Clickbait

by Lisa Suzanne

  I love their silent communication. He finishes the drink he’s mixing and then starts on mine.

  “How’d it go?” Emme asks.

  “Good. I’m just waiting for Brandon to pack up his guitar so we can get a drink.” I say it loudly, and even though the music is still pumping in the bar, there’s a good chance Carter heard me.

  I really want to look over at him. I know I’m playing immature games, but he played me, too. I’m just dishing it back.

  I focus on trying to listen to his conversation. “I’m staying with my cousin. Should only be a few weeks before I close on my new place.”

  Nothing sexual there. I feel like I’m in the clear.

  Then I hear her reply. “Well, we could just go to my place. I live alone.”

  I roll my eyes and turn my back on him. I don’t want to hear him get picked up by some random girl, and I really don’t want to hear him agree to go home with her. The thought of it has my stomach twisting violently.

  I’m no better. I’m flaunting Brandon in front of Carter. I’m using Brandon so I can write about him. Maybe Carter doesn’t even read my blog anymore after what happened between us, but that’s my motivation, and it’s wrong. It’s the exact same thing Carter did to me, and I’m about to do it to Brandon.

  I sigh as Axel hands me my drink.

  Is this what I’ve become? A girl who brings guys home so she can write about how good the sex is?

  So she can flaunt it in front of the very douchebags she writes about?

  It isn’t fair for me to do that to a guy like Brandon. He’s a hot commodity in this community—a sexy single guy who sings in a popular local band and runs a soup kitchen—and taking him home for a night of sex when that’s all I want with him would be too detrimental to our professional relationship.

  We didn’t make any promises beyond a drink, so when Brandon comes in and slides into the small space between me and the occupied stool next to me, I dial down the flirts.

  I smile up at him, and he grins down at me. I wonder for a minute why the two of us haven’t slept together before. There’s a clear sexual undercurrent running between us, one I never noticed before. I wonder if it has always been there. Maybe the timing was just never right for the two of us. I was with Harrison, and then when we broke up, Brandon had a girlfriend. He had a tough time getting over her, and then Liam and Carter popped into my life.

  The timing’s not right now, either, despite the fact that we’re both single tonight.

  Axel rushes over when he sees the singer of the band who brought so much business to The Port tonight. “What can I get for you?”

  “What’s on tap?”

  Axel rattles off the list from memory, and Brandon picks one.

  Some girl rushes up behind us before we even get a chance to chat. “Brandon York?” she says.

  He gives me a pointed look before turning to her. “That’s me,” he says with a plastic grin.

  “Ohmygod I freaking LOVE your music! Holy shit! It’s really you!” She throws her arms around his neck.

  This enthusiastic fan seems like the right one for Brandon to go home with—not me.

  “Thanks,” he says, wrapping one arm around her in a small attempt at a hug.

  She starts flirting with him, and he doesn’t exactly push her off right away, but then he says, “I’m actually catching up with a friend here, but thanks for stopping over.”

  She finally takes the hint and walks away dejectedly.

  “I’m pretty sure she thought you were going to take her home.” I take a sip of my Paloma.

  “My date card is actually filled for tonight.”

  I wonder if Carter heard that one, and I wonder if Brandon means me. I sort of hope he has someone else in mind considering my quick change of intentions where he’s concerned.

  “So what’s new with my favorite blogger?” he asks.

  “Just living the dream, you know. Picking off the douchebags of San Diego one at a time. Helping women find good men and great things to do in the city.”

  He laughs. “I heard about your douchebag column. I hope I don’t end up in it.”

  “You could never!” I say, definitely loud enough for Carter to hear. “It’s reserved for really special douches. Kings of douches, if you know what I mean.”

  He gives me a strange look like he really doesn’t know what I mean, but I know Carter will know what I mean.

  “Like the worst of the worst. You’re the lead singer of a hot band and you run a charity—how could you be a douche?”

  “You’d be surprised by what my ex says about me.”

  I giggle. “Exes probably aren’t the best judges of character.” I think back to Amanda’s comment on my post about Carter. He’s not a bad guy, really.

  Shows what that bitch knows.

  I can’t help it—my eyes turn in his direction. I have to know if he heard what I just said.

  He’s gone.

  His stool is empty.

  And so is the woman he was talking to.

  That same ripple of jealousy I felt when I first saw him talking to her darts through me, but once that passes through, all that’s left is a whole lot of disappointment.

  I go home alone; turns out Brandon didn’t mean me when he said his date card was full. He had plans with a girl he’s known since college, and he was hopeful about it. I immediately regret even the idea of trying to seduce Brandon just to make Carter jealous. It was stupid and immature, and I’m better than that.

  To prove I’m better than that, I decide to write a column about that instead of about the hot sex that might’ve ruined a friendship.

  COURTING SANDY EGGO

  posted by Courtney Sanders

  WRONG DECISION RIGHT VISION

  I almost titled this article Revenge Sex Is The New Black. That’s what I had drafted last night, anyway, before I didn’t have my envisioned revenge sex.

  I heard one time that the wrong choices sometimes get us to the right places. Last night, I made a choice. Well, I made two choices. The original one would have left me in a bad place, but the second one I made with clarity. It led to a night where I went home alone, and maybe that sounds bad to some of you, but it actually ended up being the right choice.

  My first decision was that I was going to have sex with someone who is a friend and professional contact.

  The only reason I was going to do it was because I wanted to write about it. I wanted to share how great it was—how our sweaty bodies slid together, how he kissed me like I was his treasure, how it was the best sex of my life.

  Instead, I went home alone, by my own choosing.

  I changed my mind, and as a human, that’s my right.

  Besides, I already know the sex couldn’t have topped what I had with the last DB I wrote about. As much as I hate him, I can’t deny the passion that burned between us—and maybe that’s what fuels my hatred, what makes it even stronger.

  I’m one stubborn woman, and it’s hard for me to ever admit I’m wrong, but I have to be honest with myself. My original decision was wrong. I had this vision that I was going to somehow get revenge by sleeping with an innocent bystander, but when I realized that I was only going to have sex with somebody so I could write about it, I saw what a hypocrite that would make me.

  I was hurt by someone else for doing that exact same thing to me.

  I’m mad that the only reason he wanted to be with me was so he could make his ex jealous.

  I don’t know if it worked, and maybe I’ll never know, but I do know that he hurt me, and deeply. He hurt me more than I care to admit. He hurt me more than I should’ve allowed considering how very little I actually know about him.

  I’ll be honest with you, readers, and I don’t care who knows it anymore. I holed myself up after I published my last DBs of SD column. I thought it would feel good to put that douchebag on blast, but it only made me feel worse.

  I didn’t feel bad when I posted about Liam or Declan. I still hold on t
o a lot of anger over what happened with Carter, but maybe it was wrong of me to tell people what a douche he is. Maybe I should’ve left out the stuff about what he does for a living, because—even after all this time—I still don’t know what he does.

  The rest of it’s true, and I can’t take back what I said now.

  I hope he reads this. It’s not an apology, but it’s an honest assessment. Maybe my decision to be honest is wrong, but I have the right vision. I can only hope that my wrong choice of honesty here will bring me to the right place—wherever that is.

  I refuse to be a hypocrite, and I will not spend another minute mourning what could have been.

  CHAPTER 18

  I feel somehow lighter after I publish “Wrong Decision Right Vision” on the blog, like a weight has been lifted. It’s sort of my own way to talk to Carter without actually having to talk to him, and if nothing else comes from it, at least I put myself out there.

  I’ve always been honest with my readers, and that shouldn’t change because Carter is one of those readers.

  Or was.

  I head over to Soup on Fourth. I feel like I need to apologize to Brandon, and I always feel better after some good old-fashioned volunteer work. It puts my gripes and issues into perspective.

  Brandon isn’t in. It’s always hit or miss, and if I wanted to make sure I saw him, I should’ve texted him first.

  It’s fine, because he isn’t the only reason I came here. I give a few hours of my time to organizing donations in the huge pantry and serving up bowls of soup. I chat with some of the other volunteers, a few who I’ve met before, and the weight that has pressed down on me for the past few days continues to lighten.

  I’m just washing my hands before heading home when the back door opens and a very handsome Brandon walks in with a woman I’ve never seen before. She’s gorgeous and smiling beside him, and I immediately know she’s the one he met up with the night before. They actually look perfect together with their matching smiles, and it’s clear they have a close friendship that may have recently crossed a new line.

  “Hey, Court,” he says.

  “Hey.” I dry my hands on a paper towel.

  “This is Vickie,” he says. “I brought her here to give her a tour. Vick, this is my friend Courtney.”

  I reach out to shake her delicate hand, and I study her pretty brown eyes and auburn hair.

  “Nice to meet you,” we both say at the same time, and then we both giggle.

  “So you know Brandon from college?” I ask.

  She glances over at him as if she’s surprised he told me about her.

  “I do. We’ve been good friends for a long time. Are you Courtney the blogger?”

  I laugh. Apparently he has talked about me, too. “I am.” I feel a little uncomfortable as I think about what I wrote this morning, but I realize I never gave away his identity.

  She nods toward Brandon. “He forwarded me the feature you did on him and this place. It was an awesome tribute, and I couldn’t wait to come check it out.”

  “Did you see him perform last night?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “My flight got in at midnight.”

  “Well you’ll have to see him. He’s amazing.”

  She looks over at him and wrinkles her nose affectionately. “Yeah. He is.”

  I can practically see the hearts in her eyes, and it’s all a little too much, especially considering where I find myself in my own love life. Now isn’t the time to apologize to Brandon for almost seducing him—not in front of her, anyway.

  “Well, I’m off. Brandon, give me a call when you get a chance. We can set up a second feature, or I can add some additional events to the calendar if you have anything coming up.”

  “Will do,” he says. “Hey, will you be at Thirty Under Thirty on Saturday?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.” I turn to the girl beside him. “It was great meeting you, Vickie.”

  “You, too,” she says, and then I head out the back door to my car. I unlock it and open it, and just as I’m about to get in, I hear, “Court! Wait!”

  I turn to see Brandon dashing across the parking lot to catch up with me. He stops me with a hand on my arm before I get into the car.

  “The friend and professional contact from this morning’s post,” he says, slightly out of breath. “That was me, wasn’t it?”

  I nod as complete and utter mortification sends heat up my back and into my neck. “I came here today to apologize to you. It was wrong of me to even think about it. I’m sorry.”

  He laughs. “Don’t be. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it before, Court.” He lowers his voice. “You and me? I think it would be explosive. But Vickie…she’s…”

  “The one. She’s your one.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “She is. It’s the way you look at her. She looks back at you the exact same way. Go get her, treat her right, and don’t let her get away.”

  “And you go get Carter.”

  I furrow my brows. “What?”

  “Carter. It’s obvious he’s your one.”

  I make a pfft noise. “Please. I hardly know him, and he managed to kill a little piece of me.”

  “Don’t you think that’s what makes him your one?”

  I stare at him wordlessly for a few beats, and then he turns and heads back inside, leaving me with a lot to think about as I get into my car and drive home.

  * * *

  My chat with Brandon reminds me that I don’t have a date to the Thirty Under Thirty event.

  Who the hell am I going to drag with me? Not Liam, that’s for damn sure, and Carter is another name I can cross off my list. Harrison would probably go with me, but only if I promise something in return. He’s being honored this year, too.

  I think through my options. I have a little black book of names I can turn to in a pinch, but none of them currently sounds like a person I’d want to take to such an important event. I can’t show up alone, though, and I have to go. San Diego’s most elite players always turn out for it, and what better place to hunt for some new man-meat than an event like this, where the top thirty people under the age of thirty are being honored?

  Against my better judgment, I text Harrison first.

  Me: You have a date for 30 under 30?

  Harrison: I asked a girl I work with.

  Me: See you there.

  I hit up Emme next. Better to go with a friend than solo.

  Me: Any chance you’re going to 30 under 30 solo?

  Emme: Axel agreed to be my date.

  Me: I don’t have a date.

  Emme: Then go solo. It’s so trendy. Or ask Carter.

  Me: Solo it is.

  Maybe solo is lame, or maybe it’s really smart. I can’t pick up a rich, elite, sexy, under-thirty bachelor if I’m with a date.

  I don’t want to bring someone who doesn’t mean something to me when I’m being honored as one of the top young businesspeople in San Diego. It’s a huge honor, and I’m proud of it. I got to where I am on my own, really, so attending an event like this on my own sort of goes hand in hand with that. Besides, this way I’ll be able to network without worrying about my date getting bored.

  Saturday sneaks up on me. Between scheduling new recipes for my fake blog and continuing to catch up—and even get ahead—on Courting Sandy Eggo, work has been keeping me busy. I’ve also scrubbed my entire condo from top to bottom, stolen Shelby to take her for walks (not to Dog Beach, just for the record), gotten my nails done, spent some time by the pool to get a natural glow to replace the pasty whiteness I developed after locking myself in my house for a few days, and visited my parents. Luckily there has been no further talk of my mother wanting her own social media accounts.

  I gaze at my reflection in the mirror. The white dress sets off my sun-kissed skin, giving me a glowing effect. I had my makeup and hair professionally done, so there are no worries there. I feel beautiful, but I also feel very alone.

  I hate a
ttending events alone. My Resting Bitch Face gets me into trouble when I’m sitting alone, but I should know a variety of people at this event. At the very least, Emme and Axel will be there. Harrison and whatever work bimbo he decided to take will also be attending, and Brandon will be there with Vickie.

  I’m sure I can chat up any of those couples, but I already feel like a third wheel.

  My bell rings; my ride is here. I open the door to a beautiful Emme in a red dress that accentuates every curve of her body. Axel stands beside her, and he’s in jeans and a black button-down shirt. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him wear anything aside from jeans. He sort of encapsulates the stereotypical bad boy, but somehow Emme is taming him. They look gorgeous together with her all-American, good girl allure and his bearded bad boy charm.

  “You two look amazing,” I say. “Thanks for picking me up.”

  “Solo is the new black,” Emme says, and I giggle. We’re both constantly calling something the new black.

  “You ready?” Axel asks, and I grab my purse and lock my front door.

  The ride to Westlake Winery is a half hour filled with heavy metal music pumping from the speakers of Axel’s Jeep Wrangler. I can’t complain, though, because it’s a free ride.

  When we arrive, the event is already packed with people, and I feel the beginnings of a headache. It’s a gorgeous venue, perfect for a night like this. While the winery boasts several buildings that include everything from wine manufacturing to a restaurant and gift shop—plus an actual house where the Westlake family resides—the event tonight is taking place outdoors. It’s an exclusive venue booked years in advance, and it has actually always been a dream of mine to get married here. The vineyards are up on a hill and overlook the beach, and sunset provides the perfect romantic backdrop. The buildings are rustic and made entirely from these gorgeous tan bricks, and interesting designs including brick archways and columns create a classic feel. Even the insides of the buildings have some of the same brickwork. Tonight, the weather is a mild seventy-seven degrees, and the outdoor lighting trailing from tree to tree over the tables provides a soft, dreamy glow.