“I thought you said he wasn’t cute.”
“He wasn’t cute. He was drop dead fucking hotter than fuck.”
I hear her squeal, as I turn off the water and step out of the shower. Just as I’m about to lather on some lotion, there’s a knock at my door. “Hold on, Luna. Someone’s at the door.”
“Take me with you. We’re not done talking.”
I throw on the hotel robe and rush to the peephole. I can see the uniform. It looks like someone who works here. “Can I help you?”
He turns and he’s holding a vase of at least two dozen roses. “I have a delivery for Greer Hanson, room six-fourteen.”
“What did he say? A delivery?” Luna shouts from the table.
“Shh. Hold on a second.”
“No problem, miss. Take your time.”
“No, not you,” I say to the door.
“Not me what?” Luna asks.
I open the door quickly to avoid any more confusion. Shocked isn’t a strong enough word to describe my reaction. “For me? Are you sure?”
“You’re Greer, right?”
I nod and he smiles. He has me sign a little card before I take them. They’re beautiful and fragrant. Each rose is just as perfect as the one next to it. I’ve never ever received flowers like this. It almost makes me blush. I lift a finger to the delivery man. “Hold on a sec.” I rush to find my purse and he stops me.
“Oh no, miss. My tip was covered. Have a great day!”
I close the door behind him and carry the flowers to the table. “Did you do this?” I ask into the air, directing my question to Luna.
“Do what? What did you get?”
“The most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen.”
“Hell, no. You want flowers from me, write me a damn book. Is there a card?”
I use the back arm of my robe to wipe the trickle of water from my wet hair out of my eye. Then I reach for the card. “Who would send me flowers?” I ask. “It was you, don’t lie.”
“I swear it wasn’t. Open it! Read it out loud.”
Tearing open the paper a little too anxiously, I read, “Greer, I know we just met and this is crazy, but I’d love to see you again. Dinner maybe? Fisher.” I slump down into the chair by the table and re-read the card again. It’s cute in a dorky sort of way. He left his number. What the actual fuck?
“Fisher? Who the hell is Fisher?”
“The guy who knocked me down. He must really have a guilty conscience.”
“Are you for real? Did he leave his number?”
“Yes.”
“Call him!”
“No. No way.”
“So help me God, Greer. You need to call Chris Hemsworth’s twin! Do it!”
“No, I can’t!”
“Why? Why can’t you?” she asks.
“Because.”
“Give me his number then. I’d call a guy who looked like Chris Hemsworth’s left nostril.”
I chuckle and toss the card on the table. I pick up the phone and go back into the bathroom. Dropping my robe, I start applying lotion to my skin. Why in the world would he send me flowers? How did he get my room number? Should I be flattered or frightened? I mean, he did make my head spin, but maybe that was because I have a brain injury.
“Hello? Are you there?” Luna asks.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“I know what’s going on. I want you to listen to me. Okay? You are a beautiful, strong, independent, talented woman who has had what seems to be a crap load of bad luck lately. But the truth is, Oliver did you a favor when he cheated. He gave you the reason you needed to leave a shitty marriage and find someone who appreciates the wonderful, intelligent person you are. You’re on vacation. Go have a little fun with a hot stranger you’ll never see again. Let him take you to a free dinner. Maybe let him make you cum. Have fun. You deserve it. Go live your life. Stop sitting on the sidelines inventing lives for fictional characters and make one for yourself!”
“Let him make me cum? Jesus, Luna. I’m not that girl. I’ve only ever been with Ollie. I’m not going to fuck some strange guy and come home with a disease.”
“Is that all you heard? Who said fuck him? I said, let him make you cum. You don’t need to fuck him for that!”
“This is ridiculous!” I bury my face in my arms and lean against the bathroom door.
“Call him! Call him! Call him!”
She’s chanting and at first it pisses me off. But then, it makes me laugh. Maybe she’s right. I am hungry. It’s a free dinner. I’ll reschedule my trip home for the morning, have dinner with a good-looking stranger, and then head home to focus on getting my life put back together. What do I have to lose?
She’s still chanting. I consider just hanging up on her, but I say “Fine!” first. Pressing end call, I slip a light blue V-neck T-shirt over my head and walk back out into the living area. I start and stop dialing ten times before I’m finally able to call him. I use the hotel phone. There’s no way he’s getting my cell phone number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, umm, Patrick? I mean, Fisher? Yeah, you didn’t need to send me flowers. I mean, they’re really beautiful and all, but it wasn’t necessary.”
“I know they weren’t necessary, but I really wanted to. Do you believe in fate, Greer?”
I can hear him smiling when he speaks. I can tell. I roll my eyes at myself for feeling giddy.
“Oh, shit, you’re not one of those people, are you?” I ask.
“I am. I think there’s a reason I ran into you. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since.”
“Maybe you hit your head, too.”
“Did you hit your head?” he asks, suddenly worried.
“I’m fine.”
“You could have a concussion. Now you have to let me see you. I need to make sure your eyes are fully dilated.”
I laugh. “Do you run over people on purpose? Is this your MO?”
“Have dinner with me.”
“No.”
“Have dinner with me.”
“I said no.” I laugh.
“Have dinner with me.” His voice is deeper this time. It’s sexy even through the phone. I pause.
“Please?”
“Fine. Gosh. Then you can see I’m not hurt and you can move on to the next girl on the beach.”
“I’m going to ignore all the other stuff and focus on the fine. How about the steakhouse in your hotel in an hour?”
“No. Too fancy.” I pause and glance out my window. “How about the taco truck by the beach in thirty minutes?”
“Really?” He almost sounds excited.
“I like tacos.”
“I’ll see you in thirty minutes and you can have all the tacos you want.”
“Okay, well, bring money, because I’m not one of those girls who get salad. I’m hungry.”
He laughs. “I like hungry girls. I’ll bring my wad. I mean . . .”
“Classy,” I reply. “See you then.” I hang up without giving him a chance to explain. I know what he meant, but I have to admit, there’s a part of me that hopes he has a wad . . . in his pants, and I’ll get to see it.
I always wanted to have a one-night stand. Maybe it’s time I become one of the girls I only write about. Oh, who am I kidding? Sleeping with one guy in college and marrying him years later does not a sexual dynamo make. I do write sexy stories, though. No one would ever know I’d only been with one guy. Good thing I kept my maiden name and Oliver isn’t allowed to disclose our marriage or anything else about me. At least I got my privacy in the divorce.
I guess I’m lucky I have such a vivid imagination. It keeps me busy on lonely nights. It’s a bonus that authors are allowed to watch porn for “research” purposes. Maybe I should think of this dinner as research. I should get something out of this trip.
I dry my hair and find I don’t need much makeup. I apply a little powder to my red face in an attempt to look like I’m not a fire breathing dragon and a little gloss to m
y lips. Why should I care what I look like? It’s just tacos with a stranger. What could possibly go wrong?
I’m ten minutes early. It’s another issue of mine to add to my growing list. I hate being late, so I’m always too punctual. I’m the girl who shows up first at a party. Fashionably late? Not me. I can’t do it. Luna usually tells me a party starts later than it really does so I’m not the first one there. She thinks I should make a grand entrance. I don’t do anything grand. I usually show up, have a drink, smile for pictures, and then I’m ready to go home and take off my bra. Why do women have to wear them anyway? It’s not fair.
Tugging at the strap on my shoulder, I attempt to reposition it so it’s not on a burn line. Having to wear a bra when you have a sunburn is torturous. I walk toward the truck and skim the menu. If I weren’t craving tacos, I would’ve probably just stayed in my room. A small part of me wants to grab three or four, ooh and some chips and guacamole, go back to my room, turn on the TV, stuff my face, and go to sleep.
I bite my bottom lip and step into the line. Maybe he’ll be late or better yet, maybe he won’t show. My eyes shuffle left and right as I decide that binge eating alone sounds way better than making small talk.
“What can I get you, darlin’?” The taco truck man smiles as he wipes his hands on a rag.
“Which would you recommend, the steak or chicken?”
“They’re both good.”
“I’d recommend two of each,” a voice smolders over my shoulder.
I turn to see Fisher standing behind me smiling. His hair is coiffed in perfection and he looks like he stepped out of a page in a magazine. I’m caught off guard by both his presence and his voice.
I do a double take and attempt to refocus on the menu.
“Two of each?” the food truck cashier asks.
“Umm, two steak, one chicken,” I reply.
“Make that four steak and three chicken,” Fisher replies. He leans in, placing his lips near my ear as he steps closer behind me. “What would you like to drink?” he whispers seductively.
Okay, it probably wasn’t a seductive question, but his warm breath on my ear, his proximity, and the smell of his skin force an eruption of goose bumps on my arms. He could have asked me if I had toe jam and it would have sounded hot.
I eye the board for drink options.
“We have killer margaritas,” truck guy says as he points toward a picture by the open window.
Fisher leans forward, turning his head to see my face. “Sound good?”
I nod.
He stands next to me, his shoulder touching mine. “Two of those too, please.”
He reaches into his wallet and I start to reach into my shorts for cash out of habit. When I was with Ollie, I usually paid.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he says, placing his hand over mine. “This is my treat, remember?”
I nod again, feeling awkward. “Chips and guacamole too,” I shout out. What the hell. How often do guys buy me dinner?
Fisher smiles as the taco truck driver looks at him. “She can have anything she wants.”
I suddenly feel confident. I haven’t had a guy be this nice to me in forever. “Anything?” I question, turning to face him.
His dark eyes meet mine and his smile fades. “Anything.”
Oh shit. Spinning around to face forward, I say, “Chips and guac then.”
Could I really have anything with him? Like, if I asked him to climb back on top of me and grind his hips into me, would he do it? I shush my inner dialogue. Why am I acting this way? Luna. It’s all her fault. She put stupid ideas in my head. I’m going to eat until I’m stuffed and go back to my room. That’s it. This is an apology dinner. Nothing more.
“Thank you,” I say, turning to face him. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know that. I wanted to. Plus, it is Taco Tuesday after all.”
I grin. Now he’s speaking my language.
Our margaritas are the first thing ready. He hands me mine and we both take a sip at the same time. “Yum,” I say as my eyes roll back in my head.
“He wasn’t kidding.”
The taco man hands Fisher all the food in a box and Fisher motions toward a picnic table nearby.
I climb into my seat and refrain from greedily grabbing my food from him. It smells so good. He divvies up the tacos and pushes the chips and guac my way.
“You can have some. I’ll share,” I tell him.
I hand him a fully loaded chip and he stuffs it into his mouth in one bite.
We start eating and it’s gloriously quiet. The waves on the beach and our mutual moans of approval as we bask in food glory are the only background noise. As I open my second taco he breaks the silence.
“What brings you to the Keys?” he asks.
“Maybe I live here.”
“In a hotel? I think not.”
“What if I’m really homeless but I saved up enough money for one night in a nice place?”
“Most homeless people don’t have mani-pedis with red nail polish.”
I gaze down at my hand. “What if I won an all-inclusive stay in a contest?”
“Did that contest include a laptop?”
“Hmm . . . What if my laptop was the only possession I had left?”
“That and a Fall Out Boy concert T-shirt from last year’s tour?” he asks as he reaches over and loads a chip with a guacamole and hands it to me.
He’s very observant. I take the chip and stuff it into my mouth in one bite just like he did. He laughs.
When I’ve almost finished chewing I cover my mouth slightly with my hand and say, “Maybe I’m newly homeless or found the shirt in a dumpster.”
“You don’t like personal questions, do you?”
I choose to ignore the question because he figured me out too quickly. “What brings you to the Keys?” I ask, diverting the attention.
“Work. I travel a lot. I rarely get me time, but this trip was different. I actually have a day all to myself for once.”
The next obvious question would be what do you do? But I don’t want to get too personal. I’m leaving tomorrow and I’ll never see him again, so why should I care?
He stops eating and stares at me for a moment. I think he’s waiting for me to ask him, but I don’t. I take a giant bite of my taco and watch half of it drip out the other side.
“You’re different.”
I sigh as I open my taco and reload it with my fingers. I’m not letting any of this deliciousness go to waste. “You mean a mess?”
“No, not at all. You seem to know exactly who you are. It’s very appealing. You’re not like other girls.”
Motioning to my body, I reply, “This is all woman, Fisher. What you see is what you get.”
“I like what I see and I’ll take any of it I can get.”
Oh boy. He’s a flirt and a half. I decide to let it slide. I take another bite before I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. He chuckles lightly, covering his mouth.
“What?” I ask, concerned.
He points to my head. I grab a napkin and wipe my lips. Crap. I probably have taco juice running down my face.
“No. There,” he says, pointing again.
I wipe my cheeks, then my nose as he keeps laughing and I get it wrong.
“For fuck’s sake, where?” I ask.
He reaches his hand across the table and pulls a small piece of tomato from my hair by my ear.
He holds it in his palm for me to see.
“Hey. That’s mine. Get your own. I was saving that for later.” I place it back on my ear and refocus on my taco.
“My God, you’re beautiful.”
I stop mid bite and stare at him. He’s making serious direct eye contact.
Placing my taco on the table, I take a long drink from my margarita in an effort to think what I want to say. I wipe my hands on a napkin and briefly roll my tongue around my teeth to dislocate any loose pieces of meat or cheese before I speak. Then, I let it fly.
“What’s the plan here?” I ask. “You see a woman on the beach who’s obviously alone. You run her down, take her to dinner, woo her with your charm, and then what? Bed her and steal her cash while she sleeps?”
“Am I wooing you?”
“That sounds like an admission.”
He sighs. “First of all, if I’d scoped you out and wanted to meet you, I wouldn’t have knocked you over. I’m not that kind of guy. I might have tripped in front of you or hell, just stopped and introduced myself. Secondly, I didn’t know you were alone, but I hoped you were single when I didn’t see a wedding ring. Third, I don’t think I’m charming in the least, but I’m trying to be. I’m not sure it’s doing me any favors. Fourth, I don’t need any money. I have cash of my own.”
“You forgot the bed her part.”
He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. “I’d like to leave that option open.”
I deadpan stare. Is he serious? What the ever loving fuck? I don’t know what to say to that. We stare at each other forever before his lip slowly curls on the side and he starts to laugh.
“All I want is tacos and some conversation on a gorgeous night on the beach. I rarely have time to enjoy myself and you fascinate me. You make having a good night easy. There’s no pretense here. No expectations. No hidden agenda. Okay?”
He seems legit. I almost feel bad for assuming anything. “That’s good to know. Because I’m not that kind of girl and if you think anything is going to happen you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Fair enough.” He slaps his palms together and motions to my almost empty cup. “How about another drink?”
“Only if I can pay this time.”
“Nope,” he says as he stands. “I’m not that kind of guy.”
I can’t help but smile. That was a good comeback. No, a great one. I make a mental note of it. As he steps into line at the taco truck, I watch him. Why in the world is this man talking to me? I’m not his type, am I? I glance down at the tattoo on my thigh and then at the one on my arm. I don’t see a single tattoo on his body. I lift my hand and touch the four piercings in my ear. I bet he’s never pierced anything.
Book Boyfriend Page 2
