by Lulu Pratt
“Well, you led me here like you come here all the time. Either that or you have built-in radar for local, crummy bars. Plus, I mean, you were at the high-school reunion. So, obviously, you went to school here.”
“Perceptive,” I say, smirking. “I used to live in the area, and I used to come here a lot, when I could get in. Would you be surprised if I told you it hasn’t changed at all?”
“I think I would be more surprised to find out that it had changed.” She smiles at her own joke. It’s the first time that I’ve seen it, and it only makes her more beautiful.
“Not much does around here,” I respond as I chuckle at her joke. “I swear the bartender has looked eighty-five for the past fifty years.” I indicate to the bartender, currently cleaning a glass with a dirty rag. He looks like he could be anywhere between fifty and a hundred.
“Does that include you?” She asks. “Did you wear expensive suits and watches when you were in high school? Boy, I bet that made you popular.”
“No, no. I was more of a basketball shorts, T-shirt kind of a guy in high school. With the occasional button down, when I was feeling fancy.”
“Oh, that is fancy,” she jokes as she takes another sip of her beer, more of a swig than a sip really. “So, what do you do that allowed you to swap the shorts for suits?”
I hesitate. As mentioned, I’m not big on telling people what I do, at least not when I first meet them. And if it was anyone else, then I probably wouldn’t have said anything.
But there is something different about Carrie. I find myself wanting to impress her, which is odd for me.
“I’m a film producer.”
“Really?” She asks, instantly perking up. “What kind of films? Anything I’ve seen?”
“I’d be surprised,” I admit. “I mainly do independent films. But I’m looking to expand.”
“Still, that’s pretty amazing.”
“You think so?” I ask as I take another sip. As I do, I keep my eyes trained on her, making sure to catch her own.
“Anyone who does what they love for a living is impressive,” she counters. “I wish I could do that.”
“What do you do?” I ask.
It’s small talk, but for some reason it doesn’t seem that way. It feels like we’re creating a connection more than anything. I have known her for less than an hour and yet if you were to ask me now, I would swear it was longer.
“You know what I do,” she says coyly, offering me a wink as she sips on her drink.
“Apart from working for the number-one caterer in L.A.?”
“I’m a writer,” she says. “Or at least, I’m trying to be one.”
“Trying?”
“Well, I will be one, I mean. It just takes time, and practice, and more time.”
I can tell that it’s a sensitive subject for her. So naturally I push.
“Anything worth doing takes time,” I tell her. “That’s how you know it’s worth it.”
“And was it that way for you?” She asks. She sounds as if she doesn’t believe me, or doesn’t want to anyway.
“Of course. The first movie I produced took two years, and I lost money. But I used that experience to make another and another, and, well, now you’ve seen the suit.” I flick the lapel on my suit, and she laughs as I do. It’s a sweet laugh, one that I want to hear again.
“Okay. I’ll take your word for it. For now. But if it doesn’t work out for me. I’m going to blame you.”
“Deal.”
* * *
We have been in the bar for at least three hours. But the conversation has been effortless and free flowing. There have been no gaps, no awkward pauses.
Everything that has been said has been built off previous conversation, I can sense myself getting to know her on a deeper and more intimate level.
It’s strange, but as I glance at my watch, seeing that the night is about to come to an end. My dick twitches at the thought of taking her home and fucking her stupid.
“So, what are your plans after this?” I ask casually.
As I do, I take a sip of my beer. I switched it up after my first drink.
“After the bar? Well, seeing as it’s almost two in the morning, I’m guessing that bed is on the horizon. Or at least Netflix and bed.”
“As great as that sounds. I think that you should come home with me instead.”
I’m straight forward in the way I say it, almost making it so she can’t say no. It’s a trick I had learned from my long years of playing the field.
“Is that right?” She responds, sounding more intrigued than anything.
“Yes. I don’t like the idea of you making your way home in your current state. It’s dangerous, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you.”
“As honorable as that sounds, I think I’ll pass,” she responds. “I’m not that easy. And besides, I require a real date before I go home with a man. One where the location doesn’t smell like stale carpet and bad decisions.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’m counting on it.”
As she finishes her drink, she holds back a small burp, and it’s the cutest thing I think I have ever seen. It is right then that I know I’m going to call her. There’s nothing that will be able to stop me.
Chapter 4
CARRIE
“THE ORANGE juice is in. The Champagne is mixed. Now, all I need is the gossip, and we have the makings of an excellent day.” Amy plonks herself down in the chair opposite mine as she takes her first sip of our home-made mimosas. “Not bad. Could do with some more Champagne. But then again, can’t everything?”
Amy is my best friend and has been for the better part of five years. She’s a hairdresser, and that’s how I met her. I went in for a simple haircut and was talked into totally reinventing myself. Since then, I haven’t looked back.
“I invited you over here for some life advice. Not gossip.” I chuckle as I sample our beverage for myself.
It’s only just past noon on a Monday, but as Amy has the day off, she convinced me, very easily, the time was perfect for drinks.
“Gossip? Life advice? Please tell me how the two are different, and I’ll quit drinking today.”
“Fine,” I relent. “I guess you want to hear about Blake?”
“Even his name is sexy,” Amy teases as she leans forward, giving me her utmost attention.
“And so is he. Believe me. Really everything about him was. The way he dressed, the way he spoke. And his eyes, I could have stared at them all night.”
“Then, why didn’t you?” She asks, flashing me a wicked smile.
“Because I’m not that kind of a girl. I told him he needs to take me on a real date. He can afford it. And when he does, well, ask me the next day how my self-control is.”
“I haven’t seen this specimen yet, but the picture I have in my mind is telling. Do you think he’ll call?”
“I think so,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
I am pretty sure that he is going to call, at least I assume that he will, based off the night. But with a guy like that, I can only assume. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a whole host of women chasing him.
“Excellent. That’s all I need to hear.” She takes a mighty sip of her mimosa, nearly finishing it before I have had so much as a mouthful of my own. “Oh, I forgot to ask you. How was the reunion? Was everything okay?”
She grimaces as she asks the question, and I know why.
“Yeah, it was fine,” I admit. “They showed her face on the screen at one point, but I just looked away.”
“You poor thing. How are you holding up? It’s been, what? Three months now?”
“Four as of last Thursday,” I quietly correct her, looking down at my drink as I do. I don’t like to talk about it at the best of times, even with Amy.
The reason for Amy’s reserve is because of my sister, who passed away four months previously. It was a car crash. A drunken driver plowed into the sid
e of her car. And as bad as that was, I was reminded of it at the reunion. They flashed her picture on the big screen at one point, in honor of her passing. It felt like a knife driving through my belly.
“It was hard seeing it. But maybe it’s for the best? Closure for me, you know?”
“Yeah, closure.” Amy reaches forward and rubs the back of my hand. “Trust me. You know Lyndsey, and you know she wouldn’t have wanted you wasting your time mourning over her. She would have wanted you to move on, finish your book and maybe start a family.”
“Yeah, okay,” I scoff. “Let’s take bets on which one comes first. None of them have good odds.”
I’m really not that interest in having a family, and it has a lot to do with my upbringing. I’m an orphan. My mother died when I was very young and my father died when I was eight. For me, there’s really no coming back from that. Lyndsey is my adopted sister, and although she and my adoptive parents did all they could to make me feel like part of the family, I never really felt like I belonged. Not in the truest sense anyway.
Those feelings still haunt me to this day and are a large reason why having a family was very low on my list of things to do.
“Whatever,” Amy says with derision as she waves me down. “You’re gorgeous, and you know it. All you need is a man. Once you have one you like, and trust me on this, he won’t be able to put you down. Who knows, maybe this Blake will be the one. Wedding bells anyone?”
“Stop!” I exclaim, trying not to laugh at my ridiculous friend. “He hasn’t even called me back. If he does. And if I like him. And if he likes me. I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself.”
“Okay, but you heard it here first,” Amy finishes with a knowing smile, as if she can see something I can’t.
I glare at my best friend as I finish my drink. The moment my glass is empty, I hold it out for her to refill, which she does willingly. The day is young, the drinks are flowing, and I know that the two of us still have a long day of gossiping to get through. I am, truth be told, rather looking forward to it.
Chapter 5
BLAKE
I COULDN’T GET Carrie out of my head all weekend. Longer than that even. It’s Tuesday morning now and still she haunts my mind.
It has nothing to do with her beauty, even though she has that. And it has nothing to do with the scintillating conversation the two of us had, even though we had that, too.
It was the effortless way in which she turned me down. That kind of thing never happens to me. Women don’t turn me down, ever. Usually, once I have a woman alone, it’s only too easy to get them to come back to my place. But not Carrie. And that was what had me so intrigued three days after meeting her.
Sitting at my desk, I can’t stop staring at my phone.
As a film producer, I often work from home. I’m my own boss, and that allows for me to dictate the rules. It’s a convenient arrangement and is usually a good thing. But today, it has its drawbacks.
I stare at the phone, and I can’t think of a reason not to call. Sure, I can do some more work. But there’s nothing urgent on my schedule until a meeting this afternoon. And sure, I can go for a run, or to the gym, but again, none of it is that pressing.
Finally, after visualizing her perfect ass, I make a snap decision to call Carrie. I pick up the phone, dial the number, take a deep breath and wait for her to answer.
“Hello,” she says on the other end of the line. Her voice is like honey. Music to my ears. I have forgotten how sweet she sounds.
“Carrie, it’s Blake,” I say casually. I want to sound like I called her as an afterthought.
“Oh, hi,” she responds in an upbeat manner. “How are you?”
“Good. Better now that I’ve spoken to you. Wait, is that too cheesy?” Women usually eat that stuff up.
“Definitely too cheesy,” she says, chuckling.
“Damn, I hope you won’t hold that against me. Especially since I called to arrange a time to take you out.”
I am smooth and relaxed as I talk.
“Hmm, I think it might,” she jokes.
At least I hope it’s a joke.
“How about this? I’ll just have to make it up to you. Add it to the list for me having taken you to that crack den the other night.”
“I don’t know. First that crack den. Then that line. I won’t be surprised if you propose to me next.”
I can tell that she is joking, but I wish that I could see her rather than just having to hear her. I operate a lot better face to face. It makes it easier to play off their reactions.
“You’re going to make me beg, aren’t you? I don’t know if I have it in me.”
I lean back in my chair. I can’t believe the chemistry that we share. I have never felt this enthusiastic about a woman, and so quickly. It’s bizarre to say the least.
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to hear it. Just a little begging.” She chuckles again.
I get the sense that she is having a lot of fun toying with me. She is going to say yes. I know she is. It’s just a matter of getting her there.
“Okay, how about this? Carrie, it would do me a great honor if you would let me take you out to dinner tonight. In fact, nothing would please me more. There? How was that?”
“I could do without the sarcasm.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Kidding,” she cuts in quickly. I can hear her laughing to herself on the other end of the line. She is definitely enjoying herself. “I have some bad news anyway. I can’t tonight. I have other plans.”
“Well, cancel them,” I say quickly and with force.
“Wow, is that how it’s going to be?” She asked.
I don’t know how, but I can tell that she’s smiling on the other end of the line.
“For now.”
“Either way, I have very firm plans for tomorrow night, too. So if I do come out tonight, it’s going to have to be a short dinner. If you were hoping for something to happen afterward, you might just have to realign your goals.”
I love the way that she toys with me. It’s such a turn on. I’m glad that I’m sitting at my desk and alone, for I could feel my pants tightening with thoughts of what I wanted to do to her.
“Is that so?” I ask, the tone of my voice telling her that I didn’t believe her for a second.
“It is so. Very much.”
“Okay,” I say. “How about this? Come and have dinner with me tonight. If you want to call it a night at the end, I won’t try to stop you. But I can almost guarantee that won’t be the case. In fact, I’m willing to put money on it.”
“Really?” I could hear her openly laughing on the other end of the line. I have her.
“You’re very confident.”
“It helps in my line of work.”
“Fine, I give up,” she relents. She was always going to. She just needed some convincing. “Where are we going?”
“I’ll text you the details. And don’t be late. I hate tardiness.”
Hanging up the phone, I have a smile on my face, and as I am alone, I don’t bother hiding it or trying to wipe it off. Instead, I wear it proudly like a badge of honor. Carrie talks a big game and acts like she is certain she is going home afterwards. But based off our conversation and how much we were flirting, I know that it would be otherwise. In fact, I am all but certain that I will be taking Carrie home with me.
Chapter 6
CARRIE
BLAKE SENDS ME a text almost the minute after he hung up the phone. And even after I get the text message, with the location of the restaurant and time to meet, I continue to stare down at my phone as if it is some sort of alien device. I just can’t believe that he has invited me out to dinner.
And it isn’t just the fact that he had done it, but the way that he did. He is so sure and confident in himself. It is like nothing I have ever experienced. I tried my best to deflect and act like I wasn’t impressed by his cockiness, but it was just that, an act. Really my heart was beating a
million times a minute.
* * *
The restaurant is a fancy Italian spot that I have never been to before. It is the kind of place that I have never even dreamt of going. The items on the menu cost more than I make a week, and the drinks cost more than I make a night. Naturally, as I arrive and see the place, I’m a little nervous.
It’s earlier than Blake had indicated in the text, and that is by design. I like to arrive to dates early so that I can get my foundations down and settle myself in. Sometimes, I will even order a glass of wine, in case I need to loosen up.
I walk through the restaurant to the booked table, and as I do, I feel increasingly nervous, as if I don’t belong. In fact, I can sense the eyes of the other patrons on me, like they know I’m a faker.
Reaching my chair, I just about fall into it with relief. As I tuck myself into the table, I quickly order a glass of red. My plan is to loosen up myself, just enough so that when Blake does walk through the door, I can be myself and deflect the charm I know he is going to bring.
I am halfway through my glass when I spot him. The moment I do, I feel my knees go weak and I thank God that I am sitting down, another reason for arriving early. He spots me instantly and walks to me with a smirk on his face.
He looks as handsome as I remember. In a navy-blue suit, offset by an open white shirt, he’s more akin to a model than a mere mortal man. His hair is slicked back and impeccable, and his eyes seem to be undressing me or are those just my hopes being projected on him.
“You’re early,” he says as he slips into his chair.
“Maybe you’re late,” I quip back as I sip my drink.
He isn’t late. He is actually right on time. Perfectly so, as if he has been waiting outside for the clock to strike six.
“It’s possible, but unlikely,” he says, not in the least bit put off by my attitude. “And you started without me.”
“Oh this?” I ask, pushing my half empty glass across the table. “I got sick of waiting.”
