Third Date Read online

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One - 1

  Chapter Two - 2

  Chapter Three - 3

  Chapter Four - 4

  Chapter Five - 5

  Chapter Six - 6

  Chapter Seven - 7

  Chapter Eight - 8

  Chapter Nine - 9

  Chapter Ten - 10

  Chapter Eleven - 11

  Chapter Twelve - 12

  Chapter Thirteen - 13

  Chapter Fourteen - 14

  Chapter Fifteen - 15

  Chapter Sixteen - 16

  Chapter Seventeen - 17

  Chapter Eighteen - 18

  Chapter Nineteen - 19

  Chapter Twenty - 20

  Chapter Twenty-One - 21

  Chapter Twenty-Two - 22

  Chapter Twenty-Three - 23

  Chapter Twenty-Four - 24

  Chapter Twenty-Five - 25

  Chapter Twenty-Six - 26

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - One Year Later

  Third Date

  By Kylie Keene

  Third Date

  By Kylie Keene

  Copyright © 2014 Kylie Keene

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Waltham Publishing, LLC

  Cover Design by Mae I Design

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, things, and events are fictitious, and any similarities to real persons (live or dead), things, or events are coincidental and not intended by the author. Brand names of products mentioned in this book are used for reference only and the author acknowledges that any trademarks and product names are the property of their respective owners.

  The author holds exclusive rights to this work and unauthorized duplication is prohibited. No part of this book is to be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.

  CHAPTER ONE

  1

  “Are you waiting for someone?” the waiter asks.

  “No, it’s just me.” I force out a smile, but now I’m getting angry. This is the third time I’ve been asked this in the past 5 minutes. First the hostess asked, then the guy who brings the water, and now the waiter. Can’t a girl just eat a meal by herself at a restaurant without having to feel like a total outcast? Like she’s the only unattached female on the planet?

  “Would you like a glass of wine?” The waiter’s face is covered in pity and from his tone, I think he assumes I need the wine just to get through dinner. Does he think I’ll break down into a crying, sobbing mess just because there isn’t a man sitting across from me? Okay, fine, that happened once. One time. But that was years ago and it was my birthday and my dad was out of town so I was forced to eat alone.

  Would I have liked to have a hot guy join me for dinner that night? Of course. But hot, single guys aren’t exactly a dime a dozen. Anyway, I got through that night just fine. And tonight’s not my birthday. It’s just a regular Monday night, so eating alone is no big deal.

  “I’ll pass on the wine. Water is fine.”

  He pauses, like he really thinks I should get the wine, then says, “I’ll come back later for your order.”

  Before I look at the menu, I glance around the restaurant. It’s a modern upscale place filled with small round tables meant for two. The lighting is low and soft jazz music plays in the background.

  Now I get why the staff keeps asking if someone will be joining me. It’s a date restaurant. Single people don’t come to a place like this. It’s for couples.

  I didn’t know that before I got here. I just needed a place to eat. This restaurant is only a block from my apartment so I thought I’d try it. I moved into the apartment a few weeks ago and I’ve been meaning to check out the neighborhood. It’s not really a neighborhood. The apartment is downtown Minneapolis so it’s surrounded by tall buildings and trendy restaurants, like the one I’m in now.

  The downtown apartment is my very first apartment. It’s part of my new life. The new Morgan. The grown-up Morgan. I’m trying to be more adventurous, which is why I decided to try this restaurant and dine alone. My life is in desperate need of some adventure because so far it’s been pretty boring. It’s not like I wanted it to be boring. It just turned out that way after the accident.

  I was 13. It was January and school let out early because of a blizzard. I got home, curled up on my bed, watched afternoon soap operas, and ate junk food as the snowflakes outside my window got bigger and piled up on the ground.

  My mom called from work telling me she’d be late due to the storm. She worked on the other side of town and traffic always slowed to a crawl when it snowed. By 6 that night, Dad got home and we waited for Mom. But she never came home.

  As in never again.

  From that moment on, I just focused on getting through each day. I stopped going out. I stopped hanging out with my friends. I basically stopped living. At the age of 13.

  It was a time in my life when I should’ve been discovering boys and makeup and fashion, spending weekends at the mall, talking nonstop on the phone, and driving my parents crazy with my rebellious teenage ways.

  But instead of doing those things, I stayed at home and took care of my dad. He didn’t need to be taken care of, but I didn’t know that. I thought it was my job. And he let me do it, maybe thinking it would somehow help me get through that time. But looking back on it now, we were both wrong. Because the best thing would’ve been for me to get on with my life. To do all the things that kids that age do.

  I don’t blame my dad. He didn’t know what to do with a teenage girl. He’d been counting on my mom to get me through those years. He did the best he could and aside from my lack of social skills, I turned out all right. I went to college here in town and got a degree in food science. Now I work in a lab at Nature’s Way Cereal, creating ready-to-eat organic cereal.

  “Serena?” A deep voice wakes me from my thoughts.

  I look up and see a man standing next to my table, holding his hand out. He has jet black hair and deep brown eyes and he’s smiling at me. But since my name isn’t Serena, I’m guessing he’s meeting a blind date here and thinks I’m her.

  I take a moment to consider my options. What if I just pretended to be this Serena girl? Doing so would certainly qualify as being adventurous. But then Serena wouldn’t have a date. But I’m sure she could find another one. With a name like Serena, I bet she gets tons of dates. Serena sounds exotic. The name alone would draw a man in. Morgan, on the other hand, sounds like a last name. Or the name of a company. It’s dull, practical, and not the least bit exotic.

  “Excuse me. Are you Serena?” He asks it again.

  “Um, yes. Have a seat.” The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  “I’m Luke.” He smiles and sits in the chair next to me. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too.”

  “Can I get you a drink?” He’s still smiling, his teeth sparkling white.

  “No, thank you. Water’s fine.”

  “So Jackie said you work at the agency?”

  Agency? What agency? I stare at him, not sure how to answer. And then I come to my senses.

  What the hell I am doing? This is crazy! I can’t pretend to be someone else. Steal someone’s date. I really need to get a life. And a date. A real date, not someone else’s.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not Serena.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m not Serena. I’m not your date.”

  “I don’t understand.” He sits back in his chair, trying to get some distance from me now that he knows I’m insane.

  “I was just pretending to be. Sorry. You just surprised me when you came up to my table and—”

  “Yeah, okay.” He stands up a
nd shoves his chair back in place. He almost seems mad, or maybe he’s afraid of me. “Good luck with everything.”

  He takes off to the hostess stand.

  Good luck with everything? What does that mean? Good luck ever finding a date? A man? A life?

  I watch as a tall brunette approaches him. She’s wearing a red dress and three-inch heels. She’s gorgeous. And exotic-looking, just as I thought.

  The waiter comes back to my table. “Are you ready to order?”

  “Yes, I’ll have a vodka tonic.”

  “Um, okay.” He seems surprised, given that I turned down the wine earlier. Now I’ve skipped straight to the hard liquor. “Would you like anything to eat?”

  My eyes are still on Luke and Serena. They even sound like a couple. Like one of those couples on a soap opera who are rich and always look perfect and have sex all the time.

  Luke escorts her to the bar, his hand on her lower back as he whispers something in her ear.

  “Ma’am?” The waiter’s still standing there. “Are you going to order?”

  I sigh and look back at my menu. “Do you have burgers here?”

  “We have a prime rib burger with a portobello mushroom sauce.”

  “I’ll have that.” As he turns to leave, I say, “And bring two vodka tonics.”

  “So someone is joining you?”

  I scowl at him.

  “Oh. Sorry.” He scurries off to the kitchen.

  This is the last time I eat alone at a restaurant. Okay, maybe it’s not the last time, but I’m never going to a date restaurant again.

  I should’ve stayed home and eaten one of the meals in my freezer in front of the TV.

  Maybe I’m not ready to be adventurous.

  CHAPTER TWO

  2

  The next morning at work, I go to the break room and find Kayla standing there. Kayla and I work together in the product development lab. We’re both food scientists. We occasionally go out after work, but we don’t have much in common so we’re not best friends. Kayla likes to party and date as many men as possible, which is the exact opposite of me.

  “Hey.” She scrunches up her face. “Did you stay up all night? You look like crap.”

  “Thanks a lot.” I roll my eyes at her. Kayla doesn’t filter her words. Whatever she’s thinking comes straight out her mouth. “And no, I wasn’t up all night. I slept a full eight hours.”

  “So what do you want to do tonight?” She bends down to put her lunch in the refrigerator. Her skirt, which is way too tight, rides up as she reaches to the very back of the middle shelf and yanks out yesterday’s lunch, which she never ate. She tosses it in the trash behind her, then stands up, tugging her skirt back down her legs. It still barely covers her. At least today she has a sweater over her lacy silk camisole, which I’m pretty sure is meant to be worn under a blouse, not as a top.

  Kayla is tall and thin with rather large breasts. She has a great body and she likes to show it off but I think she’d look a lot better in clothes that actually fit her.

  “I don’t want to go out tonight, Kayla. It’s supposed to snow and you know I hate going out in the snow.”

  She runs her hands over her hair, smoothing the static flyaways. She has long, straight hair that she dyes a shade of blond that is way too light for her skin tone. She tans year-round and doesn’t get overly tan, but tan enough that her bright blond hair is too much of a contrast to her skin.

  “We live in Minneapolis, Morgan. It snows here half of the year.”

  “Yeah, and I don’t like going out in it.”

  “I’ll pick you up so you don’t have to drive.”

  “It’s not that. I just don’t want to go out.”

  Truthfully, I wouldn’t mind going out, but I can’t go out at night when it snows. When it’s dark and it snows, it reminds me of the accident and I just want to hide in bed until it stops. I know that’s ridiculous, given that it’s been 10 years since it happened and I live in a city where it snows all the time. But that’s where I’m at now.

  “Stop being such an old granny and live a little.” Kayla rinses out her coffee mug, then fills it with the office coffee. I don’t know how she drinks that stuff. It always tastes old and watered down. “Getting out more was your New Year’s resolution, remember?”

  “I had too much to drink when I made that resolution. I take it back.”

  “I’m not letting you. It’s the middle of January. You made that resolution a few weeks ago. You can’t give up already.” She takes three sugar packets, rips the tops off them all at once, and dumps them in her coffee. Maybe loading it with sugar makes it drinkable. “Let’s go to that club on Hennepin tonight. It’s two for one drinks.”

  “Clubs aren’t really my thing.” I open the freezer and try to find a place for my frozen meal but it’s so jam-packed there’s no room for my skinny box. “Why do people bring this stuff to work and never eat it?”

  Kayla ignores my struggles with the freezer. “I’m in the mood for a guy with tats and piercings. And that place on Hennepin is loaded with guys like that. Plus, cheap drinks!”

  “Any room in there?” I turn to see Chase Carlson standing behind me. He works in the finance department and he, too, has a frozen meal that needs a home.

  “Hi, Chase. What are you doing down here?” I ask because Chase works on the second floor.

  “I’m working down here for a few days while they reconfigure the offices upstairs.” He goes around me and starts pulling stuff out of the freezer. “They just hired a bunch of new people and now they need to make room for them. You’ll get some new hires on this floor, too. And I think they’re moving marketing down here.” He shoves his boxed meal in the freezer. “Here, give me yours.”

  I hand it to him. “Thanks.”

  Chase seems like a nice guy. I’ve talked to him at a few of our company events. He’s 25, tall, blue eyes, with bright blond hair. One of those Minnesota Swedes.

  Kayla saunters up to Chase, holding her coffee cup with both hands. “Morgan and I are going out to that new club on Hennepin tonight. Do you want to come?”

  “Actually, I’m not going,” I tell Chase. “Kayla’s going.”

  He rearranges the packed freezer, trying to fit my box in. “Sorry, but I’ve gotta work tonight. And tomorrow night. And this weekend.”

  “That sucks.” She sips her coffee as her eyes wander over Chase’s body. He does have a good body. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Muscular. He must work out a lot.

  “What’s with all the late hours?” I ask him.

  “There’s just a lot of work to get done and my department is short-staffed.” He shuts the freezer door. “I need to get to a meeting. I’ll see you guys later.”

  He takes off and Kayla and I head to our desks. We share a cubicle since we spend most of our time in the lab.

  “I saw you checking out Chase just now.” I open my desk drawer and take a granola bar from the stash I keep in there.

  “He’s cute but boring.” Kayla sets her coffee down and turns on her computer.

  “You barely know him.”

  “I know him.” She looks at me and grins. “Well, I don’t really know him, but I know the part of him that counts.”

  “What does that—” I stop as I realize what she means. “You didn’t!”

  “I did.” She leans back in her chair, smiling.

  “When did this happen?”

  “Last summer. After the employee picnic. I seduced him after he’d had too many beers.”

  “I thought he had a girlfriend.”

  “Did he?” She shrugs. “Well, if he did he didn’t act like it.”

  “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else. So did you go out with him again?”

  “No. Once was enough. Like I said, he’s boring. But he’s hot. You should see him without clothes. The boy’s in shape. And I have a thing for blonds. Plus his name is Chase. He practically begged me to come after him.”

  “So how do you know he’s bori
ng? Was he boring in. . . you know?” I don’t want to say it at work.

  “In bed?” Kayla has no problem saying it. “No. Not at all. He was great, actually. But that says nothing about his personality.”

  “You can’t just assume he’s boring. You should go out with him. He seems like a really nice guy.”

  “He is, but I don’t want a nice guy. I want someone who’s complicated. A challenge. Someone who excites me.”

  “I’d take a nice guy, but I can’t seem to find one. At least not the right one.”

  “Because you sit at home all the time.” She spins her chair around to face me. “Let me set you up.”

  “No. Absolutely not. Your taste in guys is not at all like mine. I don’t even want to think about the type of guys you’d set me up with.”

  “I know your type.” She turns back to her computer. “Tall. Short hair. Clean shaven. Athletic. College grad. Likes sports, but not obsessed with them. Confident, but not an ass. Can fix stuff around the—”

  I laugh. “Okay, so you know my type.”

  “We’ve been friends for almost a year now and despite what you think, I do actually listen to you sometimes. Plus even if I didn’t know you, I could tell your type just by how you look.” I notice her staring at me as I grab a file from the drawer. “Dark brown hair that’s not colored and that you keep a few inches longer than shoulder length and straighten so that you blend in with every other woman with that hair style. You don’t wear much makeup because you prefer the natural, girl-next-door look. You always wear fake diamond stud earrings, never anything dangly or too flashy. You wear skirts that hit just above your knees or basic black dress pants. And you pair them with sweaters or blouses like my mother would wear. Oh, and you wear the same black heels every day. You really need to get some different shoes.”

  I look down at myself. “I dress professionally. And there’s nothing wrong with my hair.”

  “I didn’t say there was. I’m just saying that I know your type just by looking at you.”