by T. K. Rapp
“My mom is really sick, and I have to get my brother so we can go see her,” I lie easily as I try to depart.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Logan sits upright, pushing her chair out to follow.
“No!” I shout with a little too much enthusiasm. “She might be contagious. But I have to go. It was nice meeting all of you.”
Logan slumps into her seat in defeat while her parents watch me with concern. I rush out the door and the chimes ringing announce my escape.
I don’t bother to look back.
Jett is calling me, so I answer and fill him in on what he was hearing, listening as he laughs and comments how Logan was probably a sure thing.
“You should have gone with it, at least for the night.”
“Trust me, getting laid is not worth the years of therapy I’d have to go through because of that one. We’re talking potential psycho here.”
“Hot ones are always crazy, and the crazy ones are the best fucks.”
“I’ll give her your number then,” I warn.
* * *
After the disastrous “date” with Logan earlier, I sent Kayla a text and told her I was out. Her response was short.
Kayla: Callie. 27. Model. Meet at Posh @ 6pm
I stared at the text for a minute, mulling over my decision not to go, but ultimately choosing to see it through. Who am I to turn down dinner with a model?
“Who’s bachelorette number two?” Jett asks when I walk in after taking a jog.
“Model.”
“Lucky bastard,” he groans. “What time you heading out?”
“Meeting her at six, so I’ll head out in about an hour.”
“I’ll make myself scarce then - you owe me.”
“I owe you for leaving me my own apartment?” I scoff as I head into my room to shower. “Thanks,” I mutter to myself as I shut the door behind me.
I’m not sure what kind of model Callie is, but if it makes Jett jealous, it works for me. I’ve been to Posh before, and I know the attire most of their patrons wear. I wish Kayla had selected something a little more casual, but she didn’t, which leaves me the option of slacks or slacks.
I’m in no rush, hell, I have plenty of time. My bed is calling to me, I’d love to sleep the rest of the day away and forego the last date, but instead, I check my email from my phone and see three new messages. Fortunately, they’re all easy to answer, so I send out quick responses before I have to get cleaned up. Reclining on my bed, I think of all the excuses I could make to cancel meeting Callie, but the model runs through my head again, and it’s enough motivation to get me moving.
While the shower begins to steam, I have enough time to shave the afternoon scruff off my face. I need to leave in thirty minutes, but it shouldn’t be a problem since it takes me no more than fifteen minutes to get dressed anyway. I look in my closet and grab my clothes.
Slacks it is.
Black straight leg pants and a white button-down will have to be enough. It’s the same thing I wear to work every day, so it’ll be fine. Most men in Posh wear a tie, but I’ll wear a coat and forego the work noose. I grab my wallet off the dresser and tuck it into my pocket before checking my appearance in the mirror. As good as it’s going to get.
When I walk out of my room, Jett is in the same place I left him; only he’s talking to someone. This saves me from having to listen to his advice before I leave. I hurry to grab my keys and open the door to walk out.
“Wrap it, Bro. You’re not ready for kids yet.”
I roll my eyes and shut the door, not giving him the satisfaction of a response.
Date #2 ~ Callie
Kayla made the reservations at Posh and put them under my name. The hostess stand is busy, so I stand back and wait my turn to get to the front. There is an attractive brunette speaking loudly to the girl behind the desk, and it’s clear she’s giving her a hard time.
“I’ve been waiting five minutes. I have reservations to meet someone at six. And guess what, it’s six,” she says in a tone more rude than necessary.
Please don't let this be Callie. It’s a silent plea, but one I’m sure won’t be answered.
“I’m sorry ma’am. They’re clearing the table right now. We had an early rush.”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses. What’s the point of making reservations if it’s not ready when you get here?” she asks, demanding an answer.
“I understand your frustration, ma’am, and they’re working fast to get the tables ready. What name is the reservation under again?”
“Trey Miller.”
Upon hearing my name, I’m tempted to slink out the way I came, but I step forward to save the hostess from any further verbal lashes from the hostile beauty. I begin coming up with ways to plot revenge against my friend Kayla. What in the hell was she thinking?
“You must be Callie.” I move next to her and watch her eyes look me up and down. She closes her mouth and swallows hard before plastering on an overexcited smile.
“Trey?”
“That would be me. It’s nice to meet you.” I turn my attention to the hostess, whose tag reads Beth, and give her a smile that I hope she takes for the silent apology it is. “Beth, we’ll be at the bar when our table is ready.”
“Yes, sir.” She nods and gives me a small smile in return.
Callie walks to the bar, swaying her hips as she walks, and I have to admit, she’s very sexy. But it stops at her physical appearance. I’m going to try to give her the benefit of the doubt, but based on how she treated the hostess, I’m not impressed.
We find a place to sit, and she hops into one of the barstools and crosses her legs before turning to give me her attention. “Kayla tells me you own your own business. What do you do?”
“That’s right. I have a marketing and public relations firm. What about you?” I know she’s a model, but I want to give her the chance to talk about herself. She seems offended by my question. “What is it you do?” I clarify, to see if it eases the scowl from her face.
“I- I mean,” she stammers. “I’m a model,” she finishes with a matter-of-fact tone; she glances down at her own body before meeting my eyes again. I suppose she is offended by the question because she says it as if it should be plain as day. But I have seen gorgeous women who are exactly that - gorgeous women - not models.
A bartender approaches and makes no move to hide his obvious appreciation for her attractive features. Hell, she’s got her cleavage on display for everyone to enjoy, not that I’m complaining. He takes our orders, and she basks in the attention he gives her until he walks away. She swivels back to face me, and the slight scowl returns.
“I meant, what kind of model are you?” If I thought it would have pissed her off, I wouldn't have asked.
“Really?”
I smile and try to change tactics. Get through the night.
“There are so many different types of models, right? I’m sure you could be any number.”
Callie softens and rewards me for the compliment with a beaming smile. Ego. “I do some runway modeling, but mostly I do ads for makeup and hair.”
The bartender places our drinks in front of us, and I hand him my card to charge it. He looks at Callie, waiting for her to acknowledge him, but since my compliment, her attention belongs to me alone. He walks away with deflated posture not knowing the bullet he dodged with this one.
“How long have you been doing it?”
“Since I was eighteen. I do a lot of traveling, but my favorite place to shoot is in New York.”
“Excuse me, sir. Your table is ready.” The hostess timidly approaches us and smiles, but Callie frowns and turns her nose up at her. I close out my bar tab, and we follow Beth to the table. She hands us our menus. “Leah will be your server tonight. Enjoy.”
“Thank you, Beth.”
When she’s out of earshot, Callie leans forward and narrows her eyes at me. “I was waiting here for five minutes, and they didn’t have the table ready. A
nd that girl was no help.”
She stares at me, waiting for a response but I raise a brow in question. “It’s not like she did it on purpose.”
“I can see why she’s working in a restaurant,” she laments as she glances to her menu.
“Excuse me?” I have to ask her to repeat herself. Surely she didn’t mean it the way it sounds, because to me, it sounds like she’s looking down on someone who is trying to do her job.
“I mean if she had it together she wouldn’t be seating tables, now would she?”
“Maybe she’s a student and is working to pay for school or have extra money to have fun. Hell, maybe she’s trying to help support her family. You have no idea what someone’s life is like by looking at them or what they do.”
Her jaw drops open and eyes widen, “Are you calling me stuck up?”
“I don’t know you well enough to make that assumption. Although, one could make certain ones, based on the fact you’re a model, but it wouldn’t be fair. Now would it?”
Callie openly gapes at me like I’ve lost my mind. She reaches for her glass, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to be wearing the cocktail she ordered. Instead, she chugs what’s left and slams the glass down onto the table.
“You’re an asshole.”
Calmly, I nod while I look at the other guests who are beginning to stare before finally fixing my eyes on her.
“I’m sure some people would agree with you, but do you really know me well enough to make that call?” I cock my head to the side and wait for her answer.
I can’t help but provoke her because she is a pretentious snob. In the short time we’ve been here, she’s insulted the wait staff, flirted with the bartender and acts as if the world owes her adoration.
“I just remembered I’m allergic to douchebags. I better go before I break out in hives.” She stands up in a huff and grabs her purse.
She walks away, and I can’t help but laugh. That was pretty clever.
The waitress comes over to take my order and notices the empty seat and points. “Are we waiting for someone?” She must have missed the little show that took place, or she’s purposely ignoring it.
“Must have been something I said,” I say with a shrug. She takes my order and when it comes out, I eat alone and don’t mind at all. I’d rather eat alone than with a small-minded person; I don’t care how sexy she was.
An hour later, I arrive home to an empty apartment and realize the night’s still young. I guess I have time to look over the second promo I started last night. My computer is turning on when a text alert comes through on my phone.
Shit. Kayla is going to cuss me out. Although I’m beginning to question her judgment in friends based on the setup with Callie.
Faith: How was the marathon dating today?
Me: You don’t want to know
Faith: That good?
Me: Yeah. Great times
Faith: I checked my schedule. Monday after work is good. See you then?
Me: Sounds good
My plan is to spend the rest of the night working so I can end the day on a somewhat productive note.
“Shit,” I groan to myself. “More of the same tomorrow.”
Chapter 17
Kayla: Winter. 24. Publicist. Meet at @ 11am. Dress casual. Very casual.
Me: Is that a name or a season?
Kayla: You’ll see. I’ll text address in a bit.
Date #3 ~ Winter
The thing I love about weekends is that I get to spend the day outside and go hiking. I wasn’t lying to Cavette before when I told him I’m out every weekend. It’s my downtime, and I enjoy being alone. Sure, it would be nice to have someone to share it with, but I haven’t been searching for that addition to my life, and I don’t feel as though I’m missing out. At least not until it’s pointed out to me.
With this ‘marathon’ dating, as Faith refers to it, I haven’t had much time to do anything but the quick two-mile jog yesterday. My plan to remedy this is the early five-mile run this morning. It’s only seven, so I have more than enough time to run, shower, and dress before I meet Winter. I feel cold thinking about the name.
Who names their kid Winter?
Jett is at the counter eating a bowl of dry cereal when I emerge ready to get the hell out and do something. “Going for a run. Wanna go?”
He whines and puts his hand to his head. “Can you not speak so loud?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I shout louder than necessary. “Are you hung over?” I enunciate every word, louder for each one.
“Dick,” he whispers in pain before sitting upright and eyeing my room. “Where’s the model?”
“You said you weren’t going to be home last night, so there was nothing quiet about it. You didn’t hear her?” My eyes are wide with shock that he didn’t hear a sound.
He leans back and nods his head in appreciation before he claps his hands together in one loud snap. The noise must hurt everything about him because he recoils in an instant.
I grab a bottle of water and laugh. “Just kiddin, didn’t work out.”
“You really do suck, you know that?”
There’s no arguing with him because models are the pinnacle of the dating pool to him. I stick the buds in my ear and start the music before heading out. “I’ll be back in thirty.”
Traffic isn’t too heavy this morning and this leaves me with a dilemma, run on the trails or the street?
I like the seclusion of the trails where I can think without distraction. It’s the one thing I look forward to everyday, and the one time when my thoughts clear. Despite the increase in heart rate, I’m able to relax and enjoy the quiet. There’s no telling how many work issues I’ve managed to solve while running.
If only I could get out of these next two ‘dates’ Kayla has me going on.
My thoughts keep returning to Friday night’s conversation with Faith and her ideas for Cave. I know we have a strong submission for Cavette, but knowing she has ideas she’s passionate about intrigues me. She must be really proud of it if she’s willing to sleep with the proverbial enemy. The problem that arises is if I like them, because she is still the competition. How can I present them as T.M. ideas if they are Faith’s? I’ll have to wait and see if we can meet on Monday and figure it out from there, if I like them.
* * *
Kayla says casual, and she knows well what my version of casual is: khaki shorts, a white t-shirt and Nikes. She told me she would text me the address thirty minutes before I needed to be there. A date at eleven on a Sunday morning doesn’t sound like a good one, yet here I am, in a parking lot for some place called Fire it Up.
It feels like I’m driving into the forest, but as I enter, there are cars parked all over the place, in no particular order. It looks as if people have created their own version of a parking spot. To the right is more trees and brush, but to the left, I see what Fire it Up means; this date involves paintball.
This should be interesting.
Kayla texted I would recognize Winter because she’ll be wearing a black baseball cap. Yeah, that’s not generic, considering I’ve already spotted five women wearing a different white cap.
I climb out of my car and walk toward the entrance, passing two more women wearing black hats. Groups are talking loudly, some smack talking, others are catching up, and yet here I stand like an idiot alone trying to figure out who my date is.
I spot a woman near the corner in a black hat checking out the gear. I watch to see if she speaks to anyone, but she’s fixated on whatever it is in front of her. The woman has her hair pulled into a ponytail and is dressed in clothes similar to mine. From the back, she looks athletic, but I’m still not sure this is the one I’m supposed to be meeting. There’s some noise behind me, and I spot another woman walking from the parking lot who catches my eye. I think she might be the one, but she jogs toward the left and meets up with a group of people.
Not her.
My attention goes back to the lone woman, and I w
atch for a minute to see if anyone joins her. I walk the short distance to where she is standing and clear my throat before speaking to get her attention.
“Winter?” I lightly tap her on the shoulder and wait for her to speak.
She turns to look at me and my jaw drops, but so does hers.
“Trey?”
“Faith?”
“What are you doing here?” She rubs her fingers over her forearm.
“Date number three. What are you doing here?” My eyes narrow for a moment while I try to take in what’s happening.
She shakes her head and bites her lip to keep from smiling. “I think I’m date number three.”
“I’m meeting someone named Winter.”
She rolls her eyes and huffs out loud, “Is that really the name they gave you? Jasmine is an idiot. When she found out my middle name years ago, she’s made it her mission to use it every chance she gets.” She’s rambling, but my head is trying to catch up.
“Wait,” I put a hand up to stop her from saying anything until I have some questions answered. “Jasmin, as in Jasmin Brown?”
She cocks her head to the side and her eyes fill with shock. “Yeah, we were roommates in college, I stayed with her for a few days until my apartment was ready. How do you know her?”
“She’s Kayla’s cousin,” I answer. “How were you roommates and you never met Kayla?”
“Did you meet all of your roommate’s relatives?” she snaps back at me in an accusatory tone.
I decide to change the subject because this entire situation is ridiculous. “So your middle name is Winter? Faith Winter Young?”
“Yep.” Her head bobs in a noncommittal way, as if we’ve gone over this before.
“But I thought you’re dating Brad.” I’m confused because she threw his name out when we were on the cliff and never stopped for the remainder of the weekend.
We spent one night together, a night she doesn’t remember, and I’ve made assumptions about her based on the fact that she cheated on her boyfriend. With me.
This time, she looks completely away from me, and I know it’s not something she wants to talk about.