Page 43 of Accidental Blind Date

“No, it was not. But his phone was open to calls because once it went off, he just left.”

“Who was it?” Tom asks.

“A woman?” Summer asks.

“Delilah,” I answer.

“That skank,” Summer shakes her head. Then, “Who’s Delilah?”

“A woman whose identity is still a mystery. But her name has popped up on his phone more than once,” I say.

“Sounds important,” Tom says.

“Sounds skanky,” Summer sneers.

“You know what?” I cut in. “It doesn’t matter. Because he doesn’t matter. We fucked around and it was good and in the end, I’m the one who benefited from it. I had the ladder to leanon while he sucked my soul clean out of my body. He’s probably got bruises on his knees from all his time spent on the floor. He’s the loser here, not me.”

Both of them glide their eyes over to the ladder.

Summer bites back a smile. “Yeah you did…”

Tom frowns. “I’ll get the Lysol.”

With that, both Summer and I laugh, making our way to the counter. “So, what are you going to do?” Summer asks, reaching under the counter for her coffee from earlier.

“Nothing,” I give a one shouldered shrug. “Because nothing is going on. And nothing happened.”

“Well right now Tom is sanitizing nothing off the ladder over there which to me, a dateless nun, sounds a whole lot like something.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “Because we shouldn’t have done anything even if it was good,”more like great.

“Are you sure about that?” she asks.

“As long as Delilah and Poppy don’t stop blowing up his phone, yes. I am quite sure. I’ve made the mistake once–”

“Twice…” Tom’s voice chimes in between sprays of Lysol.

“Fine, twice. And it’s not going to happen again,” I say with as much resolve as I can muster. “For real. Who does he think he is anyways? Just because he has money and good looks and women chasing him day and night–”

“Daxton Andrew Hemingway,” Summer says his full name, and I look over to her scrolling on her phone.

“Wait. What are you doing?” I ask.

“You saidwho does he think he is?So, I’m looking him up.”

I let out a sigh and pull the duster out, sifting off surfaces so I can appear to be uninterested. Even though my peripheral is very much flashing over to her screen every few seconds.

“What’s it say?” I ask.

“CEO of Hemingway books. Business tycoon. Has been on the cover of Forbes.”

“Of course he has,” I mutter, dusting harder. “What else does it say?”

“Personal info is harder to find. No social media.”

“At all?” I ask.

“Zilch. Except…he was tagged on Facebook a few years back. By a woman.”