Most Valuable Playboy
Page 22
Not gonna lie. Women do tend to like a guy who can get shit done without bitching about it. That’s why I’ve had a nice run of luck with the ladies. But I’m not looking just to get lucky anymore.
I’m ready for a whole lot more.
I’d like to think that makes me the good guy with all the skills when we’re talking about types. I’m the unicorn, and I’m not just talking about the length of my horn, if you catch my drift.
I’m the guy who’s fit, successful, baggage-fucking-free, and—wait for it—ready to settle down.
Just call me a four-leaf clover.
The trouble is the woman I want is off-limits. She’s my best friend’s sister. But don’t worry. That’s not the issue. My buddy is a cool cat, and he has no problem with the fact that I’ve got it bad for his little sis.
The problem is something else entirely, and I have the next week before she leaves town again to fix it. This is where all my life hacking skills will have to come into play.
Let’s do this.
* * *
Chapter One
* * *
Human beings have a tendency to overthink all sorts of stuff.
But a lot of our quandaries are pretty basic. You’re either going out to dinner at the new Italian joint, or you’re staying home to make a turkey sandwich. You’re doing the laundry so you have a fresh shirt to wear, or you’re sniffing the hamper, hunting for an oldie-but-good-enough-ie. You either carve out the time to run five miles, or you watch another ten episodes of Breaking Bad.
For the record, the answers are Italian, wash on hot, and lace up.
I take the same straightforward approach to the current black-and-white question posed to me by Camilla Montes, the local Channel Ten morning news anchor.
“Patrick, how will our viewers know if Fluffy wants to go for a hike?” she asks in that perfectly modulated TV reporter voice that matches her coiffed black hair.
“If you’re wondering if Tiger, Tom, or Tabby is ready to become an adventure cat, there’s a simple litmus test any pet owner can conduct.” I sit on the couch across from her and run a hand down Zeus’s back. He arches into my palm and rumbles, his purr so loud he could land a career in the cat sound effects business. Showoff. But in his defense, if I possessed an Al Green style purr, I’d make sure the ladies heard it all the time. “I like to call it the drag or no-drag cat.”
“Interesting. Tell us more,” she says, her voice dripping with Friday morning curiosity.
“Your cat either willingly lets you put a leash around his furry neck, or he turns into putty when you harness him, and you wind up dragging his feline butt across the floor.”
I mime tugging a gone-limp-now cat on a leash.
“That does make it crystal clear,” Camilla says, flashing her practiced grin, then she points a polished fingernail at me. “But how did you even know to try with Zeus? Did you simply want a famous hiking partner, or did he insist on it?”
“I listened to the cat.” I lean forward, parking one hand on my knee where my cargo shorts end, since the station likes me to dress like an REI model for my segments on tips and tricks for enjoying the great outdoors. “His behavior told me he might be willing. For instance, one time, I headed down to the hallway to drop the trash in the chute, and Zeus followed me out the door of the apartment, staying by my side the whole time.” I lower my voice, cup the side of my mouth, and speak in a stage whisper. “And I don’t think it was only because there was leftover salmon in the trash.”
Camilla laughs.
“Salmon aside, he exhibited this inquisitive behavior often, and that’s when I decided to give a leash and harness a whirl.”
“And now he’s become the Hiking Tomcat.” She gestures grandly to my long-haired cat, who’s lounging next to me, his white gloved paws folded in front of his chest, and a look of satisfaction on his furry face. I swear this dude is such a ham. He was born for the cameras. “Can you show our viewers how a cat who likes to go for hikes will handle being harnessed?”
“Why, I thought you’d never ask,” I say playfully as I stand, grab the leash, and harness from the couch, and pat my leg.
Zeus stretches, slinks down the side of couch, and gazes up at me.
“Want to go for a hike?”
His tail swishes back and forth.
Look, I’m not claiming he understands English. He’s a cat after all, not some kind of Cesar Milan-trained dog. But Zeus knows the drill, and the leash is dangling in my hand. He stretches his neck out, almost as if he’s inviting me to put the red hiking harness over his head. I slide it on and clip a leash to the end. Zeus struts a few feet.
Camila’s smile beams as brightly as the thousand-watt TV lights blasting from above. “There you go.”
“Would you like to walk him, Camilla?”
Her glossy red lips part in a wide grin. “I would love to walk this Internet superstar.”
I place a finger to my lips. “Shhh. We don’t want his fame to go to his head.”
“If he only knew his fandom was immense.” Camilla takes the leash and walks Zeus around the set. “We brought in something to simulate the conditions on the trails.”
For a moment, the segment cuts to Internet video I’ve shot of Zeus clambering up a hill on a nearby trail, then we return to the studio where Camilla has escorted my boy to some fake rocks set up for this demo.
She’s wearing heels so she walks alongside him, but he scurries up the rocks then down the other side. Note to self—score this cat some commercial work and see if we can retire on Friskies royalties.
But then, I’ve no interest in slowing down. My life is the textbook definition of so fucking good. My business is thriving, my family is healthy and happy, my friends are settling down. There’s only one thing I long for. Well, not a thing. More like a lovely, captivating, I-just-click-with-her someone.
But now’s not the time to dwell on a certain woman.
Camilla returns to her blue chair, and I park myself on the couch again, alongside my loyal companion.
“Now, assuming your cat doesn’t become an Internet meme of a cat on a leash,” Camilla says, and the TV monitor nearby flicks to a shot of a leashed-up feline playing possum on the sidewalk, “What should viewers know if they want to hike the Appalachian Trail with their very own Fluffy?”
I spend the next forty-five seconds reviewing trail safety with cats. After all, hiking with a cat is not for the faint of heart. People with dogs have no idea how easy they have it. Hiking with a feline is a whole other kettle of fish, but well worth it for the photos alone. We’re talking unexpected goldmine. When my sister Evie plunked this cat down on my doorstep and begged me to give him a home, I had no idea he’d turn out to be, one, totally cool, and two, the best marketing ever for my adventure tour company.
When the segment ends, Camilla thanks me and cuts to a commercial. “See you again next week, Patrick. I’ve been thinking we could do a piece on first aid in the woods.”
“Absolutely.”
“And you know what I’ve been dying to have you do a segment on?”
“Whatever you want, I can do it,” I say, keeping up the easygoing vibe, since that’s what works best for business partners.
“What if we did a piece on how to glamp?”
I chuckle lightly, rubbing a palm across my jaw, which is covered in a short, neat beard. “I can do that, and I can also give you a simple trick for camping with style right now if you’d like.”
Her chocolate-brown eyes twinkle with excitement. “Please do.”
“Do you have your phone with you?”
“Of course. It’s on silent, but I’m never without my closest companion,” she says, taking it from her skirt pocket, unlocking the screen, and handing it to me.
I tap a few words into the search bar, and the result I need returns quickly. I hand the phone to Camilla. “This is who you call.”
Her reaction is priceless—a slow smile spreads as she recognizes the phone number
for the Ritz Carlton.
“So true. What can I say? I’m not an outdoorsy girl at all. But I love your segments. So does my new intern, Taylor,” she says, lowering her voice and gesturing with her eyes to a bubbly blonde who’s waiting to escort me from the set. Funny, since my job requires me to find my way out of pretty much anywhere on God’s great green Earth. Not to mention, I’ve been the guest commentator for the station’s how to make the most of the outdoors segments for a few months now.
The gig has done wonders for business, but nowhere near what Zeus has done.
Then, because I like the furry dude and I don’t want to torture him—and taking a cat for a walk on the sidewalks of Manhattan is a unique and terrible form of torture, I drop him into my backpack, slide the straps on, and leave the studio with the perky cheerleader girl by my side and the cat’s silvery head poking out the top of the pack.
“I made s’mores the other day,” Taylor offers with a big smile, her bright blue eyes meeting mine. “They were so good.”
Her so has eight syllables and all of them drip with innuendo.
“That’s great,” I say, since I’m not interested in entertaining any syllables or innuendo with someone barely past puberty.
“Do you like s’mores, Patrick?”
“Who doesn’t like s’mores?”
“I was wondering, though, if you might have any tips for me on how to make them. Like, how do I get the chocolate and marshmallow to come together perfectly.” She stops at the door, leans her hip against it suggestively, and twirls a strand of her hair.
And I do believe s’mores porn is officially a thing.
Even though I pride myself on making the world’s greatest version of the campfire treat, I keep my answer simple, but clear. “It’s all in how long you let the ingredients age,” I say, since Taylor is twenty, twenty-one at best. “See you next week.”
I say good-bye and leave, catching a train downtown then walking through the streets of lower Manhattan on a Friday morning.
Do I get stares because of the cat on my back?
Hell, yeah.
Do I enjoy it?
Absolutely.
I smile and nod, giving a few salutes and a couple of how are yous and even a meow as a little kid walks by with her mom and whispers while pointing at my shoulder. As if I don’t know there’s a badass pussycat purring in my ear.
As I turn onto the block with my building, he’s not the only one purring.
Because there, right fucking there in front of the lobby, wearing reflective sunglasses and jeans that hug her curves deliciously, is a certain woman.
Mia Summers. Tiny but mighty. A powerful sprite with wavy hair, hazel eyes, a soft heart, and a quick wit that I just dig.
I met her several months ago, and it’s safe to say she claimed center stage in my mind ever since then.
When I see Mia, when I talk to Mia, when I spend time with Mia, it confirms my belief that some things are simple.
Like whether a cat drags his whole body on the floor or he gamely trots alongside you.
It’s a yes or no.
A black or white.
You’re either attracted to your best friend’s sister or you’re not.
For the record, the answer is so fucking much.
* * *
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Acknowledgments
I owe a huge thank you to the esteemed sports agents Leigh Steinberg for his insight into the mindset of a young starting quarterback. Mr. Steinberg's depth of knowledge informed Cooper’s character, passion, and his dedication to the sport. His information on contracts and the dance of negotiations is unparalleled. Thank you, Mr. Steinberg, for taking my call and sharing so much.
* * *
Abiding gratitude to Gale, my amazing hair stylist, who brainstorms stories with me, and helps me to look good. You’re the inspiration for all of Violet’s talent, and thank you for giving your shop name to this story.
* * *
Thank you to my husband and my son for their sports knowledge and football fact checking, and especially to my son for answering every single question about playoff permutations.
Thank you to Christian Olivo for gracing the cover, to Scott Cooper for his immense talent behind the lens, and to Helen Williams for bringing it all together in one beautiful package. Helen, you are a goddess and you’re mine!
On the editorial side, I am fortunate to lean on Lauren Clarke, Kim Bias, Dena Marie and Jen McCoy for story shaping, and to Virginia, Tiffany, Karen, Marion, Janice for their keen eyes.
Thank you to KP Simmon for the strategy and support on everything. Thank you to Kelley, Candi and Keyanna for the day to day work that is so vital.
As always, I am grateful to many fellow authors for their daily guidance, support and friendship including Lili Valente, CD Reiss, Laurelin Paige, K. Bromberg and Marie Force.
Most of all, I am thankful every day for all my readers. You’re t
he reason I write, and I have many more stories to tell!
Contact
I love hearing from readers! You can find me on Twitter at LaurenBlakely3, or Facebook at LaurenBlakelyBooks, or online at LaurenBlakely.com. You can also email me at laurenblakelybooks@gmail.com