Mixed Up Love

by Natasha Madison

  Looking to the left, I don’t see anyone sitting alone, but then I look to the right, and I see her. I don’t know why I know it’s her, but I just do. With curly long blond hair, she downs a martini, then picks up another one and brings it to her mouth. I spot a waiter walking with two more martinis on his tray, and I’m not surprised when I see him approaching her table. “Great,” I say under my breath. “I found her,” I tell the hostess and start walking toward the table. She spots me and watches my every move. Luckily, the glasses I’m wearing stop her from seeing my eyes.

  The closer I get to her, the more my pulse speeds up. What the fuck? This is weird. I look around maybe to see if something else is piquing my interest or maybe I spotted something to elevate my pulse, but no, it’s her. The fact that a gorgeous woman is sitting by herself and drinking like a fish is enough to get any man’s adrenaline pumping. Isn’t it?

  “Are you Laney?” I ask, taking off my glasses, and my gray eyes finally meet her blue ones. She opens her mouth, expecting, I think, something to come out, but nothing does. I continue looking around to see if anyone is watching her, and it’s no surprise that I spot two guys at the bar sizing her up.

  “Here are two more.” The waiter smiles at her, putting two more glasses down on the table and taking the two now empty ones away. She laughs nervously, and I want to reach out and trip him when he walks away.

  “It isn’t what it looks like.” Her soft voice breaks me out of my plan, and I turn back to her as she smiles at me, causing my heartbeat to skyrocket. The collar of my shirt suddenly feels tight, but it’s not even buttoned.

  “Really? I find it hard to believe,” I finally say. Looking around again, I spot the same two guys in suits sitting at the bar watching her. This time, one of them spots me and looks back down at his drink. “It looks like you’re sitting here waiting for something bad to happen.” I pull out the chair and sit in front of her.

  “Um.” She still doesn’t say anything.

  “How is it a good idea for a single, gorgeous woman to be sitting by herself, drowning in martinis?” I ask her, and she finally talks.

  “I don’t usually drink.” I am not sure if I believe her or not, and me not saying anything gets her a little bit sassy. She crosses her arms over her chest. “What? A girl can’t have a bad day?” she says, her voice getting louder. “Has that never, ever happened?”

  Now it’s my time to stutter. “Um. Do you know that drinking two or more drinks for a woman your size …” I look her up and down, and it’s my downfall at that moment. “Your reflexes are cut in half, maybe even more,” I say, finally making eye contact with the guy at the bar again. I don’t have to say anything because he turns to his friend and starts talking to him.

  “You think that just because I’m sitting here by myself waiting for a blind date …” she says and then takes another sip of her martini. “You think that just because I’m not with anyone, I can’t drink?” I don’t answer her. She clearly needs to discuss whatever is on her mind. “You think because my mother set me up on this date that I can’t take care of myself? That I, an independent woman who owns her own business, can’t sit at a table and have a drink or two, or three?”

  I raise my hand and call the waiter over. He rushes over with a smile that goes away fast when my tone comes out less than friendly. “Bring us water and some bread,” I tell him, “and no more martinis.”

  “Um,” Laney says, leaning over and turning to the waiter, “he’s not the boss of me. If I want another martini, you bring me another one.” Her cheeks are pink, and I’m wondering if it’s because she’s mad or if it’s from the alcohol. Either way, I like it.

  “We’ll just take the check,” I tell him, and I reach into my jacket pocket. Grabbing my wallet, I open it and pull out the black AmEx card. I look over at her. “Do you come here often?”

  “What is happening right now?” she says, turning to look around.

  I look outside at my car, then turn to look at her. “This is what is going to happen.” I lean forward to get closer to her. “I’m going to pay the bill. We are going to get up and leave, and I’m going to drive you home.”

  She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes. “This is insane,” she says, but I don’t bother answering her because the waiter approaches with the bill.

  “Sixty-seven dollars for four martinis,” I mutter under my breath as I sign my name, then get up and reach my hand out for her. She looks at my hand, debating whether to take it. “It’s a helping hand. You don’t want to take it, then don’t, but we’re still leaving.” I put my hands in my pockets. “Choice is yours.”

  She grabs the napkin that was on her lap and throws it on the table, then stands up suddenly. The martinis must hit her because she wobbles a bit and grabs the table to steady herself. I raise my hand to grab her, but when she turns her head and leers at me, I step back, motioning with my hand for her to walk ahead of me. She walks with her head held high, putting one foot in front of the other, and I watch her ass sway. I nod to the hostess who smiles at us, and luckily, I see my car hasn’t been moved. The valet smiles at me, grabbing my keys. “You weren’t lying about being long,” he says. Laney looks at me and mouths, “Wow.”

  I grab the keys and walk to the passenger side of the car to open the door for Laney. “You know I can simply put you over my shoulder and shove you in.” She walks to the car and gets in. The whole time, she looks like she is killing me in her head, and chances are, she probably is.

  I slam the door closed and walk over to the driver’s side and get in. I turn on the car and then finally turn back and look at her. I’m about to say something, but her scent has now filled the car, and I’m not sure what I would say. The smell of citrus hits me, and I look over at her. “Where do you live?” I ask her and wait as she turns to look at me. Folding her arms over her chest, she leans her back against the door.

  “You think I’m going to give a stranger my home address?” She pffts. “No way. But nice try there.”

  I laugh and then turn to look at her, copying her stance with a smirk. “You won’t give me, a perfect stranger, your address, but you will get into my car?” I shake my head.

  “Oh my god!” she yells. “This is not happening to me. Not today,” she says, trying to open the door, but I put the car in drive. She just looks at me as I smile and drive away from the curb. “You just kidnapped me,” she says.

  “See what drinking can do? You aren’t on alert, not on the ball,” I tell her as I make my way to the beach where they have a small restaurant that I love. “You got into a car with a complete stranger. Now, I can take you wherever I want.”

  “You’re not a complete stranger,” she says, and I look over at her. “Our mothers know each other. So, if anything happens to me, she knows where to look.”

  “Yes, but your mother doesn’t know me,” I tell her. “Do you know any serial killers who actually told their mothers they were serial killers?” I ask her and wait for her to answer me. “Do you think Jeffrey Dahmer went home and said, ‘Hey, Mom, I just ate a human today, can I have some rice with my chicken?’”

  “Well, there may be. Who knows, maybe he did, and she thought he was joking,” she says, and I just shake my head.

  Once we get to the parking lot, I park and look out the window at the water. From our parking spot, you can’t see where the path leads you.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen. We are going to get out, I’m going to get you something to eat and sober you up as much as I can, then I’ll drive you home.”

  She grunts and opens the door. “I’ll be sure to tell my mother how nice you are,” she says and slams the door. She walks around the car, and I get out, meeting her at the back of the car.

  “This way,” I say as I lead her by her elbow to the secluded little restaurant. We walk down the pebbled sanded pathway, the trees shading the sunset, and approach the entrance of the secluded little restaurant. Unless you kno
w it’s here, you would never stop.

  “What is this place?” Laney asks. She looks around, her eyes going right and left as she takes in everything. I know the restaurant looks more like a shack with its yellow aluminum siding and chipped paint. The blue roof looks like it will fly away with a gust of wind, and the two white plastic tables outside have seen better days.

  “This is where I bring my victims,” I say, smiling at her. She pushes me away, mumbling, “Asshole,” under her breath as she walks forward. I get to the door before her, so I reach out and pull it open, the creaking louder than the waves. The smell of spices hits us right away when we walk in.

  I follow Laney’s eyes as she looks around the restaurant. An aqua colored L-shaped bar sits in the middle of the room with six wooden barstools. The colors of the Mexican flag decorate the back of the bar, and glass shelves hold up bottles of tequila and rum.

  On the side of the bar sits four tables like the ones outside but with red and green tablecloths. But she isn’t looking at that; she is looking at the wall of windows across the back that lead out to the covered terrace only steps away from the beach. “Let’s sit outside,” I suggest, and she just nods at me, walking toward the glass doors.

  When we walk farther into the restaurant, Guadalupe comes out from the kitchen and meets us. “Oh, look who comes back to see me.” She smiles at me, and I walk over, bending to kiss the fifty-year-old four-foot-ten lady who owns this restaurant. “This is a nice surprise,” she says, looking past me and straight at Laney.

  “We are going to sit outside,” I tell her, and she just smiles at me and nods her head, walking back into the kitchen. When I walk to the back door and slide it open, the first thing you hear is the waves crashing on the beach. I wait for Laney to step out and look around. The beauty just stops you in your tracks. The outside porch area is shaded by trees, and the lanterns hanging in the branches emit a soft glow. The same lanterns line a path leading down to the beach.

  “This is so beautiful,” she says softly, and I turn to look at her. Her pink cheeks are gone, replaced by a softness in her face. She kicks off her wedges and walks off the wooden terrace to the beach. I don’t follow her. Instead, I watch as she walks down the sand to the shore and waits for the water to rush up over her feet. She just stands there, the wind blowing her hair to the side and her dress flying with it.

  “I brought you something to drink,” Guadalupe says. “But no alcohol for you,” she says to me when she puts down two glass pitchers of margaritas. “This one has the tequila in it,” she says, pointing at the other pitcher with the lemons around it.

  “Can you take that one back?” I tell her, and then I hear Laney right beside me.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” she says, walking past me to her chair. Her feet covered in wet sand, she pulls out one of the wooden chairs and sits down, facing the ocean. She looks up at Guadalupe. “Can I have extra salt in mine?”

  “Of course, my dear.” She smiles at Laney, and then looks at me. “If she isn’t safe with you, then who is she safe with?” The question rocks me as I stare at Laney, who looks at me as if she just won the war.

  Chapter Five

  Laney

  I watch him, almost as if I’m taunting him to tell me no, but he doesn’t. The vein in his head looks like it’s going to explode, his jaw so tight it looks like he’s going to snap, but he just nods at Guadalupe, and she walks away, trying to hide her smile.

  I roll my eyes at him as he comes over and finally shrugs his suit jacket off. Shit, maybe this isn’t a good idea. My mouth gets dry when his fingers unsnap the button at his wrist. My heart beats a bit faster when he rolls up his sleeves, and I see his watch and tanned and smooth arms. He sits in the chair in front of me, and my eyes are still on his arms and the way his muscles pop when he bends his elbows. His body faces both the door and the beach as he takes in the place all around us.

  “Just because it’s only the two of us, don’t think you’re going to get shitfaced,” he says, and right then, whatever spell I was under that he was hot is off the table. Okay, fine, he’s still hot, but he’s an asshole.

  “I can see it,” I tell him, picking up the pitcher and pouring myself a margarita. Taking a long gulp, I’m sure he glares at me, but his sunglasses once again shield his eyes. “Mmm, that’s good,” I say, putting it down and then looking back at him. “As I was saying, I see it.”

  He puts one foot on his knee and leans back, resting his hands on his stomach, his fingers entwined. A stomach I’m quite sure doesn’t contain one ounce of fat. “What can you see?” he asks while he just looks at me.

  “Why your mother has to set you up on dates,” I tell him and take another sip until nothing is left. Guadalupe appears as I’m pouring another margarita, placing two small bowls on the table. I see one is with salsa and the other one with queso. Then she places a bigger bowl in the middle with tortilla chips.

  “Here, this is to start,” she says, grabbing the pitcher and pouring me another one. She winks at me, and I smile at her. I grab a tortilla chip, and it’s still warm. “I just made those.”

  I dip the chip in the queso, scooping some of the cheese, and pop it in my mouth. The flavors sink into my tongue, the warm cheese sauce with the spices making me close my eyes and moan. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.”

  “I like her,” she says, looking over at Anthony, and she walks away.

  “See, at least someone likes me today,” I tell him. I grab another chip—not even caring if it’s not ladylike at this point—dip it and toss it in my mouth. It’s very clear that we will not be going on date number two. That is for sure.

  “So, you think I can’t get dates?” he asks, and it annoys me that his glasses are still on, and I can’t see his eyes.

  “What’s up with the Men in Black attire?” I ask him. “It’s not even sunny, so you can lose the glasses.”

  “Men in Black?” I don’t know if he’s asking me a question or not, so I just shrug.

  “I really hope you have the pen thingamajig and can erase this evening from my mind,” I tell him, and he puts his head back and laughs, the sound making me smile.

  “I get it now,” he finally says. When he takes off his glasses, I have to say I wish he hadn’t. His gaze hits me right in the stomach, and the butterflies start. I shake my head because I don’t think it’s possible; it’s probably the tequila. I mean, it has to be, right? I look down and then look up at him again, and there it is again, the gaze of his gray eyes. “So why do you think my mother needs to set me up on dates?” he asks. He sits up, grabbing a chip and dipping it in the salsa.

  “Well,” I start. At first, I try to choose my words carefully, but then I realize who cares what I say. “Besides the fact you aren’t all that friendly, you are definitely rude and condescending.” He smirks at me, and I continue, “And irritating. So flipping irritating.”

  “Is that all?” he asks me, almost like he’s baiting me. Waiting for me to lose my shit. Instead, I shake my head. Something about the way he looks at me makes me lower my guard.

  “I had a shitty day,” I tell him even though I know I shouldn’t. “I found out my ex is engaged today.”

  “Why do you care?” he asks, and I try not to throw something at him. I actually look around for something, but the only thing I think I could throw is the margarita, and well, I’m not wasting that on him. “Why should you care? He’s your ex for a reason,” he prods.

  “I don’t care,” I say louder than I expected to and slam my hand on the table. “I could give two rats’ asses if he’s getting married.”

  “So then why is it shitty?” he asks, taking another chip and dipping it in the salsa.

  “Because he’s gay!” I yell; his eyes go big, and his mouth drops opens and then closes. “Yeah, what?” I cock my head to the side. “No comeback?” He doesn’t say anything. He just waits for me to finish my rant. “I walked in on him nailing his assistant, who was a man, in case you d
idn’t put two and two together.”

  “He’s gay?” he finally says, shocked.

  “Who knows?” I say. “Maybe he’s bi.” I take another long gulp of my margarita. “Maybe my vagina pushed him over the edge.”

  “I don’t think your vagina had anything to do with it,” he says, looking toward the door as Guadalupe walks out with two more bowls.

  “Homemade guacamole, chunky and smooth,” she says, putting it down on the table and topping off my margarita again. I take a chip and dip it into the guacamole. Popping it into my mouth, I moan. The smoothness of the avocado with the tart of the lemon and flavor of the cilantro make this guacamole hands down the best I’ve ever eaten.

  “I lied,” I tell her. “This is the best thing I’ve ever had in my whole life.” She laughs at me and pats my hand, then walks away. “How isn’t there not a line to get into this restaurant?” I look around at the emptiness of the restaurant.

  “She isn’t listed in the Yellow Pages,” he tells me and takes a sip of his virgin margarita. “So, your gay ex-boyfriend is getting married?”

  “Yes,” I tell him, eating another chip. “And to a woman, no less.”

  “Does she know?” He asks me the same question I’ve asked myself a thousand times since I found out.

  “I have no idea.” I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t speak to any of his family. His sister kept in touch with me when we first broke up, but then it was awkward, so I stopped really talking to her.”

  “Are you going to tell her?” he asks.

  “No way.” I shake my head. “Not a chance in hell.”

  “So, what if it was you?” he asks me, and I look at him. “What if you were marrying this man, thinking that he was your forever, but instead, he’s living a lie and now so are you,” he points out. “Would you not want someone to tell you?”

  “Yes,” I say, leaning back in my chair, “but I don’t think it’s my place.”