Matchmaker 06: June

In addition to what I suspected was lurking under his loose-fitting clothes, he was sporting a close cropped, neatly trimmed, dark beard that rode just below his cheekbones into a well-trimmed mustache. Not the three-day stubble that some thought passed for sexy either, but a real beard. Combined with his dark, soulful eyes, neatly cut hair in a timeless masculine style, and the deepest voice I'd ever heard from an actual man, I suspected he had to beat women off with a stick. What did he have to be shy about? Despite how he looked, he acted like a bashful boy. He couldn't hold my gaze for very long, and other than answering my questions, we'd spoken little.

"So, what are we doing for dinner?" I asked, trying to draw him out again. "Eating in or out?"

"What would you like to do?"

"Can you cook?"

He smiled. It was a nice smile, his teeth impossibly white against the darkness of his beard. "Yeah. Want me to make you dinner?"

I thought about it. That would be a unique experience, a man cooking for me. "No. Do you mind if we go out? I'd like to relax after my trip."

"If that's what you want to do, but I don't mind cooking for you while you prop your feet up."

"No, that's okay. It's not fair for you to do all the cooking."

"I cook for myself at home, so it's no bother."

"Would you rather eat in?" I asked, wondering if that was why he was reluctant to go out. I smiled to myself. Maybe he had other plans, though I wasn't going to sleep with him on the first night, no matter how panty dropping handsome he was.

"No, no. Whatever you want to do is fine."

I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. "What would you like to do?"

He shrugged. "I'm easy. Anything is fine."

I sighed. "Let's go out then. What do you want?"

"Anything. Like I said, I'm easy."

"Okay," I said, drawing the word out. "What won't you eat?"

"I'm sure I can find something no matter where we go."

I tamped down my rising annoyance. Didn't the guy have an opinion of his own? "Seafood?"

"Sounds great."

Somehow, I knew it would. "Okay, great. Since we missed lunch, I'm starving, how about you?"

"Uh, sure."

"You had lunch?"

"Well, I grabbed a quick bite while waiting on your plane, but we can still go."

"If you don't mind."

"Not at all."

"Can we take your car?"

He paused, then nodded. "Okay, sure."

"You don't want to?"

He snorted out a chuckle. "No, it's not that. It's just that it's so damned hot down here."

"We can take the Range Rover if you prefer."

"No, the Chevy's okay. I'm sure it'll start cooling off after the sun goes down."

"That's three hours from now, at least."

He grinned. "Then we'll have a leisurely dinner."

We talked it around until we agreed on a place for dinner. Agreed as in he let me choose. Before we left, he hunted around in the kitchen until he found a garage door opener. With an easy way back into the house, we backed out of the garage, and as we worked our way through town, I realized he was onto something about riding in an air-conditioned car. Still, his Chevy was awesome, and I wanted to enjoy it as much as I could. I could ride in a Range Rover any day.

By the time we arrived at Drum Island Seafood, we had lapsed into a slightly awkward silence again. We were early for the dinner rush and were seated at a table immediately.

"So, tell me a little about yourself," I said after we'd been seated, still trying to draw him out. I'd agreed to meeting him with the expectation of having a fun and adventuresome month, not sitting around and staring at each other in silence.

"Nothing to tell."

"Huh-uh," I grunted. "There has to be more to you than you won't fly and used to play college hockey. Did you get recruited for professional hockey?"

He grinned and shook his head. "Nope. Not good enough. But really, that's about all there is. Have you heard of Rockford Tire?"

"Yeah, I think."

"My family owns that. I'm the COO, Chief Operating Officer, for the company. I like to restore old cars, and I have about a dozen, and that's about it."

"What does a COO do?"

"Make sure the dealers are doing what they're supposed to, make sure the facilities are kept up, that sort of thing. I do the same thing a store manager would, except I do it for the entire company."

I waited but he didn't continue. Most guys loved to talk about themselves. "So that's it?"

He nodded. "That's it. Since my dad started the business, we've been a retailer only, but we're getting squeezed by the manufactures and their corporate stores on one side, and the discounters selling cheap, poorly made, imported tires on the other side. I finally talked Dad into expanding, so we just bought a tire plant Goodyear was closing, and we're going to start manufacturing our own line of off-road tires. Once we get our feet under us with that, we'll begin introducing passenger tires. That one plant can supply all the tires we'll need for the foreseeable future."

"That was your idea?"

"Yeah. Been fighting for it for years."

At least he had an opinion on something. "But he didn't want to do it?"

He shook his head. "No, not really, but we had to do something if we wanted to stay relevant. That should come online in about six months. That's why I wanted to do this now, while I could."

"This?"

"A vacation. First one I've taken."

"Ever?" I asked, trying to keep the shock out of my voice.

"If by ever, you mean getting out of Bismarck for more than a couple of days at a time to do something fun, yeah."

"How long as it been?"

"About fifteen years."

"Fifteen years?" I asked, unable to keep the shock out of my voice. I had to have a mini vacation after every book or I burned out.

"Yeah. I started working for Dad when I turned sixteen, mounting tires. I became an assistant store manager while I went to college, a district manager when I graduated, and now I'm COO."

"Wow."

He smiled. "Yeah. I'm tired."

"Do you even have a life?"

"Outside of work?" He looked down, his eyes suddenly sad. "No, not really."

"Then you need to relax and enjoy this opportunity," I said, feeling a little sorry for him. No wonder he was slightly timid. He was out of practice in having fun.

"What about you?" he asked as our meals arrived.

"Ever heard of Rose Griffin?"

He shook his head. "No. Should I have?"

"No, probably not. She's a writer."

"Okay... oh! You're her?"

I smiled. "Yeah. Rose is my middle name, and Griffin was my mother's maiden name."

"That's really interesting. What do you write?"

"I have a series of books about a female police officer working in Philadelphia. Bridget Nelson? You've probably never heard of her, either."

"No, but as soon as we're done here, I'm finding the nearest bookstore. How many books have you written?"

"Under my own name? Six. The first four I'd written as an independent author, but about a year ago I got picked up by Wellington Press. I've written two for them, and they've rereleased the other four."

"That's amazing," he said, the admiration in his voice, so different than what I was used to, filling me with a pleasant warmth. "I may not get all six read before I have to leave to go back to Bismarck, but I can start them. Will you sign them?"

I snickered. I wasn't big enough yet to go on book tours, but hopefully with the marketing muscle of Wellington Press behind me, that would soon change. "Sure."

"Great! Thank you. You're the first famous person I've ever met."

"Hardly famous."

"More famous than me, though that's not saying much."

While we ate, conversation was tough. He was pleasant enough, but he didn't hold up his half of our tête-à-tête, and as dinner began to wind down, I was ready for the meal to be over. If this were a regular date, I'd begin making my excuses to get out of there.

He paid and escorted me back to his car. The sun was still shining brightly, and it was uncomfortably warm as I sat down on the cloth and vinyl seats. He started the car and over the next half-dozen stop lights, he searched his phone.

"Here we go," he finally said, typing his phone to start the guidance prompts.

"You read much," I asked as we entered the bookstore, trying one more time to get the ball rolling.

"No. Don't have time. I like to read, though."

And that was it. With a sigh, I lead him to the mystery section and found my books. They were only available in paperback, but he pulled all six from the shelf without hesitation. We walked to the checkout, he paid, and we were on our way back home. We drove the entire way without a word being spoken as I watched the city pass by. When we reached the house where we were staying, he pulled into the garage, and as soon as he put the car in park, I opened my door and entered the house.

He followed and shut the door behind me. "Virginia? You okay?"

"Great," I said, my voice sharper than I meant for it to be.

I could tell he didn't know how to react to the disconnect between my tone and my words. "Have I said something to upset you?"

I rolled my eyes. "How could you say something to upset me when you won't talk to me?"

He held my gaze a moment. "Sorry. What do you want to talk about?"

I wanted to growl in frustration. "I don't know, anything."

I watched as he struggled to find something to say. "You like boats? There's supposed to be a nice one here we can use."

"Really? 'You like boats' is all you've got?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing," I snapped. "I just don't get you. I won't bite. Haven't you ever been with a woman before?" His face turned red, but I couldn't tell if it was in anger or embarrassment, and I hoped to hell he wasn't the thirty-year-old virgin.

"Yes."

I waited but he didn't continue. I gave up. "You want me to sign those?"

"Yes, please."

I pulled the books out of the bag, found a Sharpie pen in a kitchen drawer, and quickly signed them, Hope you enjoy the book! Rose Griffin. When I finished, I capped the pen and tossed it back in the drawer.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I think I'm going to turn in early. I've had a long day."

"Okay." He looked around. "I guess I'll sit up and read a little while."

Not even a good night kiss. Maybe he is a virgin. "See you in the morning." I stomped up the steps to my bedroom and stripped out of my clothes before stepping into the shower to wash off the day.

I'd signed up on Brooklyn's dating app because I was looking for someone to fill a hole in my life. During our interview, when she'd explained her service and what she offered, I'd explained how I was looking for someone 'normal,' someone that wouldn't be high maintenance like all my previous relationships had been. In the past I'd been drawn to people that 'got me' as a writer, people that tended to be artists themselves, typically writers or musicians. Until the last year or so, I'd been one of the masses of starving artists, barely making it, surviving by waiting tables while sales of my books languished.

I'd sit around with other like individuals, complaining about how our talent was wasted and how if we could just get a break, we'd be rich and famous. I'd never hidden the fact that I wrote with the intent to make money, not for the sake of art alone. When I was as broke as the rest of my friends and lovers, it didn't matter, but now that I had a modicum of success and could support myself with my writing, I found the constant complaints tedious at best and the sniping about how I'd sold out hurtful at worst.

I stood in the shower, allowing the water to pour over me. In the last year I'd moved into a nicer apartment in a better neighborhood, and once I did, I'd slowly lost touch with my group of friends as they subtly began to shun me. I was ready to meet someone new, someone without the baggage of the past, someone that could celebrate my successes without belittling them or being envious.

I'd thought I wanted someone who was 'normal' and 'down to earth,' but I hadn't realized that normal and down to earth were synonyms for 'dull' and 'boring.'

I slapped the shower off, stepped out, and began to dry. Shelby hadn't done anything to drive me away and I was free to leave at any time, so I'd give him a few more days to see if he came around. Worst case, maybe I'd take the Ranger Rover and explore the city and get some ideas for Bridget's next adventure. Maybe I could send her to Charleston on vacation in her next book, and I could use the time to soak up some local flavor.

I stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. I almost hoped Shelby would be in the room waiting on me, just for the surprise of him doing something unpredictable, but as I suspected, my room was empty. I opened the dresser and pushed aside the three racy pieces of lingerie I'd brought and shrugged into my worn but comfortable sleep shirt.

I dried my hair and snuck out of my room. The light was on downstairs. I paused at the top of the steps and looked down. Shelby was sitting in a chair, a beer close at hand as he read one of my books.

With a sigh I returned to my room and fell into the wonderfully large and comfortable bed. I'd never slept with a man on a first date in my life, and I wouldn't have with Shelby either, but it would have been nice if he'd at least acted like he was interested in fucking me. I sighed as I played with my phone. It was too early to think about going to sleep, but being alone in my room was better than being around Shelby and the tedium of trying to carry on a conversation with him.

I checked Amazon, reading the new reviews on my books. Finished, I sniffed in exasperation. Friday night in arguably one of the most romantic cities in the south, and I was sitting in my bedroom alone reading reviews of my books on Amazon. I need to start being more careful of what I ask for, because I might get it.

The big twin Mercury Marine inboards burbled as I carefully backed the boat out of its garage into the narrow canal. The boat was amazing, and with its flashy graphics of red and silver over white, it looked like it was doing a hundred miles per hour sitting silent in its protective shed. Once free from the garage, I spun the wheel, turning the craft for Schooner Creek, and beyond that, Charleston Bay. I was going to take it slow and easy until I got a feel for the boat, but once I got Banshee out in the harbor, where I didn't have to worry about hitting anything, I'd see what she had under the hood.

I smiled at Genny, as I learned she liked to be called, as she sat beside me while we puttered along the narrow, curving channel. It was our first time out in the boat, and she was wearing an eye-popping swimsuit. It might be a classic one-piece, but with its deep silver color and striped cutouts on the side to add some flair, it certainly flattered her. Her breasts were probably no larger than average, but on her small frame, they filled out her suit to devastating effect.

It had been almost a week since I picked her up at the airport. After the first night I was afraid she was going to tell me to get lost and demand I take her to the airport the next day. She'd stomped up to her bedroom, clearly upset with me, though I wasn't entirely sure why. I'd tried to make it up to her the next morning with a breakfast of eggs, ham, coffee, and fresh orange juice in bed, and that had done a lot to thaw her.

After she went to bed, since it was so early, I spent the evening reading the first Bridget Nelson mystery. I'd been drawn into the story and had read until almost two. I hadn't finished it, but I'd gotten close, and that afternoon, as we explored Charleston, we'd talked about the book and its heroine. That had thawed her even more. It was clear she wanted someone to talk to, but because I didn't know anything about her or her interests, finding something to talk about had been difficult the first day. I couldn't imagine she wanted to talk about the retail tire business, and so far, that had been my life.

Having almost completed the first of the six books gave us something in common I could latch onto. Once the ice was broken, I discovered other things about her. I didn't pry, but as I got more comfortable around her, I was able to pick up on little things to help me fill in the mystery of Virginia McKay. I'd discovered she was close to her mother but estranged from her dad, she liked animals, and she had a weakness for ice cream. I could see a lot of Bridget Nelson in Genny McKay, or maybe it was the other way around, and there was a lot of Genny in Bridget. I smiled as I thought about Genny's heroine. While they seemed to share a lot of personality traits, there was one big difference. Bridget was five foot ten, a black belt in Jujitsu, and could kick ass with the best of them.

We'd spent the day touring Middleton Plantation and finished the day with a ghost and graveyard tour that night. The tour guide had done a good job building suspense with eerie tails, and Genny had hung on my arm. That night I felt confident in offering her a good night kiss, and that seemed to please her. Later in my room, I'd finished the first book and started the second. It was during the second book that I began to really see the similarities between Genny's fictional hero and the woman behind the computer that brought her life.

The third night, after a day with a horse drawn carriage ride though the historic parts of Charleston and a ferry ride through the harbor where she'd been delighted to see a pod of dolphins cavorting with the boat, I'd kissed her good night with a little more passion, though I didn't try to take her to bed. I couldn't be sure, but she'd seemed a little disappointed when I left her at her room after the kiss.

Women were complicated creatures and I'd never had much luck with them. Hell, I was a year out of college before I'd lost my virginity. If I came on too strong, I got slapped down for being a horn-dog. If I held back, as I had with Genny, and treated them with courtesy and respect, I'd often get the feeling they thought I wasn't interested in them, and sometimes even worse, not interested in women in general. It was a delicate balancing act, and I'd fallen often. Her sneering comment about not being with a woman before had stung, but it was uncomfortably close to the truth. It was embarrassing that at twenty-eight I'd only been with two women before Genny, and I was a bit self-conscious over my lack of bedroom skills.

I looked at Genny again and couldn't help but smile. She was an amazing woman, full of life and passion, and so completely different than me. When we reached the much wider Schooner Creek, I cracked the throttles open a little more and Banshee responded. She was obviously a responsive craft and was begging for me to set her free.

Genny and I had gotten off to a rocky start, but things were improving. The fourth night, while watching Mother Nature's light show during a thunderstorm, I'd taken her lips for the first time outside of a good night kiss. As the storm raged outside, a storm of passion and desire had engulfed me. When she'd moaned softly as I kissed her neck, I'd asked her to my bed, and I'd done my best to make sure she had no complaints, focusing on her pleasure above my own. The next morning I'd brought her breakfast in bed again, and that combination seemed to have finally cleared the tension between us.

She was so incredibly beautiful and sexy, and the only thing I wanted to do was spend the day in bed making love to her, but I'd kept those thoughts buried deep. The first of my two other relationships had ended on the rocks when my then girlfriend left me because, as she said, 'You're nothing but an oversexed pig who doesn't care about my feelings!' It wasn't true, but balancing work and my social life had been difficult. Despite my best efforts, she'd felt neglected and claimed I cared more for work than I did for her.