WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies: Summer Fling Edition

by Scott, D. D.

  Plus, I’d never even owned a dog. It’s possible the whole training thing might have gone bust.

  I sucked on the straw, realizing I’d drained most of the smoothie. I took off the cap, tossed it in a trashcan, and tipped back the cup to get the last little bit of slush. Fruit’s good for a girl; I had to do something to counteract those two brownie sundaes.

  “Hello again.” A deep voice interrupted my thoughts.

  My hand jerked, and the rest of the smoothie sloshed onto my mouth. I lowered the cup and looked up at the guy with the bedroom voice.

  It was the handsome blond guy I’d seen at the restaurant, and then later at the bar where a Mexican appetizer had almost killed me.

  “Hi.” My voice squeaked.

  “You’ve got a little….” He gestured to his upper lip.

  Dismayed that he’d noticed my pimple, I reached above my lip. Nope, worse than acne, I was sporting a mango mustache. I started licking it off, but realized that I either looked incredibly gross or incredibly sexy—which was inappropriate either way.

  Jerking my thumb over my shoulder, I started babbling. “I’ve gotta get to work. They’re promoting me today. Probably. I mean, they should.” Just in case you hadn’t already decided I was a fool.

  “At Dawson Associates, right?”

  He’s a stalker! “How did you know that?”

  “The trivia contest last night. Your team came in fifth after you left. Foreign Films tripped them up. You were totally carrying them all night.”

  Then I remembered Mimi’s sign. I let out the breath I’d been holding. “You think? I figured everyone knew about Winston Churchill’s pet parrot.” I shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

  He tucked his hands in his pockets. “You okay after the killer nachos?”

  I’d been so distracted by the mango mustache and Churchill’s parrot, Charlie, I’d forgotten for a moment. “I’m nursing the wounds with frozen juice drinks. I should pull through.” I lifted the hair off the back of my neck. Damn, it was hot. Or maybe it was just him.

  He smiled. Was he laughing at me? Of course he was stifling a laugh. How could he not be?

  “I’m going to be late.” I dashed into the building before I had to take another look at the man who’d be perfect for me—if I hadn’t made a fool of myself in front of him three times in twenty-four hours.

  * * * *

  When I sat down at my desk, I was actually ten minutes early. I moved my tape dispenser to the spot my stapler had been and stored my thumbtacks in my top drawer. Then I switched everything back to where it had been before, dumping the thumbtacks in the process. Maybe I could fake sick and go home, after all.

  When Mimi and Wendy rolled in, they gave me the silent treatment for all of fifteen minutes for having abandoned them in their hour of need last night. Then they started filling me in on the cute associates from a law firm who’d taken second place. Dates for Saturday night trumped a trivia win, it turns out.

  I was happy to answer my ringing phone as they chattered on about what to wear. Mimi thought bolero jackets were sexy. Wendy said they were skanky.

  “Sure, with nothing but a bustier they are,” Mimi snapped back.

  “Hello?” I sighed into the phone.

  “Hey, kid.” It was my cousin, Greg.

  He’s a persistent one. “I haven’t changed my mind. No set ups.”

  “No, no. I’m not trying to set you up. I’m just calling to apologize. I shouldn’t have laid on the guilt trip so thick. You’re not an energy drink. Not even a protein shake.”

  “That’s sweet of you. Thanks, Greg.”

  “Now if you have any hot friends game for a setup, I’m in.”

  “I forgot to mention. Part and parcel with not being set up is not doing any setting up, either.”

  “Fine. I’ll just have to hit the bars again this weekend. Lonely and lovesick.”

  “You mean horny and ready to go.”

  “Whichever one works. Let me know if you want to come out.”

  “I will.” But I wouldn’t be joining him. I’d be moving on from brownie sundaes to banana splits this weekend. At least those had fruit in them. No more smoothies for this girl any time soon.

  * * * *

  When Jim called Lexi into his office and closed the door, I hoped she wouldn’t cry; certainly he was about to give her the bad news that I was getting the manager job, and I knew for a fact she didn’t wear waterproof mascara. It could be an ugly scene with that gorgeous cashmere sweater she was wearing.

  But knowing I’d be getting the job instead didn’t give me the sense of satisfaction I thought it would. I was further engraining myself in a career I didn’t really want. I could almost feel my heart shrivel at the thought.

  But only a fool would pass it up.

  I tied up a few loose ends while Lexi was in the office and then picked up stray tacks from the floor. When she came out smiling, I was confused. Mentally, I shrugged. Maybe they’d been talking about something else. Maybe she didn’t want the promotion. Then Jim called me in and closed the door behind me.

  Taking a deep breath, I sat down, willing myself to seem excited.

  When he sat behind his desk, I expected a smile; instead, he spread his hands flat on his desk and frowned. Looking up at me, he gave me the bad news. “Katrina, I’m giving the promotion to Lexi.”

  I blinked at him. “Excuse me? Why?”

  “I don’t feel like your heart is in this. Lexi has come up with a lot of exciting ideas. You’ve got impressive numbers, but you don’t seem to have the same drive.”

  And suddenly it was clear to me. I didn’t want the promotion and I didn’t want my job. I stood up and forced a smile. “You’re right, Jim. The manager’s job wasn’t right for me. And neither is mine. I quit.”

  “Now, Katrina, don’t be hasty. We value your work.”

  I stepped back. “But I don’t value my work. I need something that’s a better match.” What that was, I wasn’t sure. But just like my theory on men—the right one would find me.

  * * * *

  That theory was harder to swallow later at the bar; the beer went down a lot easier than my excuses. I didn’t even invite Mimi and Wendy out with me, and I wasn’t ready to admit to Julie what I’d done. I was sort of her moral compass and she might have a breakdown when she found out I’d walked away from a job with 401k benefits and a medical plan. So I was solo, drowning my sorrows and deciding what to do next, convincing myself I’d been bold and brave instead of foolish and impulsive.

  When I sloshed beer number four down my shirt, I decided it was time to go home. Brushing my shirt off, I was stumbling toward the door when someone grabbed me by the arm.

  “Do you need some help?”

  I looked up and it was the hot guy who kept catching me at my worst moments. A flurry of curse words streamed through my head. At least I hoped it was in my head. “Oh, I need help. But not walking home. I’m fine.” I hiccupped, and not in a cute way. In more of a burp way.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Out celebrating that promotion?”

  Shoot. I’d forgotten I’d been blathering about that earlier in the day. “Actually, I quit.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “That’s certainly a change in plans.”

  I spread my arms wide and wobbled a bit. “Thus my current state.”

  He nodded. “Well, I can’t let you walk home like this by yourself. Is it far?”

  “Couple blocks.”

  He held the door open for me and I followed him out into the warm night. I stumbled backward and he steadied me by my arm. His big hand felt good wrapped around me as we walked along. Anyone watching might have thought we were a couple.

  When we reached my building, I looked up at him and smiled. What could be better consolation than a brownie sundae or beer? A hot guy on a hot night. “Wanna come upstairs?”

  * * * *

  Light streaming through my window woke me. Rolling over, I groaned. I replayed the night’s eve
nts and groaned some more—then fell out of bed. Was I going to have to move to avoid seeing the guy I’d embarrassed myself in front of again and again?

  And then I’d invited him up to my apartment, and he left me at the door. How stupid was I to think he’d be interested in me? The sundae-slurping, jalapeno-choking, smoothie-mustached drunkard?

  Who doesn’t have a job, I reminded myself, staring up at the ceiling as I lay on the cold floor. I groaned again and crawled back into bed, pulling the blanket over my head. But I’d learned a long time ago that hiding from problems didn’t help anything.

  I allowed myself to sulk for another half hour and then decided I needed coffee, pronto. And not the crappy stuff from my coffeemaker.

  As one of those people who considered yoga pants and a t-shirt to be pajamas that can double as casual clothes, I didn’t bother getting dressed. My boobs were small enough to go braless, so I didn’t fuss with that, either. I threw on a ball cap and jacket so I could drag myself down to the coffee shop and clear my head.

  My stomach protested every step I took, but I had to power through this hangover. I jogged down the steps and almost tripped over the guy sitting on our apartment stoop. Yep, it was him, my blond hottie.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I placed my hand on my tummy. “I’ve been better. Thanks for getting me home, though.” I cocked my head. “What are you doing here?”

  “I can’t keep counting on luck that I’ll bump into you again. Waiting out here is the only way I knew how to get in touch with you now that you’re not working at Dawson anymore.”

  I wondered if he was nice or a nut for taking the time to track me down after all of our embarrassing encounters.

  He looked at his watch. “I’d love stay and talk, but I’m late for work. Can we go out to dinner?”

  My heart swelled. “That’d be great. This weekend?”

  He smiled at me. “No, tonight.”

  “I’m available,” I quickly blurted out.

  “I’ll pick you up at six.”

  * * * *

  I spent the rest of the day pampering myself. I deserved it. I knew I’d find another job and I wasn’t going to beat myself up for quitting. Plus, I wanted to look good and feel relaxed for my date so that I wouldn’t pass out or throw up or break a bone. At the rate I’d been going, it was a good possibility. Then I realized I was going on a date with a guy whose name I didn’t even know. I wouldn’t even have the chance to Google him and make sure he didn’t have a record of stalking pathetic women.

  I buzzed him in when he rang the bell just before six. He walked in with a bunch of flowers. “To a new start.”

  I was wondering if he meant my job, or a new start with him—one that didn’t involve me making a constant fool of myself.

  “Thank you….” I took the flowers from him and paused. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “It’s Nick. Nick Anderson.”

  My mind spun, wondering why that sounded so familiar. “I’m Katrina Jones.”

  He grinned, shaking his head. “No way.”

  “What?” I subtly checked the front of my pants to be sure my zipper wasn’t down. What had I done now?

  He cupped my elbows and pulled me closer to him. “My buddy, Greg, was trying to set me up with his cousin, Katrina Jones. But once I saw you at the restaurant, I wasn’t interested in meeting anyone else. You’ve gotta love a girl who enjoys hot fudge sundaes as much as you do. I was hoping we’d get to share one together.”

  I was so stunned I dropped onto the couch. He sat next to me as I laughed. “All this time I’ve been protesting I didn’t want to be set up. Shows what I know.”

  “Why didn’t you want to be set up?”

  I looked at him. “Because I wanted to wait for the right guy to find me.”

  He set his hand on my shoulder. “That’s me—Mr. Right.”

  “I’ve been told I need to find a summer fling.”

  He shook his head. “With a girl like you, I want more than that.” He paused to kiss my head. “Now that I’ve found you…. What do you say, ready to go out?”

  Go out? In public? It was quite possible I’d make a fool of myself again. I didn’t want to ruin this by spraining my ankle on an escalator. Or getting crapped on by a pigeon in front of my hottieMcHotster. A betting gal would’ve totally taken those odds.

  I twisted my lips. “No. I don’t want to go out. I’ve been hot and bothered since I first saw you. Plus, I’ve got the fixings for brownie sundaes right here. We’re staying in and I’ll show you how to properly enjoy your dessert.” My fingers walked up his nicely toned arm.

  And that led to a kiss that lasted longer than trivia night. We didn’t get to the sundae for a while—not until after I discovered that I actually was still quite flexible.

  About Lisa Scott

  Lisa Scott is a former TV news anchor who now enjoys making up stories instead of sticking to the facts. She works as a voice actor in upstate NY and putters around her garden when not writing. Check out her collections of sweet, sassy, romantic shorts called Flirts! (Flirts!, Beach Flirts!, Holiday Flirts!, Fairy Tale Flirts, and Wedding Flirts!) http://readlisascott.com/?page_id=25 The collections contain five romantic shorts, each story approximately 10,000 words in length. You might also enjoy her Willowdale romance series. Like Read Lisa Scott on Facebook for updates on new releases, and catch her blog at ReadLisaScott.com.