeed. I drive back to my apartment, but I don’t know what to do with myself.

I settle for a run on my treadmill, hoping it’ll help me think. Stripping off my suit, I frown at the blue tie and throw it on the floor. It’s my favorite, but I can’t imagine wearing it again now. I’ll think of her every time I see it. Next, I pull on compression boxers to tone down the ‘ball bounce’. I’ve never understood how some men can work out commando. Especially running.

I bet you and Rachel would have a laugh talking about that. Not Rachel. Riley.

I shake my head, knowing it’ll never happen. When I hurt Riley, I hurt her deeply, taking out my anger and frustrations on her though she’d done nothing to deserve either.

So I climb onto the machine, tapping at the touchscreen until I’ve got a running program ready and my television playing highlights from last weekend’s UFC event. I start running, alternating between jogs that let me lope along and hard sprints that leave my eyeballs feeling like they’re ready to pop out of my skull. Even with my heart hammering hard, my breathing near sucking wind, and the sight of guys beating the shit out of each other, my own self-induced agony won’t shut up my brain. Instead, all I can think about is the incident that triggered Riley’s anger at me.

“Thanks for having us over, Mrs. Watson,” I greet River’s mom as I come in. I haven’t been here before because River and I always work at his dorm, the library, or random coffee shops with free Wi-Fi and cheap refills. But Arielle has been here several times and seems comfortable, throwing Mrs. Watson a wave and then flopping onto a lounger by the pool.

Arielle is talking to a very cute blonde with her hair in matching messy buns on either side of her head. That must be Riley, I realize, the friend Arielle talks about nonstop.

“Hi, boys, Arielle!” Mrs. Watson says warmly. I appreciate the welcome. “Dad’s inside, River.”

River holds up a finger to me and heads toward the back door, but it swings open and an older version of River steps out. Mr. Watson is a little shorter and narrower than River, but the blond, blue-eyed good looks are unmistakable.

“River! Good to see you, Son!” he calls out, and the two men meet in the middle for a hug. Not some awkward, side crunch of a hug either, but a back-clapping, tight, affectionate hug. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too, Dad,” River says easily.

His dad travels for work, though I don’t remember what he does. But the love between the two is obvious. Mr. Watson misses his family while he’s gone.

“All right, I need the steaks on the grill in ten minutes. I’m going in to make salad and mash the potatoes,” Mrs. Watson says, and Mr. Watson hops his feet together, saluting her.

“Yes ma’am. On it.” He’s smiling at her, eyes bright as he catches her with a soft tap to her butt as she scoots by.

“Dad, we have company,” River complains.

“I know, that’s why I just swatted her. If it were just you kids, I’d have kissed her.” Mr. Watson laughs good-naturedly. Before River can complain more, he offers me his hand. “You must be Noah? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yes, sir. Nice to meet you.”

“I’d better get this fire going if I want any mashed potatoes. You boys want to help me?” Mr. Watson asks.

In actuality, he taught River and me how to stack the mesquite briquettes, pour some sort of fancy fire starter stuff over them, and light them. He was friendly and engaging, joking as he blew on the small flames to encourage them to grow as he told us all the hows and whys of fire making and grilling. It was a lesson I’d never had before because we didn’t have a grill. But also, because I didn’t have a dad to teach me those