by Xavier Neal
“It happens sir,” the woman politely interrupts and calls to another co-worker to grab us a cloth for a clean up.
I turn my eyes back to the woman whose outfit I ruined. “Again, I'm so sorry.”
My sincerity is met with a quick head nod and her fingers pushing up her black box frame glasses. The towel lands in my hands, which she immediately takes and starts to clean up. “It's fine. Really. Accidents happen. Hell, accidents happen to me all the time. It's actually weirder when they don't happen to me. I should've expected this. I should've-Wait. Why am I green?”
“It was um...a citrus green tea iced latte.”
Her face gags.
The reaction for some reason causes me to smirk. “Not your type of drink?”
“None of the words in it are my type of drink.” Another cringe comes from her and she quickly shakes her head. “Sorry. That was...rude...I'm sorry. I'm not..I...”
Her dark brown eyes meet mine and suddenly a breath gets caught in my throat. I take a long look at the woman with light chocolate skin, wavy strands shaping her glasses covered face, and a voluptuous, curvy body not bogged down by extreme Hollywood diets or a bullshit magazine's latest definition of attractive.
No. This is 100 percent real woman. 110 percent pure unfiltered, untamed, beautiful woman.
As her white shirt becomes see through, exposing a pair of very ample tits that are making my hands itch, I try to clear away my new stunned expression. “Um...your um...your shirt...”
She looks down and quickly flies the towel over it. “And I thought I couldn't be any more humiliated.”
“You shouldn't be. Those are-” Her face scrunches in disbelief at the same time mine mocks it.
Was I really about to tell her she had a great rack? What the hell is wrong with me? Where the fuck is all my normal suave speech and charm?
“Your shirt is ruined.” Grabbing her hand, I lightly tug her out of the way of the employee who has come to clean up our collision. “How about I take you to dinner tonight to make up for it?”
The woman's eyes enlarge like a frightened animal.
Huh. There's a first.
When she doesn't say anything, I lightly chuckle uncomfortably, “Is that...is that a no?”
She moves her lips but it takes a moment before sound accompanies the action. “Who...who are you asking to dinner?”
“You.”
“You who?”
The modesty makes me smirk. “You. The girl covered in my latte.”
“Which smells like vomit.” A hand flies over her mouth. After a shake of her head she sighs, “Sorry. I...You...That would be- And then it's like whoa. But then-” The rambles stop and she declares, “It's fine. You don't have to do anything to make it up to me. It's just a shirt.”
“I want to,” I argue as Gunz moves into my peripheral vision. Taking the hint, I speed up the conversation. “That is if you have the time.”
“Why wouldn't I have the time?”
“We are in Vegas. Beautiful woman like you could have plans?”
“Who would ever want to make plans with me?”
“Me.”
Another look of surprise falls onto her face.
Sounded like a line, but I meant it.
“Dinner?”
She gives me a small shoulder shrug. “Okay.”
“Okay like yes?”
“Okay.”
She's oddly charming.
On another wide grin, I pull my sunglasses off, and extend my hand. “Pierce Wyatt.”
The terrified reaction returns. “Like...the actor?”
“Yeah.”
Her head tilts in further disbelief. “Did I hit my head at some point?”
Baffled, I simply shake mine.
“So the Pierce Wyatt really spilled his coffee on me?”
Can honestly say I hate when people talk about me like that. Like there's nothing normal about me. Like I'm just a guy trying to do normal things. It's not as if I paid for coffee in gold bricks or something and it's not like I just asked her out in sky writing. This is the kind of shit I can't stand about being so well known.
“I did.”
“And you...you really asked me out?”
A bashful smile comes on my face. “I did.”
“Well this isn't how I saw today going,” she mumbles.
“Is it better?”
She motions a hand at her wet shirt, which now is soaked to the point I have to casually adjust myself. “Not this part.”
The two of us laugh and I ask, “Your name is..?”
“I didn't tell you that?” Her own shock makes me chuckle again. “Are you sure you wanna go out with the girl who didn't even remember to tell you her name?”
I wet my lips. “More and more.”
My flirting shuts her lips tightly.
What can I say? She's real. From body to rambles, she's completely normal. As the days pass I find myself digging deeper and deeper to be around average situations. It's difficult since I've had to redefine what my standard of average is. I miss when an average day consisted of a shitty eight hour shift and a night of beer and darts with my co-workers. Now the average day fluctuates according to whether it's filming season or promotional.
“Minka,” she whispers softly. “My name is Minka Knight.”
“Well Minka Knight, now that I have your name, how about your number? I'll send you a text with the details?”
“Sure.” This time when she answers her smile joins the conversation and an unexpected hunger to plant my mouth on hers grows.
It would be easy to blame that on the need for rebound sex, but it'd be a lie. No. It's something much stronger and much more natural. Not exactly sure what's causing it either. Could be how quickly she got over the status my name brings and treated me the way I imagine she would any other guy or maybe it's the fact when I laughed, I didn't have to fake it. Either way, the exploration of finding out is a much needed break from the show I've come to call my life.
Minka
The second the hotel door shuts, Emerson yells from the bathroom, “Hey! Sorry about earlier. It's just...you know we hardly see each other as much as we used to and between my job and yours it barely feels like we ever get just us time that isn't over a quick bite, ya know? And you're my best friend. I hate that we're so busy that most of our friendship is via text now. Anyway, my point is while I shouldn't have snapped so harshly, I had good intentions.” She appears in the bathroom doorway. Without changing expressions she sighs, “Really?”
“This wasn't my fault!”
A look of question comes on her face. “Really?”
You know in a book she'd be more supportive.
“Really.”
“Minka, I've seen you lose a battle with a bottle of leave in conditioner.” Her finger waves up and down at the wet mess on my shirt. “This seems like your fault.”
“It wasn't,” I plead, flopping onto the edge of my bed. “I swear. I-I-I- I got up when my name was called for our drink orders. I got in line to grab them behind this guy and next thing I know he bumps into me, resulting in this!”
“What is that?”
“I don't know, something a Koala would throw up?”
She snickers and grabs her iced coffee from the dresser I placed it on. “Did the guy at least pay for our drinks?”
“Well no-”
“Minka!” She begins to fuss sitting down on the edge of her bed across from me. “You can't just let people spill shit on you and get away with it. You have to be tougher than that. I've taught you to be tougher than that.”
Get ready to see her jaw hit the ground.
“He asked me out on a date,” I rush to say before the lecture can continue.
“Hm. Was he cute?”
“Because only ugos can ask me out?”
My remark causes her to kick me in the shin.
“Ou!”
“Like I asked. Was he cute?”
“According to the internet he's
in the running for sexiest man alive this year.” When Emerson looks unamused by my remark, I finish my explanation, “Pierce Wyatt spilled his coffee on me.”
The puzzled look remains.
“The Pierce Wyatt.”
“You repeating it doesn't help.”
“Google him.”
“My phone's way over there.” She has a sip. “Tell me why I should know him.”
“He's an actor from one of the most popular shows on television right now. He's Rex from Saved by the Fangz.”
Emerson's struggle continues.
Name any major football player from the NFL, she can tell you his team, his position, and his damn jersey number. Tell her the name of a very popular actor from one of the best television series on T.V. and she looks at you like you're speaking Japanese.
“The one about the vampire brothers that are cursed to save the world.” Her memory looks triggered, so I push it over the edge. “They're constantly, wet or shirtless. Like vampire porn on television.”
“Yes!”
Just let the porn trigger go.
“Which one is Pierce?”
“The brunette.”
“Oh.” She purses her lips together, but it only last momentarily. The magnitude of the situation bitch slaps her across the face. “Holy shit! He spilled his coffee on you!”
“Yes!”
“And he asked you out?!”
“Yes!” My relief that we're on the same page is short lived. “Ugh. Yes...”
“That's....amazing!”
“No...” I slowly deny flopping backwards onto my bed. “It's terrible.”
“It's remarkable.”
“I don't wanna go.”
“What do you mean you don't wanna go?”
Maybe if this were one of my books. My heroines are sassy and spunky and sexy and always ready to show the hero who's boss. Why she's worth asking out. I, on the other hand, let's just say my dates are usually with my remote or a paperback book. Neither of those require the hassle of leaving the house or squeezing into something so tight the opposite sex can ignore just how boring you are. And let's be Frank. I'm pretty boring.
“I don't wanna go.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Dating is weird...”
Emerson sighs, “You're weird.”
“It's awkward...”
“You're awkward.”
“It's so uncomfortable.”
“You're so uncomfortable.”
Shooting my body back up, I glare. “You're not helping.”
“I wasn't trying to.” After a long look into my eyes, she rolls hers. “Look. Maybe there's nothing to worry about. Maybe he's cheap and just thought he'd distract you by asking you out rather than replacing your shirt or paying for our drinks. I mean, he probably won't even remember to call you.”
“He texted me before I was even in the elevator,” I mumble.
Emerson's face expands a wide smirk. “This is going to be so much fun!”
“No...”
“I'm so glad I packed you that extra dress!”
Confused I question, “What dress?”
“Oh and you can borrow my kitten heels-”
“No heels.”
“And thank fuck I brought an extra clutch.” Emerson continues to ramble to herself as she crosses her legs. “I wanna say I brought the right perfume, but we may have to have a test run between showers.”
“Showers?”
Do I smell that bad? Wait. No. I can answer that right now. Green gross milkshake all over me. My vomit reflexes are barely holding it together.
Flopping backwards again, I shut my eyes as she continues to gush over the Clueless makeover moment awaiting in my all too near future. Her words start to sound like Charlie Brown's teacher and all I can picture is the variations of shock and horror on Pierce's face the first time he sees me attempt to do any of the above at an overpriced bar.
What are the chances we'll get to do something easy like grab a slice of pizza?
Suddenly there's another sharp pain in my shin. “Ou!”
“Good. Do you need another?”
I drag my body back up and slump forward. “Why are you being mean to me?”
“Because you're frustrating!”
“You're frustrating!”
Emerson glares harshly, forcing me to cower.
God, she'd be one of helluva dictator. Off with her stilettos!
“Minka, I know you haven't dated in a while-”
“No, I haven't waxed my eyebrows in a while.”
That shit hurts...
She holds up her free hand to hush me. “I know you've been weary about the whole thing since you and Jack broke up, but come on. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! We're in Vegas! We're on vacation! We're in the city of wild and crazy, for once I am begging you to be a little wild and crazy! Add a little wild and crazy to your own, real-life story!”
Neither of those words are me. I'm the opposite of wild and crazy! See the glasses, they don't even say edgier hipster. They say boring, most likely lives in a book, nerd. And there's nothing wrong with that! I love books! I love to read them as much as write them, but....I guess I can't date my own heroes. Well, I guess there's no harm in a free meal with a hot celebrity. Oh! Oh! I could use this for an idea for a book! Oooo...never mind. Using your personal life for the premises of a book is not usually a wise call. Gotta draw the line somewhere. It just so happens most of the time nothing happens in my life worth reading about.
“Earth to Minka!” Emerson's finger snaps startle me. “Did any of that stick or are you doing that thing where you take your time to think of an eloquently rehearsed sentence that shuts my argument down without wiggle room?”
I'm actually really good at those. What! Stop looking at me like that! I may be a fumbling awkward best-selling author, but occasionally I get it right in the real world too. None of that may be evident yet...just give me some time. It's doesn't happen as often as my runaway mouth thing.
“No,” I sigh deeply. “You're right. Once in a life time.”
She smirks victoriously.
“Wait. What about you? I can't just-”
“Please,” she cuts me off and has another sip. “There's a casino with free liquor. I think I can manage for a couple hours. Who knows? Maybe I'll run into a prince from a foreign country here on business and he'll take me on midnight helicopter ride before we make out in the hotel he happens to own.”
“But I'm the one with the over active imagination?”
Emerson sharply kicks me again.
“Ou,” I whine.
“Good. Now, are you ready to get started?”
My eyebrows furrow in perplexity. “What? There's not even a time set!”
Another sarcastic look crosses her face. “Amateur.”
Didn't realize dating was a sport. Shouldn't be surprised though.
“If he's as serious as he's implying, he'll most likely make reservations for an 8:30 or 9 o'clock dinner. That way if he finds you boring-”
“Which I totally am-”
“He has the rest of his night to salvage what was lost.” She takes another sip. “Most likely he'll be trying to impress you or show off, so a steakhouse or some other five star dining experience will be the way he goes with that. Remind me to go over the proper fork etiquette with you. You're probably rusty since we haven't been to one of those places since Whitney got married.”
That was a long evening. I spent most of it playing silverware bingo and dusting crumbs off my boobs.
“We need to start prepping now because between finding time to squeeze you in for a waxing-”
“My eyebrows are fine.”
Emerson gives me a look I find frightening.
I don't want to. I don't wanna wax whatever it is she's implying. I did that one time! One time and it brought a new definition to the word awkward. Shaving the area works just fine for me.
“Yes. That area Minka. You'll hate me for the
first few hours but thank me in the long run.”
