by Lisa Suzanne
Even more enticing? His family owns King Communications. King-fucking-Communications. The same King Communications I pay every month for my high-speed internet service. Surely he has the resources to help my blog grow. Shit, with his family name he could probably get me a TV show or something.
It’s definitely wrong of me to even think about using this guy for my own personal gain, but he’s the one being persistent. He’s the one who won’t quit asking me out.
He’s the one with the pocketbook the size of Mars.
Those super carved abs don’t hurt the deal, either.
CK: I had to beg Emme for your number. I’m not about to lose it now.
I decide to play the game.
Me: You could’ve just asked me.
CK: You’re funny. Like you would’ve given it to me.
Me: And you’re persistent. Are you ever going to leave me alone?
CK: Maybe.
Me: Why do you want to take me to dinner so badly?
CK: You have my three favorite traits in a woman: gorgeous, feisty, and challenging.
The picture clarifies. He only wants me because I’m not interested. He likes the chase. I decide to call him out on it.
Me: I’m challenging? Or I’m a challenge?
CK: Both.
Me: You’re used to getting what you want. That’s the only reason you’re interested.
He doesn’t respond for a bit, and I wonder if it’s because I hit it on the head or if it’s because he’s busy doing something else. All his other replies came quickly, so something tells me I hit a nerve. I send another reply before he does.
Me: Fine. One dinner. But we eat at The Port, we go strictly as friends, and you’re treating.
This time his reply comes fast, absolutely confirming my thoughts that I hit a nerve. I have to admit, it’s sort of fun pushing this guy’s buttons.
CK: No promises on the friend thing. We’re not friends, anyway. And no shit, of course it’s my treat.
Me: One date and then you leave me alone.
CK: You’re not going to want me to leave you alone after one date.
Me: We’ll see.
COURTING SANDY EGGO
posted by Courtney Sanders
FAST FIVE: SYNONYMS FOR ORGASMS
5. The Big O
4. Getting Off
3. Jackpot
2. The Argument Ender
1. The Epic Quake
CHAPTER 8
After a lot more research on King Communications, I’ve started to see just how much this guy can do for me. It has me changing my tune just a bit, though I’m still wondering why he’s been so anxious to get me out on a date.
I have to go into this date with a clear head. I may be using him, but I can’t change who I am just because he can do things for me. I have to keep being a bitch to him, because apparently that’s a turn-on.
I ultimately decide to wear my second favorite dress since my top favorite was ruined. This one is a champagne-colored Chanel, and it makes me feel feminine and pretty. I even have a matching handbag and shoes.
When I arrive at The Port, I glance around. The usual crew is here. This bar is like a second home to me, and I recognize the regulars. A few smile, some say hi, and others tip their heads in my direction. I spot Emme at the bar talking to Axel—they must be past whatever issue they were having—and then my eyes move beside Emme.
There sits Carter King, and for some reason, I feel a little off balance. I take just a second to catch my breath, and then I stride confidently over in his direction.
“I’m ready for you to wine and dine me,” I say, plopping onto the stool beside Carter.
Emme giggles as Carter looks in my direction. When my eyes meet his chocolate brown ones, a ripple of excitement passes through my abdomen.
Scruff outlines his strong jaw, and my eyes are drawn to his lips as his tongue peeks out to wet them. An image of those lips moving toward mine flashes through my brain.
His lips pressing softly onto mine.
His tongue moving aggressively against mine.
Suddenly feeling quite warm, I will myself to look at Axel and force all thoughts about lips and tongues away. “A glass of champagne, please. Whatever’s most expensive.” I nod my head in Carter’s direction and smile sweetly. “It’s his treat.”
Axel raises an eyebrow at Carter, who nods. “Whatever the lady wants,” he says.
“I’d hardly call her a lady,” Axel mutters, earning himself my best glare.
I’m about to deliver my signature Fuck you, Axel Jones line when Carter interrupts my train of thought.
“Can you have that delivered to the table in the corner?” Carter asks Axel, pointing to an empty table.
“Of course,” Axel says, and then Carter holds his hand out toward me as he stands from the stool.
“Ms. Sanders, may I escort you to your table?” He’s being all gentlemanly and gallant, and it hits a lusty nerve in my spine.
I force that feeling away again. “Did Axel hire you as the new host or something?” I ask snidely.
“I’m just trying to be nice.”
“Drop it. It doesn’t fit you well.” I stalk off toward the table he pointed out to Axel, and I hear Emme laughing and Carter sighing in frustration behind me.
I slide into the booth, and Carter sits across from me. Part of me wanted him next to me, and I’m not sure why. My immediate thought is that I can look at him when he’s across from me. I can study him—I’ve always been good at reading people.
But, if he was next to me, I’d be able to feel his heat. I’d be able to find reasons to accidentally touch him.
Not that I want to.
Emme is the one who brings my drink over. “Play nice, kids,” she says. She looks at me pointedly, and then she saunters back toward the bar.
Message received.
I’m being an even bigger bitch than usual, and Carter really hasn’t done anything that wrong to me except manage to piss me off every time I’ve seen him. Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that it’s his fault my beloved white Marc Jacobs dress is gone forever.
Rest in peace, sweet white dress. Rest in peace.
He holds some dark beer up in a toast. “To new beginnings,” he says.
I raise my glass and touch it to his, and then I take a sip.
Damn, ladies. Expensive champagne is worth every single penny.
I take another sip before setting my glass down.
“I’m sorry again about the dress,” he says.
I shrug. “It’s just a dress.” I brush it off, but it really was more than just a dress to me.
“Was that your dog at Dog Beach that day?”
I take another sip of champagne and shake my head. “My ex’s.”
“You still hang out with your ex?” he asks, a look of horror crossing his face.
I giggle. “Not really. I still hang out with his dog, though.”
“How long were you together?”
“Do you really want to talk about exes on a first date?”
He chuckles. “I meant you and the dog. I know sometimes I find myself more attached to dogs than to people.”
The man speaks truth I can relate to. “Shelby and I were together for six months. Who does the dress-ruining dog belong to?”
“He’s a shelter pup. What kind of dog is Shelby?”
We talk some more about safe subjects like dogs, and then we place our orders.
We talk through the entire meal—or rather, I talk. I tend to ramble when I’m nervous, but I didn’t feel nervous until I realized I was rambling.
“So what do you do?” I finally ask once I shut my trap. I’m actually really curious to hear the answer to this, because as far as I can tell, he sits around spending his daddy’s money.
“I’m in business. Is your blog your career?”
I nod and launch into the speech I always give. I always feel like I have to defend my blog, and I’m not sure why. I make a good living doing
what I love, and I realize I’m in the minority. Most people really just tolerate their jobs, but not me. Most bloggers don’t get paid for the hours they spend working on their blog. Don’t get me wrong—it’s not as easy as writing an article and posting it. I put in as much or more time than my nine-to-five counterparts, but I love every single part of the job. I have a flexible schedule, but I work around the clock, especially since I write about my own life. I have to get out and live sometimes so I have material to write about.
I don’t tell him all that, though. Instead, I simply say, “It’s my career and my passion. I’m lucky to be able to work for myself and I’m blessed that I was able to find a loyal reader base. And, just for the record, I’ll definitely be chronicling this date.”
He laughs. “I’ll look forward to seeing that in my inbox. How did it all start?”
I’m sort of surprised at his interest. Usually people tend to glaze over when I start talking about my blog.
“I interned for a newspaper and submitted a few freelance articles after I graduated. I found a small reader base there, but I already had my blog going. I sort of connected the two and it grew from there.”
“What paper?”
“The San Diego Chronicle.”
“Do you still write for them?”
“Sometimes. I cover a lot of local events, and when they’re looking for a more personal and sassy spin on something, they call me up.”
He chuckles. “Sassy? Good assessment.”
“How long have you been a reader?” I ask.
He thinks for a minute. “I have no idea. My ex started reading your stuff a couple years ago. She showed me one of your Fast Fives, and then she started sending me articles all the time. She finally just signed me up. It was actually really therapeutic at times for us to dissect your thoughts on relationships.”
“But not enough to prevent whatever happened between the two of you.”
He looks pained for a split second, like I struck a chord, but it passes quickly. “No.” He pulls in a deep breath, and his voice is soft when he speaks again. “I think it would’ve taken a lot more than analyzing someone else’s mishaps to fix our issues.”
I let that hang between us for a minute. I’m curious to find out what happened between him and his ex. I want to know if he was at fault for the end, particularly as I sit here across from him as his date tonight, but I feel like it might be better suited for another time. A first date is a time for us to get to know one another…and I just realized I called it a first date, which implies that there will be more.
I suppose it’s right around then that I also realize I’m not having as bad a time as I thought I was going to. In the grand scheme of things, it was just a dress. Maybe he rubbed me the wrong way with his pickup line, maybe he just got to me on a strange day, but now he’s getting to me in a completely different—and totally unexpected—way.
“We’ve all been there,” I finally say.
He looks up at me, and when our eyes meet, a strange heat passes between us.
“I know,” he says, and I realize that he actually does know. He knows it all.
It’s weird to me that he knows every detail about my love life—what I’ve shared on my blog since he’s been a reader, anyway—and I know nothing about him.
After dinner, he walks me home. He doesn’t hold my hand on the way, but he walks close to me. I have the strange (and strong) urge to take his hand in mine, but I don’t. I wait for him to make a move. I’m a twenty-first century woman, but I still want him to set the pace.
When we arrive at my front door, I’m ready for him to kiss me.
I didn’t think I would be. I figured I wouldn’t enjoy my time with him, but I did. I thought this would be a quick one-and-done, a way for me to find out more about his family business and see what sorts of opportunities could be there for me. I realize as we’re at the end of our date, though, I didn’t really learn anything about his family business, and that’s actually okay.
Something sparked inside me tonight, something I never expected, and now he has piqued my interest. I want to know more about Carter King. I want him to reveal parts of himself to me that other people don’t know—things I can’t find out through a quick internet search.
I want him to kiss me.
But he doesn’t.
He doesn’t hug me. He doesn’t even shake my damn hand.
Instead, after I unlock my door and open it, expecting him to pull my arm in toward him or grab me around my waist and plant one on me before inviting himself in, he simply says, “I had a good time tonight.”
“I did, too.” Formalities are out of the way, and I’m still expecting that kiss.
“You doing anything tomorrow night?”
I shake my head. At this point, I sort of feel like if I do have plans I forgot about, I’ll cancel them. A second date with Carter seems worth it.
“Consider yourself booked. See you soon.” He smiles at me, and then he turns and walks away without another word.
COURTING SANDY EGGO
posted by Courtney Sanders
LEARNING ABOUT HIM ABOUT ME
This guy was sort of badgering me to go out with him, and I finally accepted. I’ll be honest—he reads my blog, so I have to be careful with what I say because I know he’ll see it the second his inbox notifies him of a new post.
I met Carter when his wet dog ruined my dress—and that’s not a metaphor. He’s in town visiting from New York, and last night I learned that he’s not only persistent, he’s easy to talk to and fun to be around.
But you know what I didn’t learn?
Anything about him.
I didn’t even realize it until I got home last night after a really unexpectedly nice first date.
He got me talking. He asked me questions. He listened attentively.
But every time the subject turned from me to him, he locked up and threw it back at me. He’d give me a vague non-response and then turn it back around.
He learned a lot about me. He now knows that I break into my ex’s house to walk his dog. (It’s okay, my ex knows, too. Apparently his security cameras gave me away.) He knows that I love my job. He knows where I find inspiration for articles. He knows the little secret thing I do on Saturday mornings. (Don’t ask. I’m not telling you. I have to keep some things just for me—and now Carter, I suppose.)
He even managed to make me realize a few things about myself. For one thing, I’ve never had a really serious relationship. My last few boyfriends have been fleeting, and the one who had the most potential turned out to be less than supportive of my career. Another thing I concluded is that I really want a dog of my own. I didn’t even realize it until he pointed it out as I spoke dreamily about how much I miss Shelby.
So even though I had a nice dinner and the kind of first date that makes me want a second, I don’t feel like I know anything more about Carter than I did when the night started.
I don’t know why he’s in town.
I don’t know what he does for a living.
I don’t know why he was at the beach with a shelter dog the day we met.
I don’t know why he was kind of a douche that day.
I don’t know why he’s been so persistent in getting me to go out with him.
I don’t know anything about his family.
What I do know?
I do know that he’s really sexy and I want to see him again. I want him to kiss me.
I stared across the table, champagne sweetening my tongue as my eyes locked on his lips. For hours I stared at those lips. They’re full without being too plump. They’re soft and velvety.
Well, they look soft and velvety. I wouldn’t know if they actually are.
The night didn’t end with those velvety lips on mine. It did, however, end with the promise of a second date, a second date that will in fact occur later this evening, so stay tuned tomorrow—or later tonight, possibly, depending on how things go—for the latest.
Carter, since I know you’re reading this, this part’s for you:
Will you please just fucking kiss me tonight?
CHAPTER 9
“So how did it go?” Emme is practically squealing.
I roll my eyes. “It went fine.” I pick at the salad I ordered and wish it were a burger, but I don’t want to be all beef bloated on my second date with Carter.
“Your post this morning made it sound like it was better than fine.”
“I knew Carter was going to read it.”
“So you exaggerated how good it was?”
I shrug. I can trust Emme—she’s my best friend—but I still feel weird about admitting that I only agreed to go on a date with him because of what he could do for me. It’s bad enough that I have that thought in my head; I don’t need it in Emme’s head, too. I don’t need the possibility of her accidentally slipping and telling Axel something he doesn’t ever need to know, so I don’t mention any of my hidden motivations for dating Carter.
I went to bed last night frustrated in all aspects of the word. I was mentally frustrated because Carter didn’t kiss me. I was sexually frustrated because…well, because Carter didn’t kiss me. When I dipped my fingers into my panties before I went to bed, I found myself even more frustrated because it was Carter’s stupid face and stupid abs that kept running through my mind, especially when my body exploded into an Epic Quake that was even more epic than the last one Liam gave me.
God, if even thinking about Carter while I get myself off leads to such pleasure, I can’t help but wonder what a night in bed with him might be like.
I can’t stop thinking about him, and it’s only serving to piss me off.
He’s a mystery, and that’s part of what’s interesting to me. I want to solve the puzzle, but I also don’t want to care about him. He struck me as a douche from day one, and I’m not sure I’m ready to change my original assessment of him.
In any event, I sort of made a promise to myself: I’m only in this for what he can do for me. It’s a renewal of my original reason for agreeing to a date. I don’t want anything serious, least of all with him. It’s selfish and awful, sure, but I have to look out for myself. The few things I know about Carter tell me that getting involved with him for anything beyond a few dates would be lethal.