by Lisa Suzanne
“Soon. He made an offer on a house while he was here and it was accepted.”
“Oh, this is so exciting!” My mom claps her hands together like a little girl, and I can’t help but feel a little bit of excitement right along with her.
We gab about boys for a bit, and then my mom starts to wade into scary territory. “Oh, honey, while you’re here, Auntie Alice asked me if I’m on the Facebook, and I told her you would get me all set up on it.”
The Facebook is not a place for my mother. My sponsored posts show up in newsfeeds all the time, especially in those of women who live in San Diego. She could very easily find out what exactly I do…and who I do, and every detail therein. These are just things parents don’t need to know about their children, and vice versa.
“You don’t want a Facebook, Mom,” I say. “It’s too much work.”
“She said I can post pictures and play games on it and it’s really easy.”
Well that’s all true. I don’t know what to say, so I just do what any good daughter would do.
I lie.
“It takes some time to get it all set up, and I have to get going. Maybe next time?”
She looks disappointed, and I hate knowing it’s me who put that disappointment there.
“Sure, hon.”
“Great,” I say, and I bolt out the door before either of them can ask me any more questions that might lead to them finding out how I actually earn my living.
COURTING SANDY EGGO
posted by Courtney Sanders
THREE-ALARM FIRE
It’s so weird how people come and go from our lives. A couple weeks ago, I didn’t even know who Carter was, and now he’s consuming practically my every waking thought.
I’ll be honest: it’s the sex.
I can’t stop thinking about the sex, and I can’t wipe this silly smile off my face.
As I mentioned, Carter is the best I’ve ever had, and last night, he proved that over and over.
And over.
You get my point.
It hurts to sit today. I’ll just leave it at that.
It was so smoking hot that I think we actually lit my sheets on fire at one point.
We were supposed to go to dinner, but he ordered in instead.
Any guesses what he ordered?
I’ll tell you, and faithful readers will be shocked. He made me eat pizza. Can you believe it? Pizza.
I didn’t admit this to him last night, but it was good. I can’t say I’ll eat it again, at least not any time soon, but it wasn’t super offensive.
To be honest, the fact that I didn’t hate it sort of pissed me off. I’m the girl who doesn’t eat pizza. Everyone who knows me knows this about me, but it was my only dinner option, and I needed the fuel.
I hate that he stole a little piece of who I am, and I hate even more that I’m admitting that to him right now.
But he’s gone now. He left me with his euphemisms and a sex hangover so bad I don’t want to get out of bed because I can still smell him on my sheets.
I slept with him too soon according to “the rules”, but as you know, I’ve never really followed the rules, especially when it comes to dating.
Come to think of it, maybe that’s why my dating life is such a disaster.
The sex is amazing, but now I’m stuck obsessing over every detail as we girls tend to do.
Did I give it up too soon?
Is our connection just based on good incredible sex? Can it turn into something more?
How does he feel about me?
Who is he, really? He told me he’d tell me everything about himself, but I still don’t really know much.
More dates will give us time to figure all that out, but he’s in New York (for now) and I’m not.
Also, if our dates are going to be like the one last night, there won’t be much talking—unless you count groaning and grunting as talking.
CHAPTER 14
After lunch and a stop at the grocery store followed by a donation to my favorite homeless shelter, Soup on Fourth, I finally post my article about Carter. I’m not happy with how it turned out. It doesn’t really articulate how strongly I feel, but I’m still wary of posting anything that might come off as clingy since I know he’ll read whatever I post.
Plus there’s the whole fact that I don’t actually know how I’m feeling. It’s hard to articulate confusion.
I want to see him again. I need to see him again. He’s been on my mind constantly since he left, but I haven’t heard from him since yesterday when he texted me just after he landed.
I decide to social media stalk him. I start with a simple search, and I find tons of pictures of him with a blonde. I click on the first picture.
He’s wearing a tuxedo and looks exactly like he did when he left my place yesterday. His dark hair is perfectly coiffed with some waxy stuff, and his dark eyes practically glow at the camera.
The caption reads, Carter King with longtime girlfriend Amanda Gray.
I remember him saying it’s over with Amanda when I confronted him with what Axel had told me.
So this must be the ex.
The famous ex he’s maybe not exactly over but claims to be over.
I wonder (not for the first time) why they broke up.
I click on the picture so I can zoom in. She’s beautiful. She looks more like Emme than like me with her high cheekbones and straight, petite nose. Her skin is like porcelain, but she has a touch of a tan that looks more natural than sprayed. Her hair is shiny and silky, and it’s so pretty I almost want to run my fingers through it myself. It runs in loose waves down her back, and it looks perfect against the tan skin of her shoulders.
Her figure is a definite ten. She’s tall and thin with perky breasts and perfect posture. Her cleavage spills out over the top of her shimmery black dress, but she manages to look classy and elegant anyway.
I hate her, immediately and without reservation.
She’s beautiful and she’s perfect standing next to him. What’s worse is that I know she owns a piece of his heart. He claims it’s over, but this photo is evidence that love once existed between the two of them. It’s the way he’s so genuinely smiling at the camera, the way his arm is wrapped around her waist…the way he looks so happy.
I’m trying to remember if he ever looked at me like that. The first time I met him, he had on those sunglasses—the second time, too. He wouldn’t have looked at me with love in his eyes when we first met—that is, unless he really believes in the whole love at first sight thing. I thought I saw a tinge of that look in his eyes on the boat during our sunset kiss, but the kind of devotion in his eyes takes time to build. It takes time to cultivate and grow, and clearly he has that bond with this Amanda girl.
Out of complete curiosity, I search for a date on the photo. I have to know how long ago this was taken because the passage of time might be my only consolation that perhaps he really is over her.
I finally locate the date on the photo.
“What the fuck?” I murmur.
That can’t be right.
I click the article and read the headline: King Communications Annual Benefit Reaches Record Numbers.
The article was posted earlier this morning.
The photograph is from last night.
My heart drops down into my stomach.
The room spins around me as the little bit of hope and excitement I’d allowed myself dashes right out of me.
That can’t be right.
I bookmark the article and then click to a couple other photos. They look essentially the same, but the other photos were taken months earlier. Her hair is a little longer, as is his, and his scruff is a little more substantial in the photo from last night.
And yet his eyes still shine with happiness.
My fucking ass he’s over his ex. He attended the benefit with Amanda after he spent the last few days on top of me.
He attended the benefit with Amanda after he told me it was over betw
een the two of them.
This. This right here. This feeling in my gut, the nausea and the hopelessness and the hurt.
This is why I don’t do serious relationships.
I realize we aren’t serious yet, but now?
Now we’ll never be.
It’s that thought that sends me first into sadness and then into rage.
And you know what I do when I’m raging? I write.
Before I write, though, I realize it’s time to meet Emme for our happy hour date, and I can’t wait to see my favorite bartender to confront him with this newest development where his douchebag cousin is concerned.
I walk to The Port. It’s only a couple blocks from my place, and I need the walk to calm my frazzled nerves.
It doesn’t help.
Emme isn’t there yet, but Axel is behind the bar. He grins when I walk in.
“Hey, Sanders. I heard my cousin set your sheets on fire last night.”
“Your cousin can fuck right off. Get me a shot of tequila.”
His jaw drops. “What?”
“Tequila,” I say, drawing out each syllable of ta-kee-lah to get my point across.
“What happened since this morning?”
“Your dickface cousin happened.”
Axel’s brows draw together in confusion as he pours my shot of tequila. “Is it because of the blog thing? I told him telling you would be a mistake.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“What blog thing?” I demand.
“No, it’s nothing.”
“Axel, tell me what blog thing.”
He sighs and sets the shot in front of me with a salt shaker and a lime. “First tell me what’s got your panties in a bunch.”
I throw back the shot and grimace, but I don’t touch the salt or the lime. “He went to the fucking benefit with Amanda.”
“Oh shit. I’m sorry, Court. I tried to warn you.”
“Now tell me what blog thing you’re talking about.”
He glances away from me. “Don’t get mad at me.”
“Fucking. Tell. Me.”
He pours more tequila in my shot glass before he talks, so I know this is going to be good—or bad, as the case may be. “You know how he was so persistent in getting you to go out with him?”
“Yeah. What’s that got to do with anything?
“Well…he knew you’d write about it if he took you out.”
“So?”
“So Amanda is a longtime fan of yours who reads your blog.”
Understanding dawns. I take the second shot. “He knew Amanda would read about our date.”
Axel nods.
“So he wined and dined me and made me think there was something there, but he was just using me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And you fucking knew about this?”
He holds up both hands. “I told you not to get mad at me.”
“That’s not a defense, you assclown!”
“I know, and honestly I didn’t know until yesterday.”
“He told you this?”
“It’s not like that. He has feelings for you.”
Emme walks in at that moment. “Hello, friends!” She’s cheerful as she plops onto a stool before noticing the glare I’m directing at Axel.
“Whoa. What’s going on?” she asks.
“Axel’s dickface cousin has been using me,” I explain, followed by a smirk. I nod to my empty shot glass, and Axel dutifully fills it.
“What are you talking about?” Emme asks.
I stare down at my tequila shot. Three in a row is a bad idea, but lately I haven’t had too many good ideas.
“Oh, God.” I shake my head and roll my eyes. “I’m so stupid. He left me a Fast Five to publish and told me to use his fucking name.” I lift the shot glass and swallow down the liquor. It burns in my chest, but it’s better than what I’m feeling where Carter is concerned.
“Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” Emme finally yells at the two of us.
Axel gives her a pointed look, but she doesn’t back down.
I pull out my phone and open a browser to do a quick search while Axel starts explaining.
“Carter took her out because he knew she’d write about it and his ex reads her blog,” he says. It’s not any easier to hear it a second time. It actually feels like salt in the wound.
I pull up the article I found and slide my phone over to Emme.
“He attended some benefit in New York with her last night,” I spit.
“This is the ex?” Emme asks.
I nod.
“She’s pretty,” she muses. Then she looks up to meet my death glare. “I mean she’s pretty horrid.”
I finger the empty shot glass. The three shots didn’t help me feel any better. “Well then they belong together.”
“You’re missing part of the story,” Axel says.
“I don’t give a fuck.” I nod to the shot glass again.
Axel picks it up and sets it behind the bar. “I’m not pouring you another shot.”
I fix my glare back on him. “It’s your job, bartender.”
“Court, don’t be a bitch,” Emme says.
I sigh. She’s right. Even though he knew about it, taking this out on Axel isn’t fair. “I’m sorry.”
Axel’s attention is called away by some other patrons, and Emme starts in on me. “Don’t you want to know the rest?”
“Does it matter? The photographic evidence right in front of you doesn’t lie.”
“Babe, I think you’re seeing what you want to see.”
“It’s pretty obvious, Em,” I say, tapping to close the image.
“Is it?” she asks softly. “Axel says there’s more to the story. Just hear him out.”
I sigh in frustration. Happy hour has officially started now, so Axel’s attention is focused on his job, not on me and my problems with his stupid jackass cousin.
“I’m going home,” I say as I stand. I just don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want Emme trying to convince me to listen to Axel. I don’t want Axel spilling more lies when he knew about this in the first place. I just need to get out.
I throw some money on the bar even though I know Axel will comp my shots. Emme grabs her purse and moves to stand, but I stop her with my hand up in the air. “I want to be alone.”
“Court, don’t go,” she says. She’s pleading with me, but I need to go home for a very specific reason.
I’ve got rage coursing through every fiber of my being, and I need to go home and write.
I have to get this out of me.
Stat.
COURTING SANDY EGGO
posted by Courtney Sanders
THE BIGGEST DB IN SD: A MINI-SERIES
VOLUME THREE: CARTER
Okay, technically Carter isn’t a Sandy-Eggan. Technically, he’s a New Yorker.
But he was in me San Diego, and he just bought a house here, so it counts. This is a preemptive warning.
He spends his days flirting with disaster women, bedding them, and, of course, using them.
He may just be the KING of douchebags.
Apart from being a womanizer who is only worried about what his ex-girlfriend thinks of him, he pretty much does nothing other than roll around in hundred dollar bills on his bed all day.
I should know. I went on several dates with him, and never once did he ever bring up his job. In fact, every time I asked him about it, he changed the subject, which tells me he’s content living off money someone else made.
His ex-girlfriend came up a few times, and each time, he brushed it off. He said something along the lines of them wanting different things. I should’ve listened to the alarm bells going off in my head.
I don’t care if he’s a commitment-phobe. I may subscribe to a touch of that phobia myself, but I can tell you right now what he wanted.
He wanted the sex.
He’s not just one of the top douchebags in San Diego�
�he’s a fuckboy who only thinks with his dick.
For those of you who don’t know the definition of a fuckboy, let me be clear on that.
FUCKBOY (noun): a manipulative prick who will do whatever it takes to benefit himself.
You may be thinking to yourself, Wait, is this the same guy she just wrote about this morning? The one who set her sheets on fire? The one with the ridiculous Fast Five guest column about sex euphemisms?
Yes. The answer to all three of those questions is yes.
He uses people. I found out the hard way that he’s still into his ex, and by the hard way, I mean through the magic of photographic evidence as printed in The New York Times. He took her to a benefit for his family’s company.
Last night.
After he spent the night before with me.
On top of that, I found out something really great.
He used me. The only reason he wanted to go out with me in the first place is because his ex reads this very blog.
So, Amanda, I’m sorry. I’m sorry Carter spent several glorious nights naked with me. I’m sorry if I came between you two, because he obviously still loves you. You can have him (if you still want him. I wouldn’t. And I don’t).
I mentioned he bought a house here, so ladies of San Diego, be warned.
He’ll cast a spell on you and you won’t know what hit you. Don’t fall for his charm.
After spending the majority of the past couple of weeks with this guy, I still don’t know much about him, but I do know a few things: He uses women for selfish reasons. He rolls around in his money. He manipulates and hurts people, and the worst part is that he doesn’t even care.
Stay far, far away from this DB who is taking up residence in SD soon.
Consider yourself warned.
CHAPTER 15
When I wake up the next morning, I reluctantly turn on my phone. I shut it off last night right after I posted Carter’s volume of the DBs of SD.
Between Emme blowing up my phone every two seconds making sure I was okay and the torrent of messages I’d surely receive after my latest installment, I just didn’t want to deal with any of it.
So, I bid Emme a goodnight, posted the article, shut down my laptop, shut off my phone, powered down my tablet, and fell asleep on my couch with a cup of tea on the table in front of me and a sappy romantic comedy on the television.
