The Corruption of Mila by J.F. Jenkins

Chapter One
     
    Blind dates suck. There's no way around it. Sure, some people meet the love of their life and live happily ever after. Others have the most awkward night of their life. No matter how the evening goes, the anxiety of getting to the date always puts a pretty heavy damper on the whole thing. At least with a normal first date, you know the guy/gal first. You don't have to worry about if he's cute, if you're going to get along, that kind of thing. Why? Because you at least know there's a small bit of common ground to base the date on. Even if it's just: oh hey, you're cute, let's go out! At least it's something . That's not the case with a blind date. And let me tell you, a blind date was kind of the last thing I ever wanted to go on. Okay, not kind of – it was. Who even does that anymore, anyway? Hello, we're in the twenty-first century. People don't set our friends up on blind dates, people go out with people they meet over the Internet and hope they aren't creepers.
    Somehow, I let my best friend Morgan convince me that a blind date, on Valentine's Day of all days, would be an amazing idea. “Don't be alone on the most romantic holiday of the year!” she said. “That's the most pathetic thing you could ever do to yourself!”
    No, the most pathetic thing is going on a date, just for the sake of going on a date, all because it's Valentine's Day. I had perfectly awesome plans made for my night alone at home: kung-fu movies and Chinese take-out. There were no plans to wallow bitterly either. Okay, maybe a little bit of wallowing. The point is, I didn't ask or need a blind date. Yet, Morgan was able to guilt me into going anyway. Then again, with a name as delicious as Jax, how could I go wrong?
    So I put on my cute, tight, black pants with my matching corset top and long trench coat, and went to meet this guy at the swanky Brazilian barbeque restaurant downtown.
    “Can I help you miss?” the hostess asked, looking up at me from her podium.
    “I have a reservation. Should be under the name Jax?” Just saying his name gave me butterflies. It was so sexy. He had better have a tattoo… or five.
    The hostess glanced over her list, nodded, and then picked up a menu to lead me to the table. I swallowed, following her, and immediately began to play with my dark hair. A nervous tic, and one I've always hated. It seems too obvious, you know what I mean? Plus, I didn't want to ruin my hair before I even got to meet my date. There was plenty of time to do that later. Wink, wink.
    I went around at least five corners before I got to my table. We were way in the back of the restaurant which made for a nice private atmosphere, sure, but the anticipation made knots churn in my stomach.
    “Your table,” the hostess said.
    The table was the farthest from the front and tucked away in the corner. The young man sitting at the table with his back to the wall had the menu up over his face. He lowered it slowly, giving me a peek at a rather beautiful set of blue eyes, accompanied with tousled, dark hair. The menu was set onto the table top and he stood, giving me a better view. I had pictured tall, muscular, and a little rough on the edges. Some scruffy facial hair or maybe a scar, and an outfit that was more bad-boy-sexy than business casual.
    Jax on the other hand was average height, clean-shaven, and wore a long-sleeved, navy button-down and khaki pants. The guy had some muscle definition, because I noticed how the shirt clung to his chest in all of the right ways, and his biceps bulged ever so slightly under the fabric. He worked out, which was always a plus, but there was more gentle than tough in him. Something about him was vaguely familiar too, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
    “M-Mila right?” he asked. He actually stammered. I wasn't quite sure what to think about that. In some ways it's sweet that he was nervous enough to stutter, but it was also a little bit of a turn off. Okay, not a little bit – a