*** The Worst Blind Date Ever
by Kimberly Llewellyn, Contemporary Romance Author / NOR Author Page
The blind date. Who hasn’t had one? For some people, the very words can evoke excitement but for others, those same words could send a shudder down their spine. Just getting ready for a blind date can bring on anxiety and angst. Sometimes a blind date can go surprisingly well; others times, sheer disaster.
If you are a redhead like me, you might not get many blind dates. Men are terrified to take a chance on a carrot-topped girl. Telling a guy you want to fix him up with a redhead is worse than saying, “She has a great personality.”
Hence, I had only one “official” blind date in my life and it turned out disastrous.
I was spending the summer working in Provincetown, Massachusetts, at the very tip of Cape Cod. My roommate Tracy and I had the night off from our waitressing jobs. I looked forward to a quiet night in, while she had a big date lined up. She’d met a handsome, rugged seaman whose ship was docked at the city wharf for a few days. Tracy was excited, but she acted rather strangely toward me as she got dolled up for her date.
When the blond, buff seaman came to the door, he brought a friend. Fully intent on fixing me up with him for the night, Tracy knew all about the planned surprise attack and didn’t tell me. A forced blind date? On my night off? I didn’t want to go. The guy wasn’t my type. He, too, was a sailor, but the scruffy kind built like a bulldog with a personality to match. I’m not shallow, so looks weren’t the problem, and I’m all for spur-of-the-moment fun, but I really did not want to go out.
After much begging from Tracy, I finally agreed. Why not go out as friends and just have fun, right?
Within minutes, the salty sailor had his paws on me. He kept holding my hand, putting his arm around my shoulder, and then wrapping it around my waist as we walked through the streets of Provincetown. I kept trying to regain my personal space but he’d haul me back into his arms once again and parade me through the streets. He kept trying to kiss me as if we were a longtime couple in love. I was horrified.
Was this a typical blind date?
The four of us finally ventured into a small, quiet restaurant where you could sit at a table in the tavern and play board games.
Good. A board game. Something safe.
While Blondie-the-Rugged-Sailor canoodled with Tracy, my blind date kept trying to canoodle with me. I kept fending him off. So much for the board game. I tried to go with the flow, really I did. I was young and naive, and so I tried to be polite. But I reached my limit. I was so fed up, I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room. Once out of sight, I made a sharp turn and headed toward one end the bar. I slipped the bartender five bucks and whispered, “You’ve got to help me get me out of here.”
As he stood behind the old, wooden bar and considered my plight, he finally nodded. He lifted a section of the flip-up countertop and motioned for me to come through. He took a big chance lifting that bar door and helping me. But I hesitated. I’d never been behind a bar before. As a waitress, I was pretty sure I wasn’t allowed behind that bar. I didn’t want to break a food-and-beverage law or anything. But I also didn’t want to go back to the blind date. I heard voices coming. Panicked, I crossed the pass-through and then ducked behind the bar. From there, the bartender ushered me down along the bar and out a back service door, calling, “Good luck!”
After rushing down the wooden stairs at the back of the restaurant, I ran through the streets of Provincetown back to my cherished cottage, locking the door behind me.
Did I feel scared or threatened by my date? No, not at all. Did I see myself ever agreeing to another blind date? Certainly not. (And I never did.)
Am I proud of what I did? Not really. I felt bad bailing like that. In fact, I felt terrible...for about ten minutes because but I also felt so free!
Later that night, Tracy returned home. She wasn’t too happy I’d pulled a disappearing act but she understood. She knew from the start the bulldog sailor wasn’t my type. After all, my blind date turned out to be a redhead.
So that is the story to my first, last, and only blind date.
As for Ivy Hammond and Kip Lockehart in my contemporary romance, Almost a Bride, these two people find themselves in a situation more harrowing than your average blind date. They both agree to participate in an off-the-wall sex appeal study before they even lay eyes on each other. Talk about pressure!
So what about you? Have you ever been on a blind date? How did it go? Perhaps you had a bad date in general. Have you ever ditched a date? I’d love to hear about it! Feel free to share in the comments section for a chance to win a trade paperback copy of Siren Call, my paranormal romance.
I’m sorry, Ivy. To be blunt, you’re too much Madonna and not enough whore. You always will be. The callous words still echoed in Ivy Hammond’s head as she paced her apartment balcony. Exactly one month ago to the day, her fiancé—ex-fiancé, that is—had used those very words to explain why he was breaking off their engagement. Four weeks before the actual wedding date. A New England, springtime wedding that should have taken place today. Instead of exchanging wedding vows on this sunny May day, Ivy had spent the better part of the afternoon hiding out on her apartment balcony, mulling over the key phrases that still haunted her. Too much Madonna, not enough whore. Her ex-fiancé had wanted more. More adventure. More risk. She’d told him she could do that, from rock climbing to cliff diving. But he’d explained he’d wanted more adventure in the bedroom and he couldn’t have that with her. Even after a month, and an entire afternoon of pacing, Ivy still couldn’t shake those words from her head.
Nor could she forget her initial reaction when Travis broke the engagement. She’d merely stood there in stunned silence while he recanted his offer of marriage, his expression deadpan. When he held out an open palm to take back the ring, she’d been too dumbfounded by his tactless statement to do anything but comply.
When the initial shock wore off, she was left confused by what Travis meant. She was too much Madonna? After a little online research, Ivy learned about the Madonna/Whore Complex, a concept that wielded a dual-edged sword. Travis may have wanted to marry a sweet, virginal, upstanding young woman, the kind of woman you take home to Mother, but between the sheets, he wanted a wildcat. A hellion. A woman to be reckoned with sexually.
She could be all those things, couldn’t she? She’d later tried to tell him she was more than happy to learn and explore such uncharted territories with him. He just had to be patient. But he’d turned her down, bluntly saying he shouldn’t have to take the time. Her cheeks still cooked in humiliation over his flat-out rejection.
Ivy halted her pacing and gripped the balcony railing for support. While she stared out at the other buildings’ rooftops that spanned the horizon of Leeview, Massachusetts, she struggled with the incessant sting that came with being accused of possessing the lukewarm sexuality of a “nice girl.”
She turned to her best friend who sat at the glass-top patio table. As Karina read her nursing newsletter with one hand, she gripped an icy glass of lemonade with the other. All the while, she chomped heartily on her nicotine gum. The woman knew too many ways to keep her mouth occupied while trying to lick her smoking habit. A monumental task for a person who’d puffed her way through nursing school, right up to taking a new job at the pulmonary unit of the local hospital.
“Karina, you don’t have to stay with me. Really, I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’ll be desolate and mateless forever.”
“Desolate and mateless? What’s with the marital fatalism? You’re only twenty-five. We’re talking your first broken engagement here.”
“I’m in no mood to argue the point. I’ve already got enough love-life problems on the brain.” Ivy resumed her back-and-forth stride, feeling like a caged-in panther, instinctively anxious and desperate to lunge free.
“See? I knew you’d be upset today. That’s why I came,” Karina remarked. “Who wouldn’t be freaked out? What you’re going through is perfectly natural. It makes sense to be so upset.”
“Me? Upset? Why would I be upset? Today was supposed to be my wedding day. But it’s not. I was supposed to have a beautiful seaside wedding. But I’m not. And why? Because Travis wants a woman who’s a gold medal Olympian in the bedroom, a nasty girl.” Ivy let out a growl.
“Trust me, Ivy, you better come to terms with Travis’ sex hang-up now. Every man suffers, to some degree, from the Madonna/Whore Complex.”
“Maybe so, but I don’t have to stand for it!” Ivy threw her hands into the air out of exasperation.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-winning author, Kimberly Llewellyn, introduces a sexy fun story about two people who discover they have a lot more to share between the sheets than they ever bargained for.
Ivy Hammond got dumped at the altar, all because she was too much of a good girl in the bedroom. So when a research study on sex appeal needs participants, she jumps at the chance to learn what it takes to be sexy.
Kip Lockehart owes his foster brother his life. He repays the debt by agreeing to participate in a new sex appeal study. From the first sizzling assignment, Kip is immediately intrigued by the lovely Ivy, who’s innocently curious about what makes a woman sensual. Kip is more than happy to show her. But as each passionate assignment brings them closer, he fears they may break the study’s number one rule?don’t fall in love. But when he can’t stop picturing Ivy as his bride, he sets out to convince her some rules were made to be broken.