1 - The Wrong Right Person
876 Words
Ava Carter stood in front of her full-length mirror, chewing nervously on her bottom lip. Her best friend, Harper, had convinced her—bullied her, really—into this blind date. “You’ve been single too long,” Harper had said with a dramatic sigh, “You need romance. Real, breathing, dinner-paying, smoldering-eye-contact romance.”
Romance. Ava adored romance. She’d seen The Notebook more times than she cared to admit. But blind dates? That wasn’t exactly her thing.
Still, here she was, adjusting the delicate spaghetti strap of her soft blush-pink satin dress. It was mid-thigh, subtle yet flirty, hugging her curves just enough without screaming desperate. She'd curled her shoulder-length brown hair into soft waves, leaving a few loose strands to frame her round face. A touch of rose-colored lip gloss, mascara, and a dab of her favorite vanilla perfume completed the look. Cute, feminine, hopeful.
She glanced at the time. 6:58 p.m.
The restaurant Harper chose was one of those dimly lit, high-end places that screamed “expensive first impressions.” Ava walked through the glass doors, heart thumping against her ribs. The host led her to a small table by the window, set for two. White linen, flickering candlelight, and a perfect view of the city lights outside.
She checked her phone. No texts.
A moment later, the chair across from her scraped the floor.
She looked up—and froze.
No. Freaking. Way.
Standing there in all his tall, tailored, infuriating glory was Ethan Blackwell.
Her ex-boyfriend’s boss.
He wore a dark charcoal suit, perfectly fitted, paired with a black shirt and no tie, his collar slightly undone—just enough to reveal a peek of his tanned skin and the sharp line of his jaw. His hair was dark, styled carelessly in a way that somehow looked effortlessly hot. And his expression?
Mildly annoyed. Mildly curious. Mostly bored.
His icy gray eyes met hers—and for a moment, time paused.
He blinked.
She blinked.
Recognition flashed through both their faces at the same time.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ava muttered under her breath.
Ethan arched one perfectly groomed brow. “Ava Carter,” he said coolly, his voice a low, velvety rumble. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
She straightened in her chair. “Likewise. Are you… is this your table?”
He slid into the seat across from her, not even asking. “Apparently. Blind date. My sister set it up. Said the woman was ‘sweet, pretty, and in need of a real man.’” His eyes flicked down her dress for a heartbeat before returning to her face. “Guess that’s you.”
Her cheeks burned. “Don’t sound so excited.”
He gave a small, crooked smile, almost amused. “You clean up well.”
“And you’re still a jackass,” she said sweetly, picking up her water glass.
Their eyes locked again. His gaze was sharper now, curious. Something unreadable flickered in those silver irises—something that made her chest tighten. He didn’t look away.
Neither did she.
The tension stretched—hot and buzzing.
Ava broke it with a soft cough and a fidget of her napkin. “We should… probably leave. This is awkward.”
Ethan leaned back, one arm slung over the chair. “Or,” he said lazily, “we can stay. Eat. Drink. Pretend we’re not both stuck in the worst setup of our lives.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Pretend?”
He smirked. “We tell everyone we’re dating. Saves us both from future blind dates and nosy friends. Win-win.”
She stared at him, incredulous. “You want me to fake-date you?”
“Temporarily. A week, tops.” He tapped the table lightly. “You’re cute. Harmless. And not clingy.”
“I could be clingy,” she said defensively.
“You’re not,” he said flatly. “You’re the girl who dreams about cuddling babies while watching Disney movies.”
Ava gaped. “How do you know that?”
He gave a dry laugh. “You dated Connor. He never stopped talking about how ‘soft’ you were.”
Her stomach turned. The mention of her ex was like a splash of cold water.
But something else itched at her too. This man—the arrogant, handsome, unreachable Ethan Blackwell—had noticed her. More than she realized.
And now he was staring again. Not just casually. Deeply.
His eyes had dropped to her lips, then flicked back up with unsettling precision. “So,” he said smoothly, “what do you say? You play my fake girlfriend. I’ll buy dinner.”
Ava leaned forward, matching his tone. “And what do I get?”
His smile widened, slow and wicked. “Me.”
Her eyes rolled before she could stop them. “Lucky me.”
Yet she didn’t move. And neither did he.
The candle between them flickered, casting soft shadows on his sculpted cheekbones.
Ava sighed. “Fine. One dinner. One story.”
Ethan lifted his glass. “To the best mistake we’ve ever made.”
Their glasses clinked.
And under the table, their knees brushed—just briefly.
But neither pulled away.
- Writer
