Friday afternoon. But people were probably still out by the pool or getting ready for dinner.
I took a seat at the bar and when the bartender came over and put a napkin down in front of me, I ordered a margarita on the rocks, no salt. I took a deep breath and joined my hands in front of me at the bar, smiling a contented smile.
“No salt?” a voice a couple stools down said. “Who orders a margarita with no salt?”
The smile left my face and I swiveled my head and stared at the man sitting to my left.
He was looking at me strangely, waiting for me to say something, a look on his face that was amused, yet watchful.
I raised an eyebrow before saying, “If you’re considering telling me you’ve got something for me that’s nice and salty, please hold yourself back.” I turned as the bartender placed my drink in front of me. I took a long sip.
Carson chuckled and before I knew it, he was moving down the bar with his beer in hand to sit right next to me. I turned to glare at him as he said, “What I was going to say, Buttercup, was that you’re really missing out ordering a margarita without the salt. It’s all about licking the salt off the rim and then sucking the sweet liquid through the straw. The contrast of sweet and salty on your tongue is so, so good.” He leaned closer to me as he lowered his voice. “Try it once, just once.”
Okay, now he was just trying to get a rise out of me. And why? What exactly had I done to this man? I narrowed my eyes further, even angrier at the fact that his words were turning me on–again. My traitorous body liked his damn, deep sugary voice and purposefully titillating words.
“Let me buy you one,” he said, the corners of his lips rising. "Seriously. Just one drink my way. You can do a taste test and see who's right. We can get to know each other a little better." He winked.
I turned my body, facing him fully now and taking a deep breath. Before I started, I smiled sweetly. "I'm going to lay it out straight for you here, Carson. And the reason that I'm going to do that is because I have every confidence that it will scare you off badly enough that I can then finish my drink in peace, and we can part as acquaintances who simply have nothing in common."
He raised one eyebrow and I joined my hands in my lap, tilting my head as I continued.
"I'm the kind of girl who wants to get married in a big, white dress, wearing my grandma's pearls. I want a husband who loves me and is faithful to me. I want him to come home to me every night, and I don't want to have to worry if he's
He was thoughtful for a minute, turning back to the bar and taking a drink of his beer. Finally, he turned to me. "How did we make those two kids?"
My brow furrowed. "Uh, you might want to re-think your career choice if you don't know–"
"What I mean is, what
My mouth fell open. I put my hand up and said, "Stop! Okay, first of all, I have no idea what some of those are, nor do I want to know. But secondly, what does that have to do with anything?"
"Oh, believe me, you want to know. Why it matters is because someday when Princess is screaming at three in the morning with a loaded diaper, or Junior gets expelled from preschool for punching his classmate, I want to be able to think back to the moment that we created them, and I want to smile and remember why it was the best fuck of my life, and why whatever shit–literal and figurative–I have to deal with later on, is worth it."
My mouth dropped open against my will. "You're disgusting."
"You're the one who had my baby. Twice."
"I did not, nor will I ever have your baby. That was my point."
"So you're just going to abandon Princess and Junior? Nice mom."
I stood up, throwing a ten-dollar bill on the bar. "Done. You enjoy your drink, Carson Stinger. I look forward to seeing you again, um, never." And with that, I grabbed my purse, turned tail and started walking away as Carson called out, "Also, babe, you play hot secretary for me when I get home at the end of the day, and I'll have no need to do my real one."
I raised my arm and flipped him off. I heard his throaty chuckle from behind, but I kept walking.
Carson
I heard the slap of her flip-flops fade away and took another swig of my beer. Uptight, little brat.
It had been the strangest thing. I was walking to the front desk to leave a message for my agent who was flying in from L.A. the next morning, and I had crashed into someone, her blonde head colliding into my chest, just under my chin, and I was able to smell her clean, flowery-scented hair, gathered up in one of those twists.
As she had looked up at me, flustered and breathless, my own breath almost hitched in my chest at the beauty of the heart-shaped face gazing back. She had the biggest, blue eyes I had ever seen, a cute little nose, and the prettiest damn mouth–full, light pink lips with a pretty bow shape on top. Sure, she was pretty, beautiful even. But I saw pretty girls all day long. Why did one glance at this one have me staring, trying to memorize her face like a lovesick schoolboy? I had no damn clue. We had both paused before moving back from each other, and I took in her slim body in a fitted, black skirt and a silky, white blouse. I loved that look.
But then her eyes had moved down to that stupid nametag I had forgotten to take off, and I saw the disappointment and judgment fill her expression. And so I had purposefully made her uncomfortable, and I had
My phone rang as I was putting the money for my drink on the bar and I looked at the screen. "Hey, Courtney," I said, walking out.
"Hey Carson, love, you all set for Monday morning? I have the address of the shoot and some details. I'm gonna send them to your email. Can you pull it up on your phone?"
"Yeah, that's fine. I'll let you know when I get it."
"Okay, good. It's at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills. A balcony shoot, followed by a shower scene."
I groaned. "Shit, Courtney, I'll only have done five films, and two of them have shower scenes? I told you I