by Lulu Pratt
“Do you mind if I just grab these?” I ask a group of men standing by an empty table.
None of them pay attention to me, which is mildly annoying, but it’s probably for the best. Drunken people are no fun when you’re sober. They’re not nearly as entertaining as they think they are.
The table is laden with half-empty glasses. I start piling them onto the tray that I’m carrying with me.
My mind is only half on the task at hand. The other half is on the presentation that was shown earlier. There have been about five different presentations tonight, most of them mindless fluff about the success of the graduates.
But one video in particular hit me pretty hard. It was a memorial to students who had gone here and have since passed away. Even though this graduating class is five years ahead of my own, there is one student who I knew very well. One who had passed away only a few months ago. Seeing her on that screen is like a punch to the heart.
“Miss! Waiter!” I hear the voice call out behind me, but I ignore it. It’s more than a little demeaning to be called waiter, especially by someone who can barely stand. “Hello? Waiter.”
A hand suddenly falls on my shoulder, pulling me back. As it does, I lose my balance and stumble backwards. The tray in my hand, full of empty glasses, smashes to the floor around my feet.
“Oh no!” The owner of the voice wails.
He’s an overweight man, with a red face and beady eyes. His glassy look and the way he sways dangerously as he stares at the mess he has made suggests to me that he has had a few too many.
“It’s okay,” I assure him as I drop to my knees to pick up the pieces. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Here, let me help,” a deep voice says.
“No, it’s fine…” I trail off as my eyes fall on the man speaking.
It isn’t the drunk who was responsible for my stumble who is helping me. No, this man is about as far a cry from him as possible.
He has dark, slicked-back hair and a chiseled jawline. His eyes, looking down at the broken glass, are a piercing blue. And even though he wears an expensive suit and is currently on his knees, I can tell that he has an impressive frame. This is a man who most certainly didn’t peak in high school. I don’t recognize him, but I sure wish that I did.
For a moment I’m frozen, and all I can do is stare.
“Sorry about my friend,” he says with a grimace as he scoops up a handful of glass shards. “It’s his first night away from the kids in a while. I guess he got a little over excited.”
“That’s okay, really,” I say as I find my voice, which is a little too high-pitched at the moment. “Really.”
This guy has a presence about him that suggests power and dominance. I can already sense it.
“No, it’s not,” he says firmly. “But at least the glasses were empty. We’ll count that as a win.”
“Oh, well, I can’t drink them anyway. So maybe I wish they were full.” It was an attempt at a joke, even though I’m not even sure what the joke even means. I have to work hard to keep my voice steady. I just want to come off as funny and not uptight.
“You can’t have a drink while you’re working?” He asks. For the first time, he looks at me. Those eyes really are piercing, and I have to work not to gasp when I look into them. “That’s a shame.”
“Don’t feel too sorry for me. I’ve been sneaking sips when my boss isn’t looking.”
“And yet, I still do. How about this?” He stands up as he piles the glass shards onto my empty tray. “Hey, what are you doing after this? I think you and I could both use a drink.”
I don’t know what to say. He has completely caught me off guard. Yet, I don’t come across men like this too often or ever. As such, there is only one thing that I can say.
“Sure,” I reply, trying my best to sound coy and not a nervous wreck. “I’d like that.”
Chapter 3
BLAKE
This bar is one that I know only too well, only for the wrong reasons. It’s because of its location near the high school that my friends and I used to try to sneak in here all the time. Now I don’t even need to show identification.
I was going to leave the reunion early, as I’d shown my face, listened to small talk, and needed to get out of there. However, when Clark caused that waitress to stumble and drop the glasses, I felt something else entirely.
I knew I had a reason to stay if only to see if the attractive waitress could leave her shift early. Fortunately, she’d managed, so now we are here.
She is stunning as she sits beside me. Her long brown hair is tied back in a ponytail because of her job. Even though she wears loose jeans and a loose blouse, again for work, I can tell that she has a fit body, one typical of an L.A. beach girl.
But it’s her eyes that caught me. They are the most beautiful shade of hazel I have ever seen. They’re also deep, too, as if she is hiding a secret. Something that she doesn’t want anyone else to know. I can’t stop staring into them.
“So, you’re from around here then?” She asks as she takes a sip of her beer. We’re sitting in the back on the bar, hidden from the drunken locals who currently populate it.
“What makes you say that?” I ask with a coy smile as I take a swig from my own drink, a vodka soda. The fact that she ordered a beer has me impressed, though. If it wasn’t for the fact that I ordered first, I would have gotten the same.
“Well, you led me here like you come here all the time. Either that or you have built-in radar for local, crummy bars. Plus, I mean, you were at the high-school reunion. So, obviously, you went to school here.”
“Perceptive,” I say, smirking. “I used to live in the area, and I used to come here a lot, when I could get in. Would you be surprised if I told you it hasn’t changed at all?”
“I think I would be more surprised to find out that it had changed.” She smiles at her own joke. It’s the first time that I’ve seen it, and it only makes her more beautiful.
“Not much does around here,” I respond as I chuckle at her joke. “I swear the bartender has looked eighty-five for the past fifty years.” I indicate to the bartender, currently cleaning a glass with a dirty rag. He looks like he could be anywhere between fifty and a hundred.
“Does that include you?” She asks. “Did you wear expensive suits and watches when you were in high school? Boy, I bet that made you popular.”
“No, no. I was more of a basketball shorts, T-shirt kind of a guy in high school. With the occasional button down, when I was feeling fancy.”
“Oh, that is fancy,” she jokes as she takes another sip of her beer, more of a swig than a sip really. “So, what do you do that allowed you to swap the shorts for suits?”
I hesitate. As mentioned, I’m not big on telling people what I do, at least not when I first meet them. And if it was anyone else, then I probably wouldn’t have said anything.
But there is something different about Carrie. I find myself wanting to impress her, which is odd for me.
“I’m a film producer.”
“Really?” She asks, instantly perking up. “What kind of films? Anything I’ve seen?”
“I’d be surprised,” I admit. “I mainly do independent films. But I’m looking to expand.”
“Still, that’s pretty amazing.”
“You think so?” I ask as I take another sip. As I do, I keep my eyes trained on her, making sure to catch her own.
“Anyone who does what they love for a living is impressive,” she counters. “I wish I could do that.”
“What do you do?” I ask.
It’s small talk, but for some reason it doesn’t seem that way. It feels like we’re creating a connection more than anything. I have known her for less than an hour and yet if you were to ask me now, I would swear it was longer.
“You know what I do,” she says coyly, offering me a wink as she sips on her drink.
“Apart from working for the number-one caterer in L.A.?”
“I’m a writer,
” she says. “Or at least, I’m trying to be one.”
“Trying?”
“Well, I will be one, I mean. It just takes time, and practice, and more time.”
I can tell that it’s a sensitive subject for her. So naturally I push.
“Anything worth doing takes time,” I tell her. “That’s how you know it’s worth it.”
“And was it that way for you?” She asks. She sounds as if she doesn’t believe me, or doesn’t want to anyway.
“Of course. The first movie I produced took two years, and I lost money. But I used that experience to make another and another, and, well, now you’ve seen the suit.” I flick the lapel on my suit, and she laughs as I do. It’s a sweet laugh, one that I want to hear again.
“Okay. I’ll take your word for it. For now. But if it doesn’t work out for me. I’m going to blame you.”
“Deal.”
***
We have been in the bar for at least three hours. But the conversation has been effortless and free flowing. There have been no gaps, no awkward pauses.
Everything that has been said has been built off previous conversation, I can sense myself getting to know her on a deeper and more intimate level.
It’s strange, but as I glance at my watch, seeing that the night is about to come to an end. My dick twitches at the thought of taking her home and fucking her stupid.
“So, what are your plans after this?” I ask casually.
As I do, I take a sip of my beer. I switched it up after my first drink.
“After the bar? Well, seeing as it’s almost two in the morning, I’m guessing that bed is on the horizon. Or at least Netflix and bed.”
“As great as that sounds. I think that you should come home with me instead.”
I’m straight forward in the way I say it, almost making it so she can’t say no. It’s a trick I had learned from my long years of playing the field.
“Is that right?” She responds, sounding more intrigued than anything.
“Yes. I don’t like the idea of you making your way home in your current state. It’s dangerous, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you.”
“As honorable as that sounds, I think I’ll pass,” she responds. “I’m not that easy. And besides, I require a real date before I go home with a man. One where the location doesn’t smell like stale carpet and bad decisions.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’m counting on it.”
As she finishes her drink, she holds back a small burp, and it’s the cutest thing I think I have ever seen. It is right then that I know I’m going to call her. There’s nothing that will be able to stop me.
Chapter 4
CARRIE
“The orange juice is in. The Champagne is mixed. Now, all I need is the gossip, and we have the makings of an excellent day.” Amy plonks herself down in the chair opposite mine as she takes her first sip of our home-made mimosas. “Not bad. Could do with some more Champagne. But then again, can’t everything?”
Amy is my best friend and has been for the better part of five years. She’s a hairdresser, and that’s how I met her. I went in for a simple haircut and was talked into totally reinventing myself. Since then, I haven’t looked back.
“I invited you over here for some life advice. Not gossip.” I chuckle as I sample our beverage for myself.
It’s only just past noon on a Monday, but as Amy has the day off, she convinced me, very easily, the time was perfect for drinks.
“Gossip? Life advice? Please tell me how the two are different, and I’ll quit drinking today.”
“Fine,” I relent. “I guess you want to hear about Blake?”
“Even his name is sexy,” Amy teases as she leans forward, giving me her utmost attention.
“And so is he. Believe me. Really everything about him was. The way he dressed, the way he spoke. And his eyes, I could have stared at them all night.”
“Then, why didn’t you?” She asks, flashing me a wicked smile.
“Because I’m not that kind of a girl. I told him he needs to take me on a real date. He can afford it. And when he does, well, ask me the next day how my self-control is.”
“I haven’t seen this specimen yet, but the picture I have in my mind is telling. Do you think he’ll call?”
“I think so,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
I am pretty sure that he is going to call, at least I assume that he will, based off the night. But with a guy like that, I can only assume. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a whole host of women chasing him.
“Excellent. That’s all I need to hear.” She takes a mighty sip of her mimosa, nearly finishing it before I have had so much as a mouthful of my own. “Oh, I forgot to ask you. How was the reunion? Was everything okay?”
She grimaces as she asks the question, and I know why.
“Yeah, it was fine,” I admit. “They showed her face on the screen at one point, but I just looked away.”
“You poor thing. How are you holding up? It’s been, what? Three months now?”
“Four as of last Thursday,” I quietly correct her, looking down at my drink as I do. I don’t like to talk about it at the best of times, even with Amy.
The reason for Amy’s reserve is because of my sister, who passed away four months previously. It was a car crash. A drunken driver plowed into the side of her car. And as bad as that was, I was reminded of it at the reunion. They flashed her picture on the big screen at one point, in honor of her passing. It felt like a knife driving through my belly.
“It was hard seeing it. But maybe it’s for the best? Closure for me, you know?”
“Yeah, closure.” Amy reaches forward and rubs the back of my hand. “Trust me. You know Lyndsey, and you know she wouldn’t have wanted you wasting your time mourning over her. She would have wanted you to move on, finish your book and maybe start a family.”
“Yeah, okay,” I scoff. “Let’s take bets on which one comes first. None of them have good odds.”
I’m really not that interest in having a family, and it has a lot to do with my upbringing. I’m an orphan. My mother died when I was very young and my father died when I was eight. For me, there’s really no coming back from that. Lyndsey is my adopted sister, and although she and my adoptive parents did all they could to make me feel like part of the family, I never really felt like I belonged. Not in the truest sense anyway.
Those feelings still haunt me to this day and are a large reason why having a family was very low on my list of things to do.
“Whatever,” Amy says with derision as she waves me down. “You’re gorgeous, and you know it. All you need is a man. Once you have one you like, and trust me on this, he won’t be able to put you down. Who knows, maybe this Blake will be the one. Wedding bells anyone?”
“Stop!” I exclaim, trying not to laugh at my ridiculous friend. “He hasn’t even called me back. If he does. And if I like him. And if he likes me. I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself.”
“Okay, but you heard it here first,” Amy finishes with a knowing smile, as if she can see something I can’t.
I glare at my best friend as I finish my drink. The moment my glass is empty, I hold it out for her to refill, which she does willingly. The day is young, the drinks are flowing, and I know that the two of us still have a long day of gossiping to get through. I am, truth be told, rather looking forward to it.
Chapter 5
BLAKE
I couldn’t get Carrie out of my head all weekend. Longer than that even. It’s Tuesday morning now and still she haunts my mind.
It has nothing to do with her beauty, even though she has that. And it has nothing to do with the scintillating conversation the two of us had, even though we had that, too.
It was the effortless way in which she turned me down. That kind of thing never happens to me. Women don’t turn me down, ever. Usually, once I have a woman alone, it’s only too easy to get them to
come back to my place. But not Carrie. And that was what had me so intrigued three days after meeting her.
Sitting at my desk, I can’t stop staring at my phone.
As a film producer, I often work from home. I’m my own boss, and that allows for me to dictate the rules. It’s a convenient arrangement and is usually a good thing. But today, it has its drawbacks.
I stare at the phone, and I can’t think of a reason not to call. Sure, I can do some more work. But there’s nothing urgent on my schedule until a meeting this afternoon. And sure, I can go for a run, or to the gym, but again, none of it is that pressing.
Finally, after visualizing her perfect ass, I make a snap decision to call Carrie. I pick up the phone, dial the number, take a deep breath and wait for her to answer.
“Hello,” she says on the other end of the line. Her voice is like honey. Music to my ears. I have forgotten how sweet she sounds.
“Carrie, it’s Blake,” I say casually. I want to sound like I called her as an afterthought.
“Oh, hi,” she responds in an upbeat manner. “How are you?”
“Good. Better now that I’ve spoken to you. Wait, is that too cheesy?” Women usually eat that stuff up.
“Definitely too cheesy,” she says, chuckling.
“Damn, I hope you won’t hold that against me. Especially since I called to arrange a time to take you out.”
I am smooth and relaxed as I talk.
“Hmm, I think it might,” she jokes.
At least I hope it’s a joke.
“How about this? I’ll just have to make it up to you. Add it to the list for me having taken you to that crack den the other night.”
“I don’t know. First that crack den. Then that line. I won’t be surprised if you propose to me next.”
I can tell that she is joking, but I wish that I could see her rather than just having to hear her. I operate a lot better face to face. It makes it easier to play off their reactions.
