Sindy Kate-01

CLYVE

All I COULD think at this moment was how good it felt to hit my bed and snore under my sheet.

Alone.

Not with the blonde who talked a lot— Emily.

She kept batting her eyelashes as she told me about her first photoshoot experience. She was a boudoir model according to her profile on HeartRated owned by my brother Skipper. She was a bit of a dish, I must say, but too dishy to be my type.

Skipper and his girlfriend, Arella created an account on my behalf. What so funny there was the not-so-original username they could ever come up with.

BritBond69. Seriously, who does that? The number 69 made it sound dirtier and naughtier to my fine personality.

Back to the fake blonde. I could see the evidence right before my very eyes—D cup to be precise. They jiggled when she giggled. It rhymed, huh?

I didn’t know if she did it on purpose to get attention from her date, or they just jiggled.

I wasn’t a boobman, but I knew women’s breasts if they were real or enhanced. I wondered if it felt uncomfortable when she ran on a treadmill. I thought they were pretty heavy, eh.

“Hey, you’ve been staring at my cleavage,” she flirted, and oh, they jiggled again.

I cleared my throat and smiled politely. “My apology.” They’re kinda distracting. “So how long have you been modeling?”

Bloody hell! Just bent up, Clyve.

Truth to be told, I didn’t date much back in college, and I barely able to graduate to even have time to fool around like my brother. I had one serious relationship since I was sober. Sadly, it didn’t work out. Then I got into trouble over fraternizing my co-worker, and things got nasty between us until I got fired.

This was how my brother came up with this idea—in getting me into this thing. Now I chatted up with my first date.

She sighed. I suddenly remembered her mentioning it earlier. She’d been modeling for two years. “So, you love photography?”

What? Oh, yeah, the profile.

“Yeah, I love photography, and I paint as well. Been doing it for years as part of my therapy. I'm planning on building my own studio—”

Her eyes slightly widened. “What kind of therapy? Wait, do you have PTSD sort of thing?” I didn’t miss the shake in her voice.

“Um, nah.” Shouldn’t I mention that on a first date?

She checked her watch, and I knew what would happen next. I wouldn’t be disappointed if she jilted, besides I didn’t want to go out on a blind date if this wasn’t for Arella and Skipper who didn’t give me much of a choice.

I shouldn’t be too ahead of myself, but dating apps like HeartRated were a site for people who were into one-night stands. I wasn’t like those—I didn’t want to end up in a hotel room or a woman’s loft that I barely knew. And God knows what will happen next.

“Thanks for tonight, Clyve. I had fun.” Did she, really? She took her clutch and slid off the barstool. Her exposed knee brushed up against mine. Then she finally stood up.

“Me too, Emily.” I nodded and smiled. “At least let me send you to the parking lot.”

“No, no. That won’t be necessary.” She forcefully smiled. “Bye!”

That was it. She was gone in a flash.

The music suddenly became too loud for my taste. The air thickened with a mix of perfumes and alcohol that could tempt me to order a drink. I gulped my lemon-lime drink, faced the bartender, and tossed him some bills.

Time to go to bed, Clyve. I sighed in dismay.

My brother forced me to come to New York with him. That arsehole believed my destiny was here. I knew he loved me and might have promised Dad to take care of me. No doubt, he would do anything in a heartbeat if I’d ask anything.

Since our dad passed away, he’d been an argy-bargy and asked me to go on a vacation and have fun. By the meaning of having fun, to gallivant and shag around like he used to do.

I couldn’t let him run the businesses alone, so I had to take some lessons and attend some training. I wanted to help him, and that was brother should do.

And that arse was with the love of his life that he’d been in love with for ages. Funny was, they had a kid. The cute little thing, Rynna just looked exactly like them.

I walked out of the bar, ignoring the tiny throb inside my chest.

***

I GROANED when my phone rang because I knew already who was it.

“Botha?”

“How’s your date?” Brill! It was Arella, the love of my brother’s life I mentioned earlier.

“She ran away before I could explain. Why do American are so frightened of someone who suffered from PTSD?”

“What? Why did you say that? You don’t have PTSD, CC.” CC, she calls me by that.

“Well, I mentioned I’ve been painting as part of my therapy. Then that’s it, she just thanked me and left like her arse was on fire.”

Her voice echoed through my ear as she laughed out loud. “Really? She thought you’re violent? God, you could barely harm a fly. And so what if you're suffering from PTSD? People get through it without harming someone. I guess she watched too many psycho-thriller movies that affect her tiny brain. You deserve someone better.”

“I won’t go on a blind date again. That’s terrible. It said on the app that we’re 75% compatible, and guess what? She doesn’t like me, and I can’t tell that she’s unattractive because she is, but she’s too attractive to be my date, you know. This whole thing is rubbish.”

“CC, that’s not exactly a blind date. Don’t give up too easily. You’ll find a woman who can blow your mind.” She laughed again.

“That’s the thing. I don’t want someone to blow my mind.”

“You know what I meant, CC.”

I scratched my head as I tried to make her understand my point. “I know, but dating doesn’t have to work like that.”