Blind Spot

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2018 Jessie Pinkham

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-835-8

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For my readers, with thanks.

  BLIND SPOT

  Romance on the Go ®

  Jessie Pinkahm

  Copyright © 2018

  Chapter One

  Friday

  Ben needed to take acting classes.

  His matchmaking projects would be so much easier if he could simply drag two unresisting individuals together, tell them, “I can sense when people will be a great couple, and you two are,” and call it a day. Unfortunately, that would result in being laughed off at best and psychiatric evaluation at worst, so he had to resort to more subtle means of introducing lovers.

  At present, this meant pretending to like small, yappy dogs. He wasn’t sure how convincing he would be, but he only had to stall the creature’s owner for a few minutes until her match came around the corner for a jog. They just missed each other every day. This kind of near meeting was a problem with routines, but the very predictability of their schedules gave Ben something he could use to get them close enough to notice each other. It was just a matter of playing the dog card right.

  Frankly, he’d have preferred to feign interest in the woman herself, as opposed to her miniature dachshund. He might not want to date or sleep with women, but he liked them perfectly well in all other contexts, which was more than he could say for little dogs with big attitudes and bigger mouths.

  The dog owner’s match was a woman, though, so there was no telling if she was bi and agreeable to flirting with a guy, or a strict lesbian who’d tell him to fuck off, if not in so many words. Ben had been burned that way before, and it was orders of magnitude harder to get people together when one of them kept giving him death glares. The task was already complicated enough, and he wasn’t looking to make more work or, worse still, blowing the chances of ever getting these women together.

  It was just for a few minutes, he reminded himself. Once a couple got close to each other, they were usually able to sense their connection. Maybe they didn’t know it was true love or destiny or whatever you wanted to call it, but they were drawn to each other regardless. Cupid’s arrow, the Romans used to call it.

  Ben wondered if there were people with his gift back in ancient times, going around trying to set people up the way he did. He liked to think he was the latest generation in a long line of matchmakers that stretched through all of human history.

  Regardless, in the here and now, it was time to move, so he approached the woman with the dachshund. Pets were always a great help with uniting lovers. Firstly, he suspected that some of them were able to see how their owners fit together. He’d seen animals acting in ways that seemed to serve no purpose except move their owner towards a match, though he was no animal expert, so he couldn’t swear to it.

  Besides the occasional assist, people loved to talk about and show off their pets. You couldn’t ask for a better conversation starter than an animal. It didn’t even matter what the creature was, so long as it was a beloved pet and you acted utterly charmed. Ben had once brought a couple together over an iguana that took walks on a leash.

  With one final wish that the dog in question was something friendlier and less barky, even a reptile, he pasted on his best smile. “He’s cute,” he told the woman, pretending to be interested in the dachshund terrorizing an obese squirrel not much smaller than its own size. Confident little bastard. “I’ve been thinking about getting one myself.”

  She smiled, and Ben began to think he might just be able to pull off the dachshund-lover act. “They’re great dogs. I should warn you, though, they aren’t for everyone.”

  “Oh? Why’s that? I don’t want to get a dog if I’m not able to take good care of it.”

  That was true, as far as it went. It also worked like a charm. She started talking about stubbornness, energy levels, and assorted other aspects of dachshund ownership, and if he missed some words here and there due to barking, it didn’t matter. All Ben had to do was nod appreciatively and say this was good to know.

  “Of course, it’s all worthwhile to me,” she said. “He’s such a character, with a big personality. He brightens my whole life.”

  Her love life was about to get a whole lot brighter, because her match was walking a beagle down the path. Perfect timing.

  Most people couldn’t sense what Ben did, and as a consequence there were no adequate words to describe it. Individuals were like puzzle pieces to him, and he could see when two fit together. There was a limit to his ability, in that he could only keep track of so many puzzle pieces at a time. All the same, he knew. He could wait in line behind someone getting coffee, and then sit next to another person in the dentist’s office five miles away and realize they were meant to be together. Then the trick was to force a meeting, a feat often easier said than done.

  In this case, he was lucky. These women really weren’t a challenge to get together, aside from pretending to want a dachshund. Ben had once resorted to pouring hot coffee on himself to get attention, and he didn’t want to repeat that trick, even if it’d worked and resulted in his greatest triumph to date, the formation of a triad.

  He nearly always dealt in couples, and it was reliably beautiful to watch one meet for the first time. The beagle owner turned her head to look, slowing down slightly. She smiled, and when it was returned, she tugged her dog over towards the dachshund woman.

  Funny how he could play an instrumental role in people’s lives and never even learn their names.

  “Oh, look at the time,” he said to the dachshund woman. Not subtle, but she didn’t appear to care. Her attention had shifted to the beagle woman. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the info. You were really helpful.”

  “Glad to help.”

  She was even happier to have him leave as the beagle woman approached. Ben’s work was done.

  When matches got close together, they tended to be drawn to each other, as though they somehow knew, even if they couldn’t explain why. Maybe they didn’t see in the same way as Ben, for whom it was a matter of two puzzle pieces locking together, but they had an inkling all the same. He just had to arrange the initial encounter, and everything else would fall into place. No arrows involved.

  Arrows would’ve been easier. There were matches out there which Ben knew of but hadn’t been able to bring together, and those bothered him, even though he tried to be realistic about the difficulties he faced.

  This wasn’t one of those tough cases, and the flirting was underway as he headed out of the park. It made the five days of preparation worthwhile. Nothing fulfilled him the way bringing lovers together did, and he’d be riding high on the satisfaction for at least a week.

  He indulged in a glance behind him, and his success was clear as a brand-new window. Anyone with a passing knowledge of body language could see the women were interested in each other, and for Ben, they were magnets latching tightly.

  Matchmaking was Ben’s calling in life. It made for an unusual hobby, to be sure, and not one easily explained to perplexed friends. His gift wasn’t something he went around discussing, so yeah, people thought he was
weird sometimes. Then again, they’d think him even weirder if he did talk about his sixth sense, so he couldn’t win.

  Ben wasn’t concerned about being seen as an odd duck and hadn’t been since the hellish trial known as middle school. He had an unusual gift, and he was secure enough in himself to accept that it made him different. Not many people loitered around parks and schemed to bring strangers within noticing distance of each other. Actually, he was the only person he knew of who did so, and that was fine. If he wanted to fit in, he would rarely get to enjoy the fulfillment which matchmaking brought him.

  The sheer rightness of his success surged through Ben, making him whistle with satisfaction as he headed to the parking lot. Another couple was together, so the state of the world had improved because of his efforts. It was the best kind of day.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. Caller ID told him it was Isaiah, which was weird on a Friday night. Lately Isaiah’s Fridays were taken up by the new guy he was seeing.

  “Hey, Ize.”

  “You wanna come over? My Friday nights are free for the foreseeable future.”

  He wondered if this was a “hit up Redbox and order pizza” kind of going over, or the “condoms and lube are already on the nightstand” variety. This complication arose when a Grindr hookup turned into a friend with occasional benefits. It probably didn’t help that they’d never actually talked about any of it.

  “Sure,” he said, because he was happy enough to hang out with Isaiah, whatever was planned. “Want me to bring pizza?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Food was clearly an afterthought for Isaiah, so it would be pizza followed by sex. And probably a movie afterwards, if Isaiah stayed true to form and felt like company while he declined to talk about what happened with the latest guy.

  It was too bad for Isaiah that this man failed to appreciate all he had to offer, but Ben’s evening had improved dramatically as a result, so he didn’t feel as bad as he probably should have.

  ****

  Isaiah’s new beard had finally made it past the awkward growing-in stage, and Ben could now say with honesty that it was a good look on him. Ruggedly handsome, even. He hadn’t been sure he’d like Isaiah with a beard, as he found them very hit or miss, but this one was of the neat and trim variety, like the close-cropped hair on Isaiah’s head, and Ben was rapidly developing a new appreciation for the look.

  “I’ve decided the beard works for you,” he said.

  “Thanks.” Isaiah rubbed his hand over the facial hair. “It’s not going anywhere. I’ve decided shaving is for you white guys who don’t get razor bumps.”

  “We still get them sometimes.”

  “Every damn day?”

  “Thankfully, no.”

  “I rest my case.”

  “Not exactly judge and jury here,” said Ben.

  “Whatever.” Isaiah’s curt tone made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for small talk on the finer points of personal grooming. “Let’s eat.”

  Ben handed over the extra-large pizza, double cheese on half because Isaiah liked a lot of cheese when he was in a bad mood. He, on the other hand, didn’t care for extra cheese, so he made sure to leave that half of the pizza for Isaiah. Too much cheese was like chewing on a rubber ball, and it sat in his stomach about how he imagined rubber would, too.

  They ate their first slices in silence. Neither of them was prone to chatter just to fill quiet, and Isaiah had a low tolerance for chitchat when he was in a bad mood, which he undoubtedly was if the scowl indicated anything.

  Ben guessed the split had not been Isaiah’s idea. That always hit hard. It was too bad there weren’t more people who shared his gift, enough that it was common knowledge and people would believe matchmakers when one came bearing good news. It would help more people find their ideal partners and avoid a lot of heartbreak. Of course, he wasn’t sure entirely how that would play out in practice, but it was a moot point anyway.

  In deference to Isaiah’s understandably sour mood, Ben didn’t bring up his latest round of playing Cupid. Rubbing salt in the wound would be a jerk move, even if in other circumstances he liked having someone with whom he could share his triumphs.

  Before starting in on another slice, Isaiah said, “I’m starting to wish your cupidar worked in reverse and you could tell me when someone is going to be a disaster. It’d save a lot of time.”

  Aside from family members, there were four people in the world who knew about Ben’s gift. Isaiah was the latest to learn, when Ben was maudlin and drunk six months back. He took the concept in a stride, though he did insist on calling it “cupidar” over Ben’s objection to the stupid word.

  “Sorry, no can do.” It happened that people could forge a successful relationship without being the kind of match he could spot. His gift wasn’t comprehensive, though he could tell when people were a guaranteed fit, and anything else was rolling the dice.

  His parents had rolled the dice and lost spectacularly, so Ben had a very low opinion of that gamble.

  “Do you think everyone has someone out there who will ping your cupidar?” asked Isaiah between unenthusiastic bites of pizza.

  Ben shrugged. “No idea. There’s a distinct lack of comprehensive studies on the subject.”

  “Maybe you should work on that.”

  “No thanks. I like my anonymity. Besides, my talent isn’t predictable.” He could never promise to find anyone’s partner, even if he’d wanted to. Sometimes he went weeks without finding any couples. Not exactly conducive to scientific study, which suited him just fine as he had no desire to be prodded and interrogated, and that was presuming the researcher took him seriously, which he wouldn’t bank on. “I can’t perform on demand.”

  “So you’ve said.” Isaiah looked thoughtful for a moment. “It’s a damn shame about that, or you could open a business and make a killing.”

  Ben used to think so, when he was eighteen and trying to figure out what to do with his life. A decade had given him perspective to appreciate that some things were best left uncommercialized, and he counted his gift among them.

  Besides, he didn’t mind his job. Working as a receptionist was, if not thrilling, an excellent way to meet people, and while the salary was mediocre, the 9-to-5 gave him time to work on his matchmaking. He could never do Isaiah’s job, which occasionally involved getting called out to emergency elevator repairs after dinner. Overtime pay was all well and good, but it required sacrificing too much of one’s free time for Ben’s liking, even if Isaiah did make quite a bit more money than he could realistically hope to.

  “Well, I’d better be the first to know if you ever happen across my perfect man,” said Isaiah.

  “You got it.”

  Selfishly, Ben was in no rush for that. When Isaiah was dating someone, he necessarily had less time for Ben, and that always sucked. Ben had other friends, but Isaiah was special. Not just because they fucked, enjoyable as that always was. He mattered on a different level.

  Ben was no idiot. He knew what it could be when someone meant more to you than your other friends. He also knew how often trying for a relationship failed spectacularly, ruining a great friendship in the process, and he wasn’t inclined to risk Isaiah on the wager. More often than not, these bets turned out very badly. When love twisted into hate, people became monsters capable of inflicting horrible damage even on innocent parties. Ben knew this from his parents’ exceptionally bitter divorce, and any life choice that could end with a person using their child as a weapon against their ex was not a path he wanted to travel.

  He wished his grandfather was still alive to meet Isaiah, because then Pops would’ve been able to tell him if they were a match. Now all he could do was hope his cousin sobered up or by some miracle he found another person with his gift. Maybe he should see if there was a secret message board for this kind of talent.

  After all, Cupid couldn’t shoot himself. Ben was his own blind spot, so he had no way of knowing if he and Isaiah were destined to make a
great couple or not. It was disconcerting beyond all measure to look at other people and simply know, and yet have no clue whatsoever about himself. This explained his chronic singledom.

  In the meantime, he and Isaiah were fantastic friends who sometimes hit the sheets together. It could’ve been a lot worse, and Ben tried not to dwell on any lingering dissatisfaction with his life. He wasn’t setting himself up for a protracted, messy breakup, and in his experience, avoiding such a trauma was worth not acting on a long shot.

  Couples who weren’t a perfect fit broke up all the time. Friends, statistically speaking, stuck around much longer, and having Isaiah in his life was infinitely better than not, so friendship was a better choice.

  They didn’t finish the pizza. Sex wasn’t as fun if the blood was going to your stomach instead of your cock due to stuffing yourself beforehand. When the leftovers were in the fridge Isaiah said, “I don’t want to think right now.”

  He sometimes preferred to let Ben make the decisions so he could turn his brain off, and that suited Ben just fine, not least because it was an action he could take to make his friend feel better and escape shitty reality for a while. The sexiness didn’t hurt, either.

  “I can be persuaded to take care of the thinking.”

  “Yeah, your dick is reliable that way.”

  This wasn’t just Ben’s dick, though it was admittedly signaling enthusiasm for the prospect. He wanted to give Isaiah happiness even more than he wanted to get off, and he also had an inkling that his priority here suggested he might need to reevaluate his stance on risk aversion at some point.

  If only there was a way to know. The more these thoughts about Isaiah niggled at him, the more annoyed he got that he could, at least in theory, discern ideal partners for everyone else in the world and meanwhile be blind and deaf to his own man. But there was no way to find out, not at present anyway, and Isaiah was there asking for him to make the evening a sexy diversion, so that was exactly what he intended to do.