The Blinding Light (11 page)

“Thanks.”

The little imp inside me couldn’t let it just go at that, though. “Can I run the package through the scan-and-read machine? Just to hear what it says?”

Patrick’s throaty chuckle reached through the phone and ran on a direct course to my groin where all the blood in my body soon followed. “I don’t think you’ll want to do that with this package. Wait to see what it is before you try. See you soon.”

The phone gave a little beep and I looked down in amusement at it. The man had hung up on me! Not that I needed him to say good-bye and blow kisses at me over the phone—although that would be nice. I shook my head and went back to mopping, suddenly realizing that there was a permanent grin plastered across my lips.

Pathetic, Jake! Absolutely, fucking pathetic.

True to his word, the doorbell went about fifteen minutes later. I bounded through the house and flung the door open with exuberance… only to find a fifteen-year-old pizza-delivery driver standing at the door with a bright-red pizza bag balanced on his hip.

I looked past his skinny shoulders in confusion but could only see a Domino’s Pizza delivery car in the driveway. If the boy was driving he must’ve been at least seventeen, but he still couldn’t read because I had not ordered pizza.

“Ahh…. Wrong house, buddy. What address are you looking for?”

The boy blinked and consulted a sheet of paper. “Number seventy-six, Birdwood Circus. This is the right house.”

“Oh. Yes, well that’s the address, but I didn’t order anything.”

He looked back at the paper and asked, “Patrick Stanford?”

Now we were both confused. Was this some sort of reality TV show where we were being secretly filmed? “This is Patrick’s house, but he’s at work at the moment.”

To the boy that was enough. He ripped open the red bag, pulled out two pizza boxes, and thrust them into my hand. “Two pizzas for Patrick Stanford. They’re already paid for, so you just need to hold on to them until your boyfriend gets home. Have a good one, man.” He waved and raced back to his car, afraid that I might flag him down and try to give him back two perfect pizzas that were already paid for.

Silly kid! Doesn’t he know how long it has been since I have had pizza?

I closed and relocked the door, taking the steaming food into the kitchen. They smelled divine and I had no idea what to do with them. Who had ordered and paid for them? Would Patrick notice if one piece was missing…?

The doorbell chimed again and I hopped up to answer it. This time it would be Patrick’s delivery.

But the man on the other side of the door wasn’t a delivery driver. In fact, he couldn’t drive at all. But he was gorgeous and I would’ve grabbed him and kissed him senseless if it wasn’t for the fact he had a big dog with him.

Oh, and of course the fact that he was technically my employer.

“Patrick!”

He smiled a crooked smile at me, as if he was unsure of his welcome. “In the flesh. Did you get my delivery?”

I was staring dumbfounded at him. “Umm. It hasn’t come yet. I thought you were it. Don’t stand there, man! Get in the house! Why ever are you ringing your own darn doorbell?”

He was wearing some stylish sunnies that I’d never seen before and a well-fitted, tan suit that looked professional and sexy at the same time. He was holding a white cane in one hand and a handle attached to a nifty little harness that Gregor was wearing in the other. It suddenly hit me that this guy was
blind
.
Disabled
. I’d never actually thought about him in those terms before, but he was undeniably at a disadvantage.

I stepped aside to let him through and caught a glance of the yellow taxi leaving the driveway. I had wondered how he managed to get to work each day, and I guess I had my answer.

He moved inside, taking three steps before crouching to allow Gregor out of his harness. With practiced fingers he undid the buckles and slipped the contraption off before giving the dog a brief rub and pat. “Good boy. Off you go now.”

Gregor shook himself and trotted off obediently to check out his food and water dish. Patrick stood and put his hand out to the wall, found his bearings, then hung up his white cane and Gregor’s harness on the hooks just inside the door. He turned suddenly and I found myself in front of him with less than a foot between us.

My heart stuttered to a halt before suddenly racing, beating double-time as I breathed in the unique scent that was Patrick. I wondered if he realized how close he was to me and how easy it would be for me to lean across and just touch our lips together.

Of course, that would be followed by a swift fist into my gut and a phone call to Mrs. Martha West….

“I thought you said my delivery hadn’t arrived?”

“Huh? What?” My brain was not functioning on high definition.

“My delivery. I can smell it from here.”

I blinked and turned my attention away from the mesmerizing plumpness of his lips to sniff the air. “Pizza?”

His grin was like the sun breaking out from behind the clouds on a stormy day. “Lunch. You couldn’t make dinner, so I made lunch instead. Now you need to eat it all because I sweated ever so hard over making it for you.”

My lips couldn’t contain the answering smile I had for him. “You did that for me?”

Patrick turned and slowly made his way down the hallway to the kitchen. “Of course. It took me absolutely ages and everything. You do not know how hard I worked to make lunch for you.”

I couldn’t contain the chuckle that bubbled up from my throat. “What? It took you all of five minutes to ring the store?”

He aimed a grin in my direction over his shoulder. “Two. And that includes the forty-five seconds it took to verify my credit card details. Now hurry up and get some drinks out while I get the plates. There’s a pizza with my name on it waiting for me.”

I wasn’t joking when I said it had been absolutely ages since my last pizza, so biting into the melted cheese was pretty close to heaven. I moaned in delight and closed my eyes to savor the taste as Patrick chewed on his mouthful.

“Good?” he asked.

“Mmm hmm,” I replied. “Best lunch date ever.”

“Good,” he said and sat back with a satisfied look.

I chewed for a while before it hit me that I’d said,
Best lunch date ever.
And Patrick had replied,
Good.

Good?

As in yes, this was a lunch date?

Holy happy-gay-men, Batman. This was a date?

But before I could think of a diplomatic way to ask that question, Patrick had kick-started the conversation with, “So how did your newspaper delivery go yesterday?”

We chatted about things as we demolished our meal. I told Patrick about Maria’s exams and Skylah’s swimming lessons, then asked about his work and research. He grumbled about a new employee at the perfumery who was treating him like he was made of fragile glass; then he asked about my job at The Tav.

“You should come down one night, Patrick. It would be great to see you down there. And I’m sure you’ll have a blast. The first two beers will be on me.”

He paused with his drink halfway to his mouth. “Are you serious?” His expression was puzzled and I stopped, trying to figure out what I’d said wrong.

“Ahh…. Yes? Why not? Are you allergic to fun or something?”

Patrick carefully placed his glass on the table next to his empty plate. “Jake, I’m blind,” he said, as if it explained everything.

I searched for the thing I’d said wrong. “Ye-esss…. And I’m gay. I don’t get the problem.”

“You want me to come to a crowded pub and have a couple of beers? And do what?”

I frowned. “I dunno, man. Do whatever. Dance for a bit. Pick up a chick. Have a conversation with a stranger. Listen to the music. Have a couple of beers too many. Whatever you want.”

He blinked rapidly and cocked his head to the side before reiterating, “Jake, I’m
blind
.”

“So? Dancing, drinking, conversation. They all require mouths and bodies. Nothing about eyes.” I felt like I was talking to a four-year-old.

He sighed and shook his head in bafflement. “I can’t go to a pub, Jake.”

“Why not?”

He threw up his hands in astonishment. “How am I meant to get there? I can’t take Gregor to a pub. Not with all those people and music.”

I shrugged. “So? Get a taxi. Give me a call as you leave and I’ll come out the front and show you inside. Once you’re on a stool you can drink and chat. Then, if you want to dance, give me a yell and I’ll grab someone to show you to the dance floor. When you’re out there you just move and rub up against whoever and stuff. The pub is cool—no steps or uneven floors. The only problem I see is if you need to take a piss. I can help you to the shitter then.”

Patrick looked at me with incomprehension. “You want me to dance? You want me to—quote—rub up against whoever—unquote? Are you crazy?”

I took a while to ponder that. “Crazy? Oh, definitely. But stupid because I want my blind friend to come out and socialize? No way. Come on, man. It’ll be a blast.”

“Jake, I don’t think—”

I cut him off. “I’ll introduce you to a couple of mates who’ll take care of you if I’m busy. Luke’s a good guy, and so’s Davo. And Sav and Tony. And Gary. I’ll introduce you to Gary as long as you don’t go into the toilets with him. That man is a total slut, and if you look at him sideways he thinks that means you want to fuck him over the toilet bowl, and he’ll virtually drop his pants right there and then. So don’t go in the loos with Gary or he’ll give you more than you’d bargained for.”

The man across the table looked at me with shock before he choked on his own spit. I nodded in agreement. “Yes. I know. I can introduce you to a couple of women too, if you want. Just stay away from that Marie. I’ve had a couple of guys tell me they have contracted pubic lice from her. You can cover your dick with a rubber but that ain’t gonna stop you from getting creepy crawlies off her. So if she asks you, then say yes to a blowjob if you want one, but for goodness sake don’t take her to the loos or to her car or anything!”

Patrick’s jaw was hanging open, but I was on a roll.

“And don’t even look at a girl if she tells you her name is Nicole. She has a big, mean fella at home who will hunt you down, then murder you three different ways before he’s done. She claims she doesn’t have a man, but this guy seems to have a different idea. So if you’re chatting with a nice girl and she says her name is Nicole, then quickly tell her you’re gay and run, man, run.”

“Ahh….”

“And Pepper….”

“Pepper?” Patrick looked terrified of what I might say, his eyes open wide behind the darkened plastic of his sunnies. And he was right to be scared.

I hesitated on what to say. “Well, I don’t know you that well, so Pepper might be right up your alley. Tell me, are you into handcuffs, gags, leather, and all that shit?” Poor Patrick was choking on his own saliva again. “I know, man. It’s not my scene either, so keep away from Pepper.”

He seemed to be having some difficulty swallowing. Maybe I had imparted a little bit too much information. “Ah, Jake, I’m not sure….”

I knew what he was going to say, so I cut him off quick. “So is Friday good for you? A Friday would be better than a Saturday. Saturdays are really busy, and sometimes you can’t even move. The dinner crowd moves on after eight, so coming about nine would be perfect. Yeah?”

“I can’t—”

“Sure you can. Look, come down and have a couple of beers on me, and then if you’re having problems you can disappear again. At least try it, Patrick.”

“I don’t know—”

“Come on. Are you a man, or do I have to start calling you Patti-cake?”

Wow! Was that the sound of a pin dropping?

“What did you just call me?” Patrick’s voice was full of venom as he narrowed his eyes in my direction. I gaily ignored the threat and began to gather the plates together. I ran the tap, filling the sink with hot water and soap to wash the dishes that had accumulated, deliberately ignoring the dishwasher.

“I didn’t call you anything. But I did say I
would
call you Patti-cake if you’re chickenshit and don’t come to the the Tav on Friday.” I grabbed the dishes and plunged them in the hot water.

Big mistake on my behalf. I didn’t hear the man move and I wasn’t expecting an attack, so when the firm, stinging slap landed on my arse I was surprised as all fuck.

“Hey!” I dropped the plate in the sink and whirled in astonishment, but Patrick had already moved out of the kitchen and was headed for the study.

He called back over his shoulder, “Make sure you clean that water off the floor too. I wouldn’t want to slip or anything. I’m blind, don’t you know?”

I looked down in chagrin at the floor and saw that I was indeed dripping soapy water all over the floorboards.
Smug know-it-all
. I smiled and called back, “Don’t go in the sunroom. All the furniture has been moved around so I could mop. Hang on…. With second thoughts, you should go in the sunroom. It might teach you a lesson.”

The bastard just laughed.