Blind Date Disasters Eat Your Heart Out

A book in the Anderson Twins series, 2001

Blind Date Disasters

Dear Reader,

I’ve never had quite so much fun torturing my characters as they navigate the tricky waters of love. Cami and Dimi, twins who are equally cursed in love, had decided to not even attempt it, but I managed to convince them otherwise. Cami, the more easygoing, whimsical twin, has a little problem with the word no. Which means she wears the proverbial doormat on her head that says “Oh please take advantage of me.” This is how she ends up going on one blind date disaster after another, only to discover love has been right beneath her nose all along.

Love is a four-letter word in serious twin Dimi’s mind. After all, it has never given her anything but grief. As host and chef of a cooking show, she decides food can be her life. That is, until her new producer walks onto her set and turns everything upside down, including her heart.

I hope you enjoy my special Double Duets.

Happy Reading!

Jill Shalvis

P.S. You can write to me at P.O, Box 3945, Truckee, CA 96160. And keep an eye out for my upcoming Temptation Heat, Aftershock, in September 2001!

1

THERE WAS NOTHING good to say about a Monday, especially a Monday morning, except maybe that the weekend was only five days away.

Cami Anderson hated Mondays with the same passion she loved Saturdays, so when the obnoxiously loud alarm clock on her nightstand went off for the third time, she nudged it gently.

Well, not so gently, since it flew right over the edge and crashed to the floor. But at least it went silent.

Sighing, she pressed farther into her soft, warm, comfy bed and tried to ignore the zealous morning sun spearing her in the face. She managed it, too, for one lovely moment, during which time she floated pleasantly in dreamland, which was filled with fattening food and gorgeous men. All the harsh realities of life, such as balancing her un-balanceable checkbook and pleasing her unpleasable mother, vanished.

But then something plopped on her head and she was suffocating, blinded, held down and…choking on fur.

“Annabel!” Shoving free, Cami sat up, spitting out cat hair. “Yuck!”

Finding herself unceremoniously dumped to the floor, the tabby sniffed. Her tail whipped the air, and after a moment’s reflection she leaped onto the bed.

“Meow.” She butted her head against Cami’s cheek.

“No, it’s not time for food yet.” Thinking she could catch a few more precious moments, Cami flipped over and buried her head beneath her pillow.

Mornings should be illegal. They needed a new law-the day should begin at a more godly hour. Say noon.

Never going to catch a man lying in bed all day, her mother always told her. Well, Cami was fairly certain one could catch a man doing exactly that-if a woman was any good at it, which apparently, given her marital status and lack of a single prospective date in the near future, Cami was not.

Annabel settled on her tush this time, fortunately a padded area, as she used her paws, claws extended, to knead the spot before settling.

“Ouch!”

“Mew.”

“Later,” Cami muttered, deliciously close to catching a few more Zs. She was past the checkbook, past her mother tsking, past everything and picturing herself on a beach.

A tropical beach.

A faraway tropical beach with really cute guys on it. Yeah, there was a picture. Bronzed and gloriously built. Naked, too, their hands filled with suntan oil, which they rubbed over her body and-

The doorbell rang, ruining that fantasy.

Cami groaned and tried to pretend she hadn’t heard it. Doorbells should be illegal, too, she decided. Maybe she’d change her plans and become a politician, just so she could make some new laws.

“Naked guys,” she murmured, hoping to coax her terrific dream back. “With lots of suntan oil-”

The doorbell rang again.

“Mew.”

Darn it! “Yeah, yeah. I heard it.” She couldn’t be faulted for not being a morning person. It was a personality flaw and therefore beyond her control.

“Coming,” she called weakly, staggering naked out of the bed, naked because, no big surprise, she’d once again neglected her laundry.

Who would be calling on her this early- Oh, boy. It was almost…she had to blink at the clock for a moment to be sure. Eleven? She shot a guilty look at Annabel, whose green, unblinking eyes stared right back, clearly vindicated.

“Okay, maybe it’s time for food,” she said, relenting.

“Mew.” Duh.

Cami’s head pounded. Her stomach quivered nervously. Strange, since she was usually healthy as an ox. “Thanks, Dimi,” she muttered, cursing her evil twin sister, who thankfully no longer lived with her. It had been Dimi who encouraged Cami to drink the two little itsy bitsy glasses of champagne in celebration, when Cami was a known lightweight who rarely drank at all. “Come on, Cami, it won’t hurt you,” Cami said, perfectly mimicking her sister.

The doorbell shrieked again, and she grated her teeth as the sound reverberated through her head, jangling her brain and hurting her teeth. “Coming!” Tugging her blanket around her, nearly tripping over Annabel in the process, she reached for the door, prepared to blast the visitor to bits.

Assuming it was Dimi. But then again, it was always Dimi, because other than her twenty-six-year-old twin, Cami didn’t have much of a life. Neither did Dimi. Sorry state of affairs that was for two former Truckee High School beauty queens.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. Cami, the clown of the family, had always had a sweet spot for a man with a ready smile and a quick wit. Dimi, the serious twin, preferred a man with the ability to hold down a job. There weren’t many to choose from, but they’d done their best.

Being single in today’s world was horrible. No matter that they’d both given it the old college try-dating, searching, yearning for Mr. Right.

Neither of them had found him.

Instead, they commiserated with each other on the sad state of the single male population. There was something wrong with every one of them. There was something wrong with society. There was something wrong with life, but the blame couldn’t lie with them.

Could it?

Deciding that it indeed could, they’d agreed to get lives.

Separate lives.

So Dimi had moved out of Cami’s town house and into her own…all the way on the other side of the small complex, which constituted an entire fifty-foot walk. Silly, maybe. But at least Cami no longer had to share her razors, and there were always potato chips in the cupboard when she needed them, which was often.

Cami hauled open the door. “Thanks a lot for the hangover-”

Oops.

Not Dimi.

Not even female.

Male. Oh, most definitely male. Gorgeous male. “I- You- Um…” Cami let out an unnerved smile and started over. “Hi.”

“Hi,” the magnificent male said, smiling into her confusion. He looked at Annabel, who was leaning on Cami, eyeing him as if he were breakfast. “Hi to you, too,” he said in a voice that could have melted the Arctic.

Annabel, who hated everyone except Cami on sight, left her mistress without a word and rubbed against his legs. They were very fine legs, too, encased in denim. Above those fine legs, were lean hips around which lay a tool belt. Above that was the finest-looking torso she’d ever seen, covered in a blue T-shirt and an unbuttoned plaid work shirt. And that was only the beginning, because then there were wide shoulders, a strong, tanned neck…and his frowning face.

“Do I have the wrong day?” he inquired. “I thought you said Monday.”

“Monday? Oh!” Cami gaped at him, then winced and held her head because thinking was a big mistake on a two-glasses-of-champagne hang over. “Oh, no.” It was all coming back to her now. Today. Her life. What she and Dimi had been celebrating last night. “You…you’re-?”

“Tanner James,” he said, holding out his big, work-roughened hand.

Oh, God. How could she have forgotten, even for a second, that today was the first day of the rest of her life?

Somehow between the dinner celebration last night and the pounding in her head this morning, she’d managed to forget everything she’d ever wanted was about to come true. She’d truly done it, she’d graduated design school and was officially an interior designer.

At just the thought, she grinned widely. It hurt, because everything anywhere near her head hurt, but she couldn’t contain herself. The clown, the screwup, the Anderson everyone was certain would never amount to anything but a good time, actually had a career right in front of her, a career she wanted with all her heart.

Even if she didn’t have any clean underwear.

Now all she needed were clients. And since appearances were everything, she figured she’d start with her own town house, fix it up, make it her own personal showcase. It wasn’t a bad place to start. The small complex, which consisted of only four town houses, was in the town of Truckee, right on Donner Lake, a place not only immensely rich in western history but California legend, as well. The structure had been built in the late 1800s, which meant she’d have to deal with the historical society, but that was a minor detail compared to the challenge posed by the browns, greens and hideous yellows of the early seventies that dominated the place.

Needing a master carpenter, she’d sent out plans, taken bids and picked a contractor. She’d figured on someone older, someone experienced.