Clickbait

by Lisa Suzanne

  The beach is crowded, but a lone figure standing just at the shoreline grabs my attention immediately. He’s not wearing a shirt, just swim trunks.

  It’s Carter.

  He’s back.

  I hate my traitorous body as my belly warms and an achy need starts to form between my legs.

  I hate him.

  I hate what he did to me—to us.

  I can’t see his face, but I’d recognize that body anywhere. I’d be able to pick him out of a lineup just from the toned muscles in his back; a shudder runs through me as I remember scratching my nails down them at the peak of an orgasm.

  I can’t deal with him, and even though Shelby is bouncing with excitement beside me, I yank her leash to pull her away from the beach.

  She’s strong, though, and persistent. She takes advantage of my focus on Carter and darts toward the water. I’m caught completely off guard, and she drags me along behind her.

  She runs straight up to Carter, of all the damn people on the beach, and jumps on him.

  Fucking traitor dog.

  Harrison can have her. I may never speak to her again.

  He’s not offended the way I was when the dog he brought here jumped on me. Instead, he laughs and calmly says, “Down, girl,” before kneeling in the surf and scratching her ears. She jumps around a bit, and then his eyes finally follow the leash to the person holding it.

  Oh, right. That’s me.

  It all happens so fast, but the main emotion that hits me is pure rage.

  I ignore the part of me that is glad to see him, and I push as hard as I can against the part of me that feels relief that he’s back.

  Instead, I allow the hatred to fill my blood, to permeate and take root in the veins leading to my heart.

  I finally get my bearings and yank on Shelby’s leash. She’s thrilled to be at the beach, so it’s futile when I try to yank her away from the water.

  Carter can easily see my struggle, so he clicks the leash off of her to allow her to run free.

  He straightens. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, so I can’t get a clear read on what he’s thinking. His jaw is clenched, though, and his nostrils flare.

  My mouth dries and my heart beats so loudly I can hear it in my ears.

  We stare at each other wordlessly for a few beats.

  “Delete that article,” he says through gritted teeth.

  My hands form tight fists. “Fuck you, Carter King,” I say, my words reminiscent of the second time I ever met him.

  “Real mature, Sanders.” He turns away from me and stares out over the water, and I’m not sure what my next move is supposed to be.

  “There’s nothing in there that isn’t true.”

  He turns back toward me and basically explodes. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he yells, throwing his arms out wide. “There’s nothing in there that is true!”

  “From my perspective, it’s truth—all of it—and I have the right to free speech.”

  He laughs, but it’s not the laugh I grew fond of. It’s sinister and mean. He raises his voice at me again. “What a fucking joke. You’re ruining my life with your little made-up story and you’re defending it with free speech?”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” I throw back at him.

  His eyebrows rise up nearly to his hairline. “Dramatic?” he repeats. “Dramatic. You think I’m being dramatic. Try this on for size, Miss Free Speech: one of my top organizations wants to pull from King Contributions because they don’t want to be associated with a man who manipulates and uses women for sex. You’re costing me clients. You’re costing me money. You’re costing me my reputation. And for what? To prove a point? To get revenge for something you didn’t even bother to ask me about? Fuck that. I’m out of here.”

  He whistles, and a little Jack Russel Terrier who’d been playing in the surf a few feet away trots over. He leashes the dog and the two of them walk away.

  So much for making myself feel better with a sunny afternoon visit to the beach with my favorite dog.

  COURTING SANDY EGGO

  posted by Courtney Sanders

  FAST FIVE: BEST COMMENTS OVERHEARD AT DICK’S SPORTING GOODS

  Bonus #6. Woman 1: “Champs beats Dick’s all day.” Woman 2: *blinks* Woman 1: “I’m talking about the prices.”

  5. Woman 1: “Not a lot of selection for girls here.” Woman 2: *giggles* “What are you talking about? I see Dick’s everywhere.”

  4. “I figured a place called ‘Dick’s Sporting Goods’ would only sell jockstraps.”

  3. “They’ve sure got a lot of balls in this place.”

  2. “I love Dick’s…” *long pause* “…Sporting Goods.”

  1. Eighty-ish-year-old man regarding what he thinks is called the Insider Savings Card: “I need my Dick’s Insider.”

  CHAPTER 17

  After I drop Shelby back at Harrison’s place, I head home. It’s time to take my life back. I spend the rest of the afternoon catching up on the blog. I read all of my emails, and I’m surprised to find several new offers for ad spots and backlinks. Some companies offered astronomical numbers that shocked me. I update the activities calendar, post a Fast Five, and check more of the comments on the article about Carter.

  There are more comments on that article than I ever expected, more even than the first two volumes of DBs of SD, and I think it has something to do with the number of shares. Someone started a viral headline that is obviously clickbait: Rich Bachelor Does Nothing All Day but Use Women and Roll around in Money.

  Apparently Carter King is one hot commodity. It may be the fact that I outright named him on my blog, but it was with his permission when he gave me the Fast Five he wanted me to publish. Maybe it’s the fact that women have seen his picture—the one I took when he was standing next to the boat made its way onto the blog with one of the articles about him (with his permission, of course). This is his own fault, really.

  I finally pull myself away from the blog and text Emme.

  Me: I’m ready to rejoin the human race. Sorry I’ve been a twat.

  Emme: Are you ready to admit you’ve got feelings for him?

  I’m most certainly not ready to admit that, not aloud anyway. I don’t even feel comfortable thinking it, but then nothing has really felt comfortable since the day my white dress was ruined on Dog Beach and Carter King introduced himself.

  Me: No. Baby steps, please.

  Emme: I’ll allow it. I’m glad you’re emerging from the black hole. What do you want to do?

  Me: Are you working tonight?

  Emme: Yes. York Short is playing.

  York Short is led by front man Brandon York, the guy who runs Soup on Fourth. I ran a profile last month on his soup kitchen as a favor to Emme, and now his band is playing The Port.

  Me: I love them and I’m glad it worked out.

  Emme: Thanks for the promo on Soup on Fourth last month.

  Me: Anything for you. Plus Brandon is hot. What time do they play?

  Emme: Ten.

  Me: I’ll be there a little before.

  I feel a little better, like I’ve shaken off most of the Carter haze. I’ll go to the bar, watch some live music, dance with some friends, and maybe hook up with a hot guy to get my mind off Carter. It might even be Brandon, though keeping things professional with him would probably be a better idea.

  On second thought, fuck good ideas. I’m going to go out and have fun. I need to do something tonight that’ll be worth writing about in the morning. It’ll give my readers some hope to cling to—especially those who’ve fallen prey to douchebags of their own.

  Yeah, blaming my readers for my poor decisions sounds like a great plan.

  I head over to The Port at nine. It’ll give me time to get in, get a drink, and find some friends before York Short comes on.

  Only that’s not at all how it works out, and there’s one reason why: Carter King.

  There’s a cover charge tonight since a band will be playing, but Kelvin waves me in.
Music pumps through the speakers as the DJ in one corner plays the latest dance music. It’s already a party in here, and the line outside told me it would be packed.

  Then, as if by divine intervention, my eyes seek out Carter King. It’s like I knew deep down he would be here, and—of course—he is. It’s not like my emergence into the real world after days of hiding would’ve changed that.

  My heart flips in my chest.

  I want to know why he’s here and why he came back to town so fast. I want to know about his new house, about his job, about everything.

  He’s shaking his head at something Axel said when I spot him sitting on one of the stools at the bar. He’s drinking a dark beer, and he’s sitting alone.

  Jeans hug his sweet ass, and a dark shirt stretches across that broad chest. My heart races. His hair is messy and his scruff is more grown in than usual, and I can’t help but stare at him as I approach the bar. It’s crowded enough in here that I can easily blend into the crowd if I need to, but I’m not the type to run away. I never have been, and I won’t start now.

  He looks a little bit tired. I didn’t notice that at the beach, but his eyes were hidden behind sunglasses.

  I walk up to the bar, and I see Axel’s eyes widen a bit. He’s busy, so I wait for him to finish with a customer before he saunters over toward me. I stand a few stools away from Carter. I know he can see me, but I pretend like I don’t notice he’s there.

  “What are you drinking tonight?” Axel asks. His eyes dart over to Carter in a really obvious display of anxiety.

  “Paloma,” I say, naming my favorite tequila drink.

  Let’s be honest, tequila is always a good choice, especially when the guy who used you but who you still want in your bed is sitting three barstools away from you.

  Fine, I’ll admit it—I want him. I hate him, but I want him.

  The problem is that I don’t think he wants me—I don’t think he ever really did. He wants Amanda. He’s hung up on his ex, and whatever moments we shared together are meaningless.

  Oh, and there’s the whole thing about me ruining his life, which I still don’t really believe. I thought about looking up King Contributions after he mentioned it to me. It sounds like a financial institution, but I decided not to investigate as my own sort of personal protest. I was trying to keep up the ruse even to myself that I don’t like him, but as soon as I spotted him in The Port and my heart pitter-pattered, I knew I was lying to myself.

  I can feel his eyes on me. He knows I’m here, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. I focus on watching Axel make my drink, and then I feel someone tugging on my arm.

  “I’m so glad you made it!” Emme says, pulling me into a hug. She leans in close to my ear. “You know he’s here, right?”

  I nod. “Spotted him the second I walked in.” I pull out of her hug and give her a fake smile.

  “You doing okay?”

  I nod as I unexpectedly feel tears burning behind my eyes. I hate these emotions that keep catching me off guard.

  Emme’s eyes slide over to Axel, who is placing my drink on the bar.

  “Add it to my tab,” she says, and she picks it up and hands it to me. I gulp it down in a few sips, and she grins as she looks back to Axel. “And make two more.”

  “Two?” I ask.

  “One’s for me.”

  I giggle, and being with my friend is reassuring. She makes me feel like everything’s going to be okay. She’ll take care of me.

  Only she can’t, not really. She gets a text that York Short has arrived, and she has a job to do.

  Emme and I both run in pretty wide circles. I easily fall into a group of people I know. They’re not really what I’d call friends, more like acquaintances. They’re people I know. They’re people I socialize with and drink with on the weekends. They text me and they read the blog, which means they know every detail about my personal life, but they don’t really know me.

  Actually, very few people really do.

  Emme is one of the few who does, and the list pretty much ends there. Even my parents don’t really know what I do for a living.

  People think they know me because they read all about every detail of my life, but they don’t know the real me—the self-conscious girl who labors over her words, the sometimes insecure woman who buys designer clothes just to feel like she fits in. I project a strong voice to the world, but sometimes I feel like that’s an act. Sometimes I don’t think I’m as strong as I lead people to believe I am.

  I found myself starting to allow Carter in, but he cut that short with what he did.

  I feel very alone in the crowd as I play along. I laugh and dance, smiling with these people who don’t really know me, drinks held high as we try not to spill with our movement.

  I can’t help my traitorous eyes as they edge toward Carter, and I’m actually not surprised when I find his eyes are already on me.

  Everything fades around me for a few heated seconds as my gaze locks on his across the crowded bar.

  I feel a rushing sensation in my ears, and my heart leaps up into my throat. I play it cool, though, as I’ve schooled myself to do.

  His eyes narrow into a glare, and he looks away first.

  A little piece of my heart breaks in that moment.

  It’s over, and nothing proves that more than this one broken stare.

  * * *

  York Short is as fantastic as ever, closing with a cover of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing.” Everyone in the bar is singing along.

  Well, I assume everyone is, because it sounds like everyone is. I hear the people around me louder than I hear Brandon as he sings the familiar words.

  I’m forcing myself to keep up the act, and I’ve also forced myself to avoid Carter’s eyes for their entire performance. I don’t know if he’s singing along. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve focused on the band and the people around me rather than the fact that we’re sharing the same space.

  I’m a few Palomas deep, and I don’t regret that for a hot second. It has allowed me to shed the sadness I feel (or at least to mask it with tequila), and I spent the duration of York Short’s performance staring up at the delectable Brandon.

  I make a snap decision.

  Me: Get me out back before YS leaves.

  Emme: Why?

  Me: I’m going home with Brandon.

  Emme: Is he aware of this?

  Me: No.

  Emme: Is this the best idea?

  Me: Not at all, but I need something good to write about in the morning.

  She doesn’t write back, but she suddenly appears beside me just as the band plays the closing notes of their last song.

  “Come on,” she says with a sigh, and I can feel her silent judgment.

  “Thanks for keeping your thoughts to yourself,” I say.

  She presses her lips together as we walk out back. The band will come back here any minute. “You’re my best friend. I may not agree with what you want to do, but I will always support you. You got me this gig in the first place, so here’s your payback.”

  As I wait for Brandon, I down the rest of my Paloma. I need the liquid courage for what I’m about to do.

  The four members of the band emerge through the door carrying a variety of instruments. They exchange some private words before separating.

  “Emme!” Brandon booms. “That was fucking amazing. Thanks for organizing it.” He slings his arm around her, and she grins.

  “When are you coming back?” she asks.

  “Text Gina and get it on the schedule. We love the energy here.”

  “Consider it done.” She looks over to me, and I know it’s my time. She disappears back into the bar, and I pause before I ask my first question.

  “How long have you been playing ‘One for the Road’?”

  “It’s new. We added it to our set list about a month ago.”

  I wet my lips with my tongue before catching my bottom lip between my teeth, drawing his eyes to my mouth. I all
ow my lips to form a slow smile. “I loved it.” I reach out to touch his arm before demurely twisting a piece of my hair around my finger.

  I know exactly what I’m doing.

  I’m throwing every cliché I can think of at him. I’m all but slipping my hands into my panties and squeezing my own breasts.

  “Thanks.” One side of his mouth lifts in a smile back at me.

  I allow my eyes to run the length of his body before crossing my arms over my chest, creating deeper cleavage than I had before. I stroke the side of my arm with my thumb as he watches me. “You wanna grab a drink?” I ask, keeping my voice low and sultry.

  His eyes linger on mine for a minute before dipping toward my cleavage. We’ve always shared a bit of a flirtation, but I’m trying to make it clear that he’s invited for more than innocent flirting.

  His eyes flick back to mine. “Yeah,” he says. I can tell he knows I mean more than a drink by the way his blue eyes heat as he locks them onto mine. “Just give me some time to get this shit cleaned up.”

  I smile and meet his eyes, making sure to throw some heat in his direction. “I’ll be inside getting drunk on tequila while I wait for you.”

  He laughs. “I’ll find you when I’m ready.”

  I move closer to him and lower my voice, focusing my eyes on his lips. “Just so we’re clear, I’m already ready.”

  He clears his throat as I move away, and I know I’ve hooked my prey for the night.

  The bar has cleared some, but it’s still pretty busy. I spot Emme first; she’s talking to Axel as he mixes a drink. A few feet away, Carter sits on the same stool he’s been sitting on all night. He’s chatting with some woman I don’t recognize, and a ripple of jealousy darts through me when I see him smile at her. An unfamiliar and unintended growl chokes the back of my throat.

  So much for Amanda, I guess.

  I shake my head and take a deep breath, then flip my hair over my shoulder and stride confidently toward Emme.

  “I’ll take one more Paloma,” I tell Axel.

  He raises an eyebrow at me before looking at Emme, and Emme nods at him as if to say, Just do it and shut up about it.