To See You

by Rachel Blaufeld

  After scrubbing myself clean, I made sure to take care of things down below. No one liked an early blower.

  Shut up, Layton. Nothing like that is going to happen tonight.

  Well, I was ready in case we did get beyond talking this evening.

  Although it didn’t matter. The promise of an evening with Charli was enough to satisfy a guy like me.

  I smoothed my hand over my dress, checking for any last-minute creases or lint, and took a long, deep breath.

  Crap. I covered fitness, not Hollywood, yet here I was, sweating like a pig in the backseat of a limo. There was a good reason I was a health-and-fitness editor and not a paparazzi gal. I preferred running shorts to ball gowns.

  Dressing up made me nervous. It meant small talk and cocktails with people who always questioned my age and position. Everything was subjective.

  With writing and editing, there were rules for grammar and punctuation. With running and spinning, there were times finished, pace, calories burned, heart rate.

  Numbers don’t lie.

  The car made its approach to the theater and slowed before a red carpet spread out long and wide, filled with celebrities and surrounded by the media. Strobe lights lit the place up against the dusky sky. When the limo stilled, I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth once and then again before the driver opened my door. It was just another weekday here in Westwood—at least that’s what I told myself.

  I stepped out and felt bare as all eyes focused on me until they realized I was no one, and then they all went back to the hot guy they were ogling before, all fit and tan with a man bun and a beard.

  Thankful for the distraction, I quickly made my way past the paps and into the theater. A woman in a long black evening gown asked for my name.

  “Charli Richards.”

  She ran a finger down the list on her sparkly clipboard, and when she scrunched her face, I added, “From BubblePOP.”

  “Charleston?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Welcome to Seven Sins of Serial Dating. Both lounges are open inside, and you may bring your drinks into the theater.”

  “Thank you.”

  As I took a moment to take in my surroundings, I decided a glass of wine was in order. I politely pushed my way close to the bar and waited for a server.

  “Can I help you?”

  “White wine spritzer, please.”

  The bartender turned around and grabbed a bottle of white wine and a chilled glass. When he turned back around with my drink, a hand came out of nowhere and took the glass from him.

  “Hey there, gorgeous girl.” Layton handed me my beverage, massaging my body with his voice. He shoved a five-dollar bill into a glass for tips and turned back to me. “You made it.”

  His eyes seared through me, as warm and genuine as they had been on the plane. I took a sip of my drink and swallowed any weird thoughts I’d been having.

  “Here I am. God, this is something. Makes covering the New York Half Marathon feel like nothing.”

  “Welcome to the land of make-believe.”

  “So, were you waiting for me?” I took a look around; he seemed to come out of nowhere.

  Double crap, why did I have to go and get bitchy again?

  “I guess,” he said. “I asked for them to give me a buzz when you arrived. Hope that’s okay?”

  I nodded and smiled for fear that the words a bit stalkerish, but I like it, or even worse, I’m so glad you did, would come out of my mouth.

  “Uh-oh.” He stuck his hand inside his pocket and pulled out a rosebud, tight and not quite ready to bloom. “For you.” His long fingers extended the deep purple flower toward me. “Want to hold it? Or you can pin it? They gave me a pin . . .”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, twisting it in my manicured fingers. I popped it into the snap on my clutch. “I think it looks stunning here. Does that work?”

  “If it’s good for you, it’s good for me.” He winked and I took notice of his hair, styled and handsome in a way only a few men could pull off.

  “You look great,” he added. “Definitely, the most gorgeous woman here.” His eyes ran the length of my red dress, not stopping when it ended above my knees.

  “Thanks. You clean up well yourself.” Taking in his tux and Italian loafers, I decided he didn’t look half-bad. The penguin suit was way better than the Beastie Boys tee . . . or maybe not?

  What is it about this guy? On paper, he’s one hundred percent wrong for me. His e-mails are equal parts annoying and funny.

  Okay, more funny than annoying. More like refreshing. Different. Exciting.

  But as I stand next to him now, he’s giving me head-to-toe tingles, and I find myself dwelling on his e-mails.

  “Thanks. To answer your question, I asked them to grab me when you got here because I was afraid we wouldn’t connect. I have to go backstage, but do you want to grab something to eat after this? I mean, you flew all the way here, and I thought I could show you around.”

  He was obviously rambling, and ran a now visibly shaky hand through his styled hair before smoothing it back into place. To me, he looked better with it mussed.

  I commanded my eyes to move from his hair and meet his gaze, and then almost wished I hadn’t. There was something about his eyes. They were compelling. Alluring.

  “Sounds good,” I said, flattered he gave them my name and nervous about him asking me to dinner.

  “Let’s meet here when it’s over? This way you don’t have to hold a seat for me during the movie and you can actually enjoy the film, and I’m not interrupting with all my fun facts, if that’s cool with you? I just want you to have a good time.”

  He was rambling again, and all I wanted to do was run my fingers through his hair and fluff it.

  “That sounds good. Since I have to report on this movie, I should concentrate.”

  “So, I’ll see you back here.”

  “Yes, right here,” I said, nodding. It felt as though we both needed the confirmation.

  As we stood there for a beat and then one more, I wasn’t sure what to do. We’d made a plan, and it was unclear what he was waiting for . . . but then he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

  Oh, that’s what he waited for!

  His lips lingered a bit too long for it to be a brotherly or cousinly kiss, but it wasn’t on the lips. Instead, his mouth caressed my cheek. I sensed a whisper of doubt on his part—should he be doing this?—along with a heavy dose of want, as if he’d been waiting a long time to do it.

  Confusion and need clouded my own thoughts like the smog had clouded the air when I landed this morning.

  My phone provided a welcome distraction when it buzzed in my clutch as Layton made his way back to wherever he needed to be. I pulled it out, punched in my code, and read my text.

  JANIE: Send me pics of the hotties! TAKE ONE HOME! Sorry. I didn’t mean to scream in ALL CAPS . . . yes, I DID! Take one home.

  Funny, I hadn’t even noticed any hotties, let alone one I wanted to take home.

  The movie was actually great. It was witty and sappy, sweet and sassy, funny and sentimental; basically everything you want in a rom-com. I took my time leaving the theater, eavesdropping on all the unofficial reviews and making some mental notes about the audience’s favorite scenes as I made my way to our meeting spot.

  It didn’t help that my starved stomach rumbled. It was past my bedtime at home, and I hadn’t eaten much during the day because of the slinky red dress I was wearing and the lack of Spanx.

  I found a spot near the bar and typed a couple of notes into my phone.

  The scene where she drops her scarf in the grate and bends over to pick it up, about to give the whole city a peep show, and the hero quickly comes up and hides her bare ass, hugging her from behind.

  The restaurant scene where they share garlic bread and make a point of kissing as soon as they leave the table, commingling garlicky breath.

  Don’t forget to mention the sou
nd track. The music was spot-on . . . in fact, would make a great playlist for a long run.

  “Eeep!” I jumped a foot in the air when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “Oh, wow, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Shit.” Layton berated himself, closing his eyes tightly and cursing.

  “No worries. I was making some notes for the review and I was concentrating. You scared the heck out of me.”

  His cheeks deepened in color. “Not quite the reaction I was going for.”

  “Well, I won’t forget it,” I teased him, letting him off the hook. Obviously, I’d checked my bitchy self away, and I can’t say I was upset about it.

  When I first saw Charli standing there in her red dress, my tongue nearly rolled out of my mouth like Roger Rabbit. In my head I heard, You’re so far out of your league, Lay, but my feet had a mind of their own. Stepping quickly and confidently toward the bar, I was inches from her almost bare back in seconds. I gulped down my fears and insecurities, my pride, and every negative thought about myself, and snatched her wineglass from the bartender.

  She turned quickly, obviously ready to lay into whoever stole her cocktail until she saw me. I’m not going to lie—when her eyes met mine, my heart quickened and my dick hardened. Not just a little stiffy. I was as hard as a fucking light saber, or sword, or whatever . . . a rod.

  And there was nothing little about my dick. It was a very pleasing one, or so a few women have told me. Pair it with my smile and I was considered deadly in some circles.

  Hey, dorks need lovers too! I might be chunky and quirky, but I’d had my share of women.

  But this woman was nothing like the women I’d had before, and I didn’t have a clue what to do with her. My fingers burned and itched to touch her. Anywhere. Even a small touch on her shoulder set my insides ablaze. She was petite, confident, smart, savvy, and sexy as all get-out, and my body raged in a way I’d never experienced. My brain and body soaked her in; my blood raced to get closer.

  She was also covered in a cloak of insecurity—something I had little to no experience with in women. Geeky women were surprisingly confident in their likes and dislikes. Charli gave off a fascinating vibe. Gorgeous on the outside, jumbled on the inside.

  Would she like a commanding touch? A gentle one?

  My words lodged in my throat and I considered running to the restroom, rubbing one out and splashing cold water on my face. Instead, I rambled.

  I’d quickly deduced there was no way I could sit next to this girl in the movie without my dick bursting through my tuxedo pants—which were tight as it was. Luckily, I had a small amount of brain still functioning and decided to let her work during the movie and steal her for dinner afterward.

  Now here she was, all toned and trim, the red dress doing little to conceal how fit she was, and I’d gone and scared the living hell out of her.

  Good going, Lay.

  “I loved the movie,” she said, letting me off the hook. “In fact, look here. I made a note of how good the sound track was.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to say that.” I blushed harder than I ever had before. It was becoming a really bad habit when I was around Charli.

  “It was really awesome.”

  Her smile lit up her face. It was the first time I’d seen her do that, and I hoped she did it regularly from my e-mails. She had perfectly white teeth behind red-painted lips. It was fucking sexy.

  “So freaking creative to mix up rock and pop in the same sound track.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It sounded cool, the gruff voice against the sugary-sweet beat. I liked it a lot.”

  “Thanks. Are you hungry?” I changed the subject mostly because I couldn’t handle the compliment from her. It made me want to march around the room, pounding my chest and yelling, She likes me! My music. Me. Me. Me.

  “Starved. I hope it’s okay to admit that here in the land of pretty people. Though, I’m not sure I’d ever say that at home either.”

  The last part trailed off as if she was talking to herself, mumbling the truth, trying to convince herself to get out of Dodge. Her gaze traveled to the floor, her eyes half fluttering in quick embarrassment at her words.

  After all, I wasn’t exactly pretty.

  “What are you in the mood for?” I completely ignored her fumble, hoping it was the right move.

  “Sushi? Do you like it?”

  “I know just the place,” I lied.

  I’d never been there. I’d wanted to go, but it was a hot, trendy spot. Definitely not the type of place I’d hit up with the guys. Plus, sushi never quite satisfied me. But with Charli, I was already full.

  Christ, I’m turning into a romantic cornball.

  “Great!”

  “I brought my car. Would you like to ride with me?” I didn’t know what the protocol was. She’d clearly taken a car service to the premiere, and she was an independent New York City girl—woman.

  “Sure.” She swallowed and her delicate pink tongue came out to swipe over her red lips. “You’re not going to steal me and sell me off to Mexico or anything?”

  “They do like blondes down there.”

  Somewhere I found the confidence to snatch her hand in mine and squeeze it. I winked as I joked and she laughed, her giggle filling the air all around us. I wanted to reach out and grab it, shove it in my pocket, and save it for a bad day.

  “You’re funny, Layton G.”

  “Glad you think so, Charli. Come on.”

  I led her toward the exit and out into the crisp nighttime air, handed the valet my ticket, and turned toward my . . . date? Friend? Acquaintance?

  “Cold?” I asked.

  She was running her hands up and down her arms. I watched tiny goose bumps pop out on her creamy skin like it was an Oscar-winning movie.

  “Here.” I shrugged off my jacket and wrapped it over her shoulders. It engulfed her in a way that was almost comical.

  “I thought it would be warmer,” she admitted, pulling the jacket tighter around her. “Thanks.”

  My car drove up, and the valet jumped out of the driver’s side and opened the passenger door for Charli. Of course, he did.

  She handed me my jacket and slid into the black leather seat of my BMW, the skirt of her dress riding up her leg. I tucked my tongue back into my mouth for the second time this evening.

  “Drive safely,” the valet called out, never taking his eyes off my passenger.

  I turned the key and looked toward Charli, noting the small wisps of her blond hair framing her face. “Ready?”

  She nodded, a slight smile settling on her lips as she set her hands in her lap and looked toward the city in front of us.

  Pulling out into traffic, I hit the button on the steering wheel to turn on the stereo. Ed Sheeran flooded the car. Hey, I worked in music . . . I knew which tunes got the ladies comfortable.

  “Truth is, I’ve never been to this place but I’ve wanted to go,” I said, starting to ramble again. What I didn’t mention was that afterward, I’d probably hit up the In-and-Out so I wouldn’t go to bed hungry.

  “I’m excited to eat anywhere. I had to starve myself all day to fit in this dress—” She stopped short and covered her mouth with her hand.

  Me too, except it was a tux and not a dress, I wanted to admit, but I didn’t.

  “Sorry,” she said with an embarrassed grin. “That was TMI, but it’s true.”

  “Well, they keep mentioning Zao’s in the LA mag, and it even had a quick write-up in Esquire last month. It’s not far, which is also a bonus because everything out here is a pain in the ass.”

  “Where do you live? Near here?”

  “I’m over in Santa Monica, maybe twenty, thirty minutes with light traffic. It’s a pretty cool neighborhood, hip, whatever. I bought a run-down bungalow on a jumbo mortgage when I started my biz. It was a bit of a gamble, but I needed the space for my own studio, and it was cheaper than renting one. So I put one in, and it’s paid off. And you? Back east?”


  “I live in the Meatpacking District. An old warehouse converted into condos. I live by myself . . . I actually don’t do well with roommates.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m a bit intolerant of others when I’m working or getting ready for a run. I don’t know; I just like my own space.” She ran a finger behind her ear, securing her hair behind it, and turned her gaze out the passenger window.

  “I get it. Actually, I don’t do that well living with others either. In college after the first year, I opted for a single.”

  She smiled again; I could see the corner of her mouth raise in profile, and it was brilliant. “I was always the odd one left out in college because I was so far ahead, but younger without an ID. Maybe that’s why I never really got into roommates. I was always left behind. Until I met Janie. She’s my closest friend back home.”

  “I still hang with a few of my buddies from school. We were all kind of a bit off-beat—” I said, then stopped short as anxiety got the better of me. “I don’t know why I’m saying all this shit. I’m a bit nervous, to be honest.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not every night I have a stunning, intelligent woman in my car. Let alone one who looks as good as you do in that dress.”

  I let it all hang out there. After all, I’d corresponded for weeks via e-mail with Charli. If she didn’t know by now I had a crush on her, I clearly wasn’t doing anything right.

  She gave me a polite smile. “We barely know each other, so there’s no reason to be nervous. You’re just being a welcoming host to me. It’s not like you have to impress me.”

  And there you have it. She didn’t know I was into her, or else didn’t want to admit it to herself. I had failed.

  Just then, we pulled up to Zao’s, and another valet ran to open her door and openly gawked as she exited the car. His eyes ran her full length, pausing at her sexy-as-fuck shoes before making their way back up to her cleavage. Good thing she didn’t seem to notice.

  This time, I didn’t grab her hand. We walked into the restaurant side by side after the overeager valet grabbed the door.