CHAPTER   1

 

         “Well, that sucked butt cheeks.” Creyton walked out of the restaurant, pinching the bridge of his nose, his usual refined, warmhearted decorum in shambles. Inside, his date was probably still bitching at the staff, or him, for that matter. Either way, he was more than tired of the whole damn thing.

           He slid into his car, settled in, then placed both hands over his face. He growled in frustration. Dating sucked! After a short moment, he drove home then sat in the car inside the dark garage for several minutes, thinking. Suddenly his phone went off, the music signaling a text. He lifted it. It was Brennen.

             Ding: Yo, Crey, any luck with the lady?

             Creyton stared at it for a second then replied. She even made the food taste bad. Send.

            Ding: Yikes, sorry, man. Waste of a night, yeah?

             Hell yeah. Dude, I am soooo tired of this dating bullshit. Send.

             Ding: HA, I can understand, man. So, what now?

             Now, I just forget all that BS and just work. Send.

             Ding: Gotcha. See you tomorrow, bro.

             Later, bro. Creyton put the phone back in his pocket and went inside.

                                                                                                                                                 ***

               A few months later, Creyton sat at his desk, signing a few papers. It was near the end of the day, and he was ready to head home. To do what, he wasn’t sure, but probably the usual. Listen to some blues, sip some gin, and either write or game a bit. He was in mid-decision when his phone dinged again.

              Yo, dude, have I got something for you to do tonight! It was Brennen, his COO and best friend.

             Oh, really? Well, if that entails me being your wingman tonight at the club, I am not feeling it, bro. Send.

              Ding: No, no. It’s better than that.

             Oh, better than that, huh? Alright hit me. Send.

             Ding: Say yes before I tell you. 😊

             Oh hells no. Last time I did that, I got stuck giving a guest lecture at the Community College on the effects of brand name verses label aesthetics to an economics class. No thank you. Tell me first!!! Send.

             Ding: LOL … okay, fair point. Look, I have a blind date set for you tonight.

             WHAT! Oh, MAJOR hells no. Cancel it. No more dates, period!! Send.

              Ding: Too late to cancel, bro. Come on, Crey. It’s been months since the last fiasco. Dude, you need someone. You were so happy with Abby. Come on.

             Creyton reread the message a few times. Brennen wasn’t wrong, even though he hated it. He ran his hand through his hair.                      This was not how he wanted to spend his Friday night.

              “Abby,” he whispered as he leaned back and glanced out the window. Two years since she passed away. Two damn years. Was he just being picky or had he lost his true chance at love?

             Who is this girl? Send.

             Ding: Yeah, alright listen. Her name is Amelia, and she is a friend of the friend of the girl I am seeing.

              Seeing? You. For what, the next two weeks? Send.

              Ding: Hey, not fair, but I can see where you would get that. Look, either way, this girl, from what I hear, is not like the usual snobby, brat type.

              From what you hear? Have you met this girl yet? Send.

              Ding: No, I haven’t, but I am telling you, bro, this girl sounds like a masterpiece. If I am lying, you can have three weeks of my vacation this year.

             Three full weeks huh? You are betting three weeks of your vacation salary on this? Send.

             Ding: Yup. Dude, I checked this girl out through a friend of my lady. I’m telling you, go see for yourself.

            Alright, dude, but I swear if this is BS, I’m going to be spending your funds on an extra-long vacation. Send.

            Ding: Deal. Now it’s at 6:30 p.m. tonight at The Mid-Park Café, obviously not formal. You will be thanking me come Saturday, brother. Ciao.

             Creyton plopped his phone down on his desk as he leaned forward, both hands rubbing his face. He let out a small growl. Through his fingers, he glanced at the clock on his desk: 4:30 p.m. He removed his hands but kept his head on his desk. “Ugh. Why me?” he said to the polished, wood grain, which didn’t answer back.

               An hour later, Creyton was standing in his steamy bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. His soft, light-brown eyes examined himself with more than critical assessment. His toned, athletic frame of 5’10” was nowhere near misleading, yet he frowned as he lifted his arm and checked his bicep… “Lame.” He ran his hands along his torso. Why? He had no real reason other than to let out a loud huff… “Lamer.” In truth, none of his statements were true. In fact, every woman he had been on a date with would have argued otherwise. However, he was just not pleased with himself. They had a term for this, of course.

His dark, chestnut hair came next. He combed and styled it with a practiced ease. His textured crew cut wasn’t hard to maintain, but he liked this.

                 “Okay, now we are talking.” He had no beard, or mustache whatsoever, so that was easy. He ran his hand over his jawline and chin. “Still good.”

                   A few minutes later, he was in his large walk-in closet, moving from outfit to outfit. Nothing seemed … appropriate for some reason. Yes, he had them already pre-assembled and ready to be simply picked out and put on. Yes, there was a term for this as well.

                   He sighed loud and long as he rubbed his chin with his hand. He then turned to the free-standing counter/dresser that took up the center of the closet like a small island. Here, he kept his casual clothes neatly folded in drawers. He shrugged and started going through them.