C3 The ONE

Why did I agree to this? I stood in front of El Guacho Seattle and pressed a hand against the cold handle of the door. It swung open easily, soft jazz accenting my entrance as I scanned the upscale restaurant. The tux-attired waiters all moved about in quiet grace as the dimly lit room echoed with romance.

If only.

I took a deep breath and approached the host. “Hi, I have a reservation for Meredith Blane?”

The gentleman nodded once then swiped his iPad. “I see. If you’ll wait just a moment.” He signaled to a server and shortly after that, I found myself weaving around and between tables to the sound of silverware softly clinking against china.

The waiter paused before an empty table. Apparently, I was first to arrive. Good. I took the seat that faced the door so that I could watch Jackson’s entrance. I wanted to be sure I didn’t miss anything simply because it would be easier to write details about others’ reactions rather than my own.

Writing was easier than feeling.

The waiter came and filled my glass with ice water then disappeared before I could even thank him. As I took a sip of the cool liquid, the door to the restaurant opened and I watched as Jackson Meyer walked in. There was an undeniable grace to his stride, but a noticeable cocky strut that accented that grace.

I needed to take notes.

He paused in front of the host, said something, and then was led toward our table. His gaze scanned the room, nodding to people as they stared.

As if he was completely used to the attention.

As if it was his natural state… being noticed.

When the waiter paused before the table, Jackson Meyer nodded to me and sat. “You must be Meredith?” He held out his hand for me to shake.

“Yes.” I cleared my throat. His hand practically swallowed mine.

“A pleasure.” He winked and relaxed in his chair, one arm resting on the back, his other resting on his leg.

Honestly, I was surprised the man fit in the chair to begin with. He was huge. And true to his headshot, smoking hot.

I must have been staring because he gave me a boyish grin and winked one of those exotic blue eyes. “Yeah. They’re real. No contacts.”

“Oh. Yeah that’s good to know.” Please, could it be more awkward? I took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to level with you right away. I’m in this for the details. I’m sure you’re aware of how Rox.com will be presenting my ‘experience’ while dating you, but I wanted you to be aware that I’m not expecting… anything.” I glanced away.

I‘d been wrong. Clearly, I could make it more awkward.

“Ah, I see. I’m cool with that.” He nodded. “But let’s not make any decisions yet. The night is young.”

“Ah, yeah. It is.” Damn it. “So how about we start with a type of interview? So I can get to know you?”

“I’m all yours.” He winked again.

Let’s stop with the winking. With a deep breath, I dove in.

And two hours later, I wished I had never met Roxi for coffee.

In fact, I was contemplating ruing the day we met in kindergarten.

According to Jackson, he wasn’t just a second string fullback for the Seahawks. He was an ex-marine who was discharged before he saw action and then took out his aggression on the football field.

His words.

Not mine.

And Google is not a liar’s friend.

Because after I left the restaurant, I Googled his name, I was led to his Facebook page, where in his About Me profile, his story was completely different.

Liar, liar pants on fire.

I shook my head at the keyboard as I read.

Because Jackson Meyer moved to Seattle last year from Miami, was not on the Seahawk’s roster, and didn’t have any military experience.

But he did join PETA a few years back — exactly when he said he was a Marine.

I blinked at the screen.

Yeah, okay Roxi, how do you want me to spin this one?

I thought about sending her a text, but honestly, what could she do?

Nothing.

So, I pulled out my laptop and lied.

Through my clenched teeth.

And dreamed about what it would have been like to date a real football star with some serious aggression issues tempered by some fine military training.

That… I could work with.

So, with a literary finesse I didn’t know I had, I sent off the first e-mail, notifying Roxi that a second “date” with Jackson wasn’t necessary.

The sunshine poured through the Pike Place Market coffee shop as I wrapped my hands around a warm mug of coffee, totally distracted by the moss green eyes of Logan, the local guitar legend. He was a total hipster with his long, perfectly trimmed beard and red flannel shirt. Black, thick rimmed glasses completed the look, magnifying the enticing hue of his eyes.

“You want to know a secret?” he asked over his steaming green tea, and I actually relaxed.

There was no creep factor.

And he hadn’t winked once.

Score!

And I may or may not have stalked him on Facebook before the date.

Silence is golden.

“Oh? I love secrets,” I flirted. I mean, why not? Logan was actually someone I was excited to meet. He was a musician who played in local coffee houses. He was also a small business owner with a rural farm. I mean the guy had business smarts, could sing, and loved animals.

This… this I could work with.

“Of course.” I shrugged, curious as to where he was leading.

“Good. I have to play this next set and I’ll be back… with my secret.” He set his tea down and walked over to the small stage made from repurposed pallets. After slinging his guitar over his shoulder, he stood in front of the mic and started playing Adele’s ‘Hello’.