Page 10 of Love is Blind
“Sorry, it’s packed tonight and the other bartender called out. How about a soda? Some bread? Anything that might absorb all that alcohol.”
Instead of trying to swindle another drink out of my cousin, I blurt the question that’s been on my mind since Ghost first sat beside me.
“What does he look like?”
My whispered question is greeted with silence.
Then she sighs and whispers, “Oh, Birdie.”
I swallow hard against the lump lodged in my throat.
“What?” I ask innocently. “I’m just curious.”
“You never care what someone looks like,” she returns.
My cousin is right. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve actually thought about someone’s looks and never in any of those times was it a guy. I consider it one of the perks of being blind, I get to imagine I’m sleeping with whoever the hell I want. But just this once I’d really like a face to match the voice.
Clearing my throat, I shrug my shoulders.
“Yeah, well, I’ve never met anyone named Ghost before so, tell me, is he tall, dark, and handsome?”
Emmy sighs again, and I reach across the bar, feeling for her hands. I give them a squeeze and hope the expression on my face shows how desperate I am for the information.
“Please?” I plead.
There’s another pause before she finally gives in.
“He’s rugged and rough around the edges, with sharp blue eyes and a stare that screamsdon’t fuck with me.”
My smile widens and I exhale. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath.
“What else?”
“He’s got a beard. It’s not ragged or unkept, in fact it’s really nice and there’s a hint of gray in there.”
“I love me a good beard,” I praise.
“You’re incorrigible.”
I laugh softly.
“Keep going. What color is his hair? Is he tall?”
“His dark brown locks are overdue for a trim,” she supplies. “And, yes, he’s tall. Probably has a good foot on you.”
“Tattoos?”
“Too many to count.”
I force another swallow and smile.
“Sounds like I did good,” I whisper.
Then she pulls her hands free from mine and the smile falls from my lips. You see being blind teaches you to read people in different ways and right now, she’s retreating which usually means there’s a but coming.
“Birdie, Ghost…he’s…well, he’s broken.”
Pinching my eyebrows together, I cross my arms over my chest and shrug. I’m not looking to sew his wounds and I’m not in the market for someone to sew mine. But maybe we can both forget those wounds exist for a little while. There’s no harm in that.
