Clickbait

by Lisa Suzanne

  “You pick first,” he says as he wrings his hands together. My eyes focus in on the nervous habit. It’s almost as if he notices that I’ve spotted his vulnerability, because he immediately stops. I have to admit, seeing a little anxiety out of him is both unusual and a little bit of a turn-on.

  Normally I like my men confident and disciplined, and Carter is both of those things, but it’s also nice to see him sweat a little.

  I pick the one marked with a B for bacon and set it on my counter, and then I open the paper around the burrito and grab a handful of chips. He watches as I choose the spiciest salsa, and then he makes his pick: chorizo.

  It’s funny that he chose the one burrito I wouldn’t have wanted. In a weird way, it’s like he completes me.

  I banish that line of thinking. He’s here to clear the air so we can be friends, not so we can end up on my bed.

  Though that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world…

  I remind myself about Amanda, and I force my guard back up before I do something stupid. It’s like the part of my brain that can resist things that are bad for me just shuts down when Carter comes around.

  I take a bite, and I can’t help my reaction. It’s the same every time I eat a breakfast burrito. I moan and close my eyes, savoring the delicious and delightful flavors on my tongue.

  I open my eyes and catch Carter staring at me.

  He shifts, and I realize what I’m doing to him. Part of me wants to keep doing it, but the other part of me wants to make sure we keep this platonic because I’m terrified of what he can do to me if I step over that line.

  “Thanks for the burrito. It’s fantastic.”

  He chuckles. I head over to the fridge to grab us each a bottle of water, and then I ask, “So what did you want to talk about?”

  “I want to explain what you saw.”

  “What did I see?”

  He sighs. “You saw me on a date with my ex, but it wasn’t what it looked like.”

  My brows knit together in confusion. “You weren’t on a date with your ex?”

  “No, I was, but I didn’t take her because there’s still something going on between us. I took her because I had an obligation to.”

  “Because you still love her.”

  He shrugs. “Part of me might always love her, but that part of my life is over. I told you I’m over her, and I am.”

  “Then why did you go with her?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  “Our families share a history and a lot of business together.” He looks at me nervously again and sets his burrito down. “Can this stay between us?”

  I nod, but I have to admit that it hurts a little that he has to ask me that. It’s then that I realize how complicated everything has become. The very reason he wanted to be with me at first has now become a problem in his mind. He’s worried anything he says will go straight to the blog, and he’s not entirely wrong, but I feel hideous about it. Once again, I realize how hard it must be for someone to date me because of what I do. “Of course.”

  He rubs his hands on his pants. “I’d asked her to go months ago, back when we were together. I was officially named executive director of King Contributions at the benefit, and her father had just stepped down as CEO of one of our biggest New York charities. Even though we broke up a while ago, the media hadn’t really taken notice. If they did, they’d have had a field day with the timing. It would’ve looked really bad that I was being promoted right when her father stepped down. He didn’t retire. There were other things involved, things I’m not supposed to talk about, but believe me when I say it was a political move more than anything else.”

  “What about the blog?” I suddenly ask.

  “You mean how you wrote about us?”

  I nod.

  He shrugs. “You’re in San Diego and we’re in New York. We’re worlds apart, and I banked on nobody making the connection. Besides, I figured if I took her and acted like everything was normal, no one would care. Sort of the actions-speak-louder-than-words theory.”

  “Hell of an acting job,” I mutter.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Carter, you looked so happy in that picture I saw. You looked like you two belong together.”

  “I once thought we did, but a lot has changed since then.”

  “Why did you break up?” I ask abruptly. There’s a pause, and I crunch loudly on a chip.

  “I asked her to move here to San Diego with me and she said no.”

  “Did you want to marry her?” I don’t know why I ask such a personal question, but it slips out.

  He nods and glances away from me. “I did. I thought she was everything I wanted, but she isn’t.”

  “Why did she say no?”

  “Because she was smart.”

  I chuckle mirthlessly.

  “She had it all figured out. Ultimately it turns out we want different things in life. I’d always planned to move to the beach, and I already had plans to move out here to strengthen the west coast division of King Contributions. She’s a city girl. She wants dogs, not kids. She wants a fancy Fifth Avenue apartment, not a house with a yard. She wants name-brand handbags and gas-guzzling cars and weekly manicures. She isn’t into giving back despite the way she was raised.”

  “You’re making her sound awfully high-maintenance.”

  “She’s a good person, but she’s not the right person for me.”

  “But you were blind to all of that anyway.”

  “I was. Love will do that to a man.”

  “You claim you’re over her now. How do you know?”

  His eyes soften as they meet mine. A small smile lifts the corner of his lips. “I just know.”

  I raise an eyebrow, wanting him to continue. I feel like I know where this is going, but I don’t want to pry. I just want him to say the words. I want him to say that it’s me. I want him to kiss me and tell me he’s sorry for the way things started but that we can move forward together.

  But that doesn’t happen.

  Despite the hints he drops and the fact that he opened up to me more over burritos this afternoon than he did the entire time we dated, he never outright says it’s me that helped him be certain he’s over Amanda.

  Eventually, my confidence takes a bit of a nosedive. Maybe it’s not me. Maybe those hints he’s dropping aren’t what I thought they were.

  “So as long as we’re clearing the air, so to speak, be honest with me, because I need to hear it from you—why were you so persistent in getting me to go out with you?”

  He looks momentarily ashamed. “Axel told me what he told you.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m sorry. I wanted to go out with you because I was still a little stung by what happened. I was upset that Amanda didn’t want a future with me, and I wanted to hit her where it hurt. I wanted to make her jealous. So, when I recognized you that day on Dog Beach, my first thought was that I could get you to go out with me because I knew you’d write about it.”

  I can’t mask the hurt I feel at his words. He rubs his hands on his pants again, and I don’t know if it’s to get the salt from the chips off his fingers or if it’s a nervous habit.

  “That line of thinking went away almost immediately, Courtney. The first words out of your mouth to me were so fiery and feisty, and that’s when I knew I wanted to get to know the girl—not the blogger, not the one who would surely write about us, but the girl behind it all.”

  I’m not sure how to respond, and my brain-to-mouth filter seems to malfunction. “Well as long as we’re being honest, I looked you up after I met you and I knew you were from a family in media. When I found that out, I decided that agreeing to a date with you might not be such a bad idea. I was interested to see what you could do for me, so my intentions with you weren’t exactly pure at first, either.”

  There, I said it. Holy shit, I actually said it.

  I stand surprised that the words came out
of my mouth, but I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

  He doesn’t look surprised, but he does look hurt. He heaves in a heavy breath and then nods sadly. “It’s rare that a woman actually wants to date me for me once she knows what family I come from. I guess I should’ve seen that coming.” His voice denotes a bitterness I’m not used to hearing from him. It almost makes me think he wishes he’d come from a different background, but I could be reading too far into it. He doesn’t really deal as much in the family business, though—the fact that he chose the one division that raises money for others rather than for itself is proof of that.

  “Once I actually went out on a date with you, Carter, all of that melted away. I started to like the guy I was getting to know—the little peeks you allowed me to see, anyway.”

  “I know I’m not super forthcoming about my background, but maybe you can understand why now.”

  I nod with sympathy I’m sure he doesn’t want. “I still don’t get why you didn’t just tell me what you did for a living, though.”

  “I wasn’t supposed to talk about it until it was formally announced at the benefit. My uncle hadn’t publicly announced his retirement, and my father didn’t want his replacement announced until he was gone. I hope you can see that telling someone in the public eye such as yourself might’ve been a bad decision on my part.”

  “I get it. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t open up to me before, but if you ever tell me something in confidence, I want you to know that it will be safe with me.”

  “I didn’t know you well enough to be able to trust that before.”

  “But you do now?”

  He shrugs. “Call it a gamble now.”

  I allow that to hang between us while I crumple the paper my burrito came in and toss it in the trash. I clean up Carter’s paper, too, and then we throw away the used salsa and the rest of the chips.

  We stand across my kitchen counter from one another again. My back faces the kitchen and his back faces my front door. We’re mirroring each other’s stance, arms straight with hands face down on the countertop. Finally, I break the silence. “So where do we go from here?”

  He shrugs. “I guess we put all the shit in the past and more forward. Axel is my cousin and Emme is your best friend. We’re going to be moving in the same circles, and I for one don’t want an enemy in you.” He sticks his hand out for me to shake. “Friends?”

  I want to bat his hand away, jump over the counter, and rush into his arms. I want to kiss him. I want to feel those rock hard abs under my fingertips. I want him to hover over me. I want to feel his scruff dragging across my most sensitive skin.

  But I don’t do any of that.

  Instead, I place my hand in his. I feel the familiar butterflies battering against my ribs at his touch, but I ignore them.

  “Friends,” I repeat, doing my best to pretend there isn’t a slight tremor of utter disappointment in my voice.

  * * *

  I don’t know what to write about on the blog; it’s the worst writer’s block I’ve had since the day I met Carter, actually. I can’t publish what I’m feeling today—I don’t want Carter to know how much our talk affected me, but it did.

  I want him back.

  I know a lot of what we went through happened on or because of my blog, but this feels too personal even for me. He said several times that he just wants to be friends, and telling him how I really feel in writing instead of face to face feels somehow wrong.

  How I really feel is that I don’t want to be his friend.

  I want to be so much more.

  I struggle with what he said to me. I thought for sure at any second he was going to tell me he’s over his ex because of what started between us, but that’s not at all how it went. I’m confused and a little surprised, but maybe I read him completely wrong.

  Maybe he wants to be friends to be sure he’s really over her, or maybe he doesn’t have feelings for me at all.

  I haven’t heard a word from my friend since he left after our burritos this afternoon. I should probably meet up with Emme or at least get out of my house, but I have no desire to. I just feel like wrapping myself in a warm blanket and finishing the next season of Friends.

  It’s ironic, now that I think about it.

  The whole idea of being friends with Carter has me feeling miserable, yet I want to watch a television show called Friends.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I make a note in my phone about a Fast Five related to irony and dating and television shows, but I don’t have the energy to actually draft something out of it. It doesn’t even sound all that interesting, actually.

  I’ll allow myself to wallow for exactly one night, and then I’ll get back to my regularly scheduled life tomorrow.

  The plans I make for myself rarely turn out the way I think they’re going to.

  A loud banging on my door forces me off the couch in the middle of episode three of season five. I push some hair off my forehead, but I don’t bother to brush the orange Dorito dust off my black shirt when I throw open the door.

  “You look like shit,” Emme says.

  “Thanks. So do you.”

  I move aside and she steps in. “Fuck you. I spent two hours curling this mess,” she says, pointing to the mass of curls on top of her head. I close the door.

  “Why?” I ask. I like her hair straight.

  “For the grand reopening of Stella’s.”

  Stella’s is a bar a few blocks away from The Port. It’s a great little place—in fact, the owners of The Port and Stella’s are close friends, and they often run promotions together. Stella’s had a kitchen fire a few months back and we RSVPed to the grand reopening weeks ago, but I’d completely forgotten about it until just now. It’s just a soft opening for friends and family, but it’s one of those nights where food and drinks are free while the staff practices serving. Most of the staff from The Port will be there in solidarity and support of a friendly neighborhood bar—except, of course, those who are actually working The Port tonight.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter. “Is that tonight?”

  She rolls her eyes. “For a bitch who regularly maintains an online calendar, you kind of suck at remembering events.”

  I shrug. “I won’t deny that.”

  “Are you coming?”

  “I don’t think so, Ems. I’m not up to it tonight.”

  “Why? And why is your shirt covered with orange powder?”

  “Because Carter came over today.”

  “Oh shit! And?” Her eyes light up with excitement, and it’s nearly enough to push my teetering tears over the edge. I force them back.

  “And he wants to be friends.” I emphasize the last word with a whole lot of bitterness.

  “Friends,” she repeats. “And that’s not what you want?”

  “Ughhhhh,” I moan. “No. I don’t know. It’s not what I want. I want him and I hate him but I also think I love him.”

  “Of course you do. I could have told you that.”

  “Why does everyone except Carter seem to think the two of us belong together?”

  She fingers my greasy hair and wrinkles her nose. “What makes you think Carter doesn’t?”

  “Because he’s the one who said we should be friends.”

  She nods sagely, as if she holds all the wisdom in the world. “Did you ever think maybe he said that because he thinks it’s what you want?”

  I shake my head. “We had a really honest conversation today. If he wanted more, he had every opportunity to tell me that.”

  “Honey, go change.”

  “Why are you changing the subject?”

  “Because if I say what I really want to say, it’s only going to make you mad, and I want you to come out with me tonight, so I’m not going to say it.”

  I huff out an annoyed sigh. “Just say it.”

  She stares at me for a long, hard moment. “As an outsider looking in, Court, you weren’t t
he only one hurt in this.”

  I scrunch up my face. “So?”

  “So? That’s all you have to say?”

  I shrug.

  “It’s hard to see beyond your own pain, and I get that, but he’s hurting, too. Axel said…” She trails off, covering her mouth as if she’s already said too much even though she hasn’t said anything.

  “What? What did Axel say?” I yank her hand away from her mouth.

  “I’m not supposed to say.”

  “Tell me right the fuck now.”

  She shakes her head.

  “Ems, I’m your best friend. I need to know what he said.”

  She sighs. “You can’t tell him I told you. Axel will be pissed if he finds out.”

  “Tell me,” I demand.

  “Axel told me that Carter is in love with you. When you published that douche post about him, it about killed him. I know you can’t see past your own hurt, but he got hurt, too. I don’t blame him for being terrified to get back into something with you after what you posted. You said some pretty hurtful things for the whole world to read. I’d be scared, too.”

  I’m stuck on her first few words; I’m not even sure I processed anything after her first sentence.

  Carter is in love with me.

  Holy fucking balls, Carter is in love with me.

  And I’m in love with him. Oh my God, I am so in love with him.

  How come I didn’t realize this before?

  I need to be more than friends with him. So much more.

  I need to see him.

  I need to tell him.

  CHAPTER 21

  It takes me a good hour to get ready, mostly because I needed a shower…badly. My hair was unsalvageable and I smelled like a bag of Doritos (according to Emme).

  Now I’m wearing a brand new dress, my hair looks better than Emme’s, and I’m ready to get out of the house, get some liquid courage into my system, and see the guy who needs to know how I feel.

  I don’t know for sure if he’ll actually be there, but it’s worth a try. I haven’t even really considered the possibility that he won’t be there. Axel took the night off from The Port to go with Emme to Stella’s, so it seems natural that Carter will be there, too…though I suppose now that he’s actually living here, he may have started to make his own friends and establish himself apart from his cousin.