Page 22 of The Blind Date

Cedric tried to reach across the table to take the bill from me. I let him, and while he was distracted with celebrating the small triumph, I whipped out my card and slipped it into the machine Logan patiently held out.

“What? No! What are you doing? Don’t do that!” Cedric called out to me, but he was too late. I had already punched in my pin and pressed the green button, and the machine had started printing my receipt. “Why did you do that? I was going to pay for it,” he complained.

"You already think I look like a mouse and don't shut up. I don’t want you to think that I’m a gold digger as well.”

And with that, I grabbed my purse and my coat and walked away without a glance back.

Never in my life had I met a man more self-centred, rude, and full of himself than Cedric Barlowe! I had no idea what Alina and my parents were thinking when they set me up on this blind date.

Cedric and I couldn't have been a worse match for each other if we tried.

Despite the night’s shambles, I refused to let this ruin my Friday evening. It was just shy of ten which gave me enough time to meet up with my friends for a few drinks and some dancing. The perfect way to forget about this sham of a blind date.

The only consolation I had to take away from tonight was that I would never have to see Cedric Barlowe again.

ChapterFour

Today was Sunday, aka day two of the raging hangover I had been suffering from thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol I had consumed Friday night, and again last night.

Frankly, I blamed Cedric Barlowe. If he hadn't put me in such a bad mood, then maybe I wouldn’t have drunk so much on Friday, and it wouldn’t have driven me to make myself several margaritas when I was sitting in front of the TV and feeling sorry for myself.

Ten blind dates in four days. That had to be some sort of record, right? I would endeavour to find out but didn't want to face the embarrassment of explaining why I was so desperate to meet someone.

Luckily, after a full English for breakfast and Dad’s secret hangover cure, I was feeling much better today. Just in time for Sunday roast.

My parents weren't traditional in most senses, but one tradition they did uphold was Sunday roast. Sundays were marked off on my calendar as family day. It was rare that I did anything else on a Sunday. Even when my parents were travelling, I would find someone to drag to have a roast with me.

After the surprisingly tiresome weekend I’ve had so far, I couldn’t imagine anything better than a hearty Sunday roast to tie up the weekend.

"Mum! Dad!" I called as I let myself into our family home.

“Are you drunk?” Mum asked me the moment I walked in through the front door, never one to beat around the bush.

“No, I’m not drunk.” I denied with a frown, kicking the door shut behind me. “What makes you think I’m drunk?”

“You look like you’re working off a terrible hangover.”

Great, and just when I thought I had beat the hangover and was back to my usual sober self.

“I got drunk on Friday, but I'm not hungover anymore,” I admitted part of the truth.

Getting drunk once or twice a week was no big deal, but my parents would see it as a cry for help. They always worried about the smallest of things. That, and they would somehow find a way to pin this on the fact that I was still single and had never had a long-term relationship–that's if you didn't count three months as a long-term relationship. Mum certainly didn't.

“Does that mean the date went well?” She all but squealed, and I wondered if she would start jumping up and down like an overly excited child. “Oh, I knew you would love Cedric! I knew the two of you would get along splendidly! I said that didn’t I, Don?”

“Now, now, dear,” Dad chuckled from where he stood in front of the mirror, his fingers fumbling over the material around his neck. "Don’t get ahead of yourself there. They’ve only had one date. It’s far too early to get excited.”

“Sometimes, one date is all it takes.” Mum beamed in excitement, but the expression quickly fell off her face when she returned her attention to me. "You really do look a sight, honey," she tutted. "Are you sure you're not still hungover?"

"Trust me, Mum. I'm not hungover. I used Dad's secret hangover cure."

“Oh, then she’s definitely not hungover.” Dad grinned. “My hangover cure never fails. It has a 100% success rate.”

I sent Mum a pointed look and grinned in triumph when she huffed before heading upstairs to finish getting ready.

“Why are you wearing a tie?” I asked curiously, approaching Dad to help him out with it. You’d think that after more than thirty years of wearing a tie, he would know how to do it himself.

“Your mum has decided that we’re going out for Sunday roast today,” he told me, dropping his hands to let me work my magic. A loop over, under, across, and then tighten.

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