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by Lisa Suzanne

  I roll my eyes. “Everyone thinks they’re a damn comedian these days.”

  He kisses me, and it’s reminiscent of kiss number two: sweet, soft, tender, and oh-so-short.

  He breaks the kiss and gazes down into my eyes with just a hint of heat there. “I’ll walk you out.”

  He does, and the next thing I know, I’m back on solid ground and riding in the back of a chauffeured car back to my place.

  I decide to send Emme a text on my way home.

  Me: Just had an amazing time with Carter.

  She writes back right away.

  Emme: I need details. Define amazing. Define time. Sex?

  I giggle, but I don’t respond. I’ll fill her in on everything tomorrow. For now, though, I have an article to write.

  COURTING SANDY EGGO

  posted by Courtney Sanders

  SECOND VERSE BETTER THAN THE FIRST

  If I learned one thing from my date last night, it’s that Carter is a good listener. He doesn’t just listen to me when I go on and on about why I want to visit Canada.

  He listens to what I write on this very blog, and then he does what I say.

  When I first saw him last night at the start of our date, he kissed me. It was a toe-curling, stomach-dropping, mind-numbing kind of kiss.

  So when I say he listens, I mean he really listens. I dared him to kiss me at the end of my last post, and he really took the bait.

  And it wasn’t just one kiss. He did way more than just kiss me. Our story doesn’t end there…not by a long shot.

  I don’t do boats. My parents took me on a cruise from Long Beach to Ensenada when I was in the seventh grade, and I spent more time hanging over the railing, tossing my cookies into the ocean than I did enjoying the ship’s numerous amenities. Thankfully, the cruise director spotted me, pressed some magical pills into my hands, and poof! I was better.

  Until the pills wore off—but that’s a story for another time.

  See where this is leading?

  Carter took me on his family boat last night.

  He couldn’t have had any idea that I have the worst case of seasickness of anyone I know. It’s the damn water slapping the sides of the boat; the motion of the ocean just jumbles me up.

  The man came prepared with nausea meds, and paired with a few deep breaths and a whole lot of wine, I was fine.

  Conversation was rife with stories of travels around the globe, but I still can’t say I know much more about the man himself. I don’t know what he does for a living. I don’t know anything about his family apart from the fact that they travel a lot and own a boat in San Diego even though they’re based in New York.

  So that’s it. You know as much as I do now.

  Well, except for a few important details.

  Like his abs.

  Oh, his sweet, sweet abs.

  It’s like God decided he was going to make the most perfect specimen of the male body, and as a result, he sent forth Carter King.

  He must work out every second of the day. Maybe he doesn’t even have an actual job and instead he puts in his eight hours at the gym. Whatever the case, his body is on point.

  And it’s not just his abs, if you know what I mean.

  Wink, wink.

  It may have only been our second date, but we certainly took it further than I’ve ever wanted to go on a second date.

  Since I’m already guilty of kissing and telling, I might as well spill all the beans.

  We banged right there on his boat, and it was the best sex of my life.

  Sorry, Liam. Sorry, Harrison. Sorry, Ben, Jake, and Porter. Sorry Victor and Dax. Sorry guy whose name I can’t remember and anyone else I’m not mentioning. You were all lovely men and I had a great time with each of you (some more than others, but you can read through my archived posts for those sweet informational nuggets).

  But Carter…

  He’s unexpected. He called me unpredictable and annoying, and that actually describes him just as much as it describes me. Maybe that’s why I like him—we’re a lot alike, and through the years, I’ve learned to love myself.

  I think that whole theory of opposites attracting is horseshit anyway. Maybe the ones that stick are the ones where we’re more alike than we realize. Give that a try and let me know how it works out for you.

  I’m seeing him again tonight, and I feel nervous. I know I’m being transparent and that he’s going to read this, but he goes back to New York soon, so I’m pressed for time. Enough with the games; we don’t have time for them. I like you, Carter, and I’m excited and anxious to see you again, even though you’re annoying as fuck and I split my time between wanting to punch you in your perfect abs and wanting you sliding between my legs.

  I challenged Carter to kiss me at the end of my blog post yesterday, and he overwhelmingly met my dare.

  So I guess today, I’ll leave him with this: maybe tonight you can tell me a little something about yourself?

  Or at the very least, you could stay the night with me instead of sending me home with a chauffeur after the best sex of my life.

  And yours.

  CHAPTER 11

  CK: You want to know everything? Meet me for lunch.

  I stare down at Carter’s text, not sure how to take it. I deal with words for a living, yet I tend to hate communication that doesn’t happen face to face. While I can pick and choose the perfect words for my blog, texts don’t always come as easily. Tone isn’t conveyed in a text—even with stupid emojis, which he didn’t include anyway—and I can’t tell if he’s frustrated, annoyed, or angry. Or, on the flipside, maybe it’s none of those and he really just wants to see me for lunch.

  If I could hear his voice say the words, the tone would be clear, but I can’t, because he sent me this vague text and I’m sitting over here picking it apart and obsessing as I chew my lip nervously.

  I take a deep breath and type out my reply. If he’s annoyed about what I posted on Courting Sandy Eggo this morning, well, I’m not sure what to tell him. He reads my blog, so he had to have known what to expect. He had to have known that I write about my sex life, and he had to have known he wouldn’t be immune to it. He didn’t even ask me to be. He kissed me after I dared him to on my blog.

  So, actually, part of me wonders if he was looking forward to reading about our night together.

  A guy with skills and talents of his caliber certainly has to know he’s good at what he does. He probably doesn’t work out for eight hours a day. He probably practices sex for eight hours a day. How does that even work? Youtube videos or something?

  Practice makes perfect, right?

  I pause to consider why a bullet of jealousy shoots through me at that thought…hmm.

  Me: Just tell me when and where.

  CK: The Port at one.

  Me: I’ll be there.

  I obsess over what to wear. It’s a lunch date, but we have dinner plans. Is this going to take all day? Is dinner off now?

  Isn’t he here house hunting, anyway? Doesn’t he have things to do? Why is he spending all his time with me while he’s here in San Diego?

  More and more I’m getting the feeling that he actually doesn’t do anything. He’s starting to come off like one of those spoiled rich kids who has had everything handed to him since he was born because he comes from old money. Even so, I like him. I like conversation with him. I like his abs. And I really, really like sex with him. I want to cut me off a piece of that again for sure.

  I finally settle on jeans and a bright yellow shirt that makes my skin glow a golden tan. I pair it with Chucks because I want to be comfortable and am trying to send a message that I don’t always have to wear dresses and I’m really not high maintenance (even if I might be a little). The first few dates with someone new are all about putting on a show anyway…right?

  I show up at The Port a little before one so I can get a glass of wine before Carter shows up, but he’s already there. He’s sitting at a table with Axel, who doesn’t start work f
or a few hours.

  Carter spots me, and he says something to Axel. I can’t exactly tell what it is from my distance, but it seems like he wants Axel to shut the fuck up right now. I have a feeling they were talking about me, and it might not have been all good.

  I push the awkward feeling that comes over me down as far as I can. I refuse to let someone else make me feel out of sorts at my own home base.

  I march right up to their table and pull out a chair. “What’s going on, boys?”

  Axel grins at me. “You and him?” he asks, motioning between us. “What is this?”

  “Shut up,” Carter mutters.

  “It was just a fun night on his boat,” I chime in.

  “And now lunch the day after. You two aren’t wasting any time.”

  “He’s leaving soon,” I say, as if that clarifies everything.

  “Yeah, but he’ll be back sooner than you think.”

  My gaze swings over to Carter. I resent the bubble of hope that rises up in my throat. “You will?”

  He nods and one corner of his mouth lifts into a smile. “I was going to wait to tell you this,” he says, glaring across the table at Axel, “but I put an offer in on a house early this morning, and it was accepted.”

  “That’s great,” I say, trying my best to tamp down the enthusiasm I feel. I’m comforted by the thought that maybe that’s what the two of them were talking about.

  “I’ll leave you two alone. I’m off to see Emme,” Axel says.

  “Be good to her,” I say. It’s always my parting line to him because he’s banging my best friend without a commitment.

  “I will,” he says softly.

  I lock eyes with Carter, and he smiles. There’s something missing in his smile, though; it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi.”

  “So what am I missing?”

  He sighs and looks away from me. “I’m part of the King Communications legacy. I’m sure you’ve got a newspaper or magazine with the stamp of my family crest on it somewhere.”

  “A simple internet search told me that much, Carter. Why are you ashamed of it?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not. I’m proud to be from a successful family; I just don’t want to get involved with someone who might like me for what my name could do for her career.”

  I pretend to be offended that he would even think that, but now I’m the one feeling ashamed. He can’t ever know why I accepted that first date with him, especially not now that I actually like the guy.

  I hate the nasty, gnawing bead of guilt that forms in my stomach.

  “It hurts that you think so little of me,” I say, not admitting that he hit the nail on the head.

  He raises his brows pointedly. “You wanted nothing to do with me and then you flipped the switch pretty fast.”

  “It’s not your name I’m after, Carter. It’s your abs.”

  He chuckles, and I giggle.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Do you mind if we order to go? I want to show you something.”

  Once our food is ready, I’m expecting him to take me to wherever he’s staying—or maybe to show me the home that will soon be his.

  I’m surprised when we end up at Dog Beach instead.

  We walked from The Port, so all we have is our bag of food and our drinks. He kicks off his shoes and sits right in the sand, and I follow suit.

  “Why are we here?” I ask after I swallow the first bite of my sandwich.

  “See that woman over there with the beagle?” He nods in her direction.

  I nod.

  “She runs an animal shelter. There are all kinds of animals there, but mostly dogs. People just abandon them, and I don’t understand it. My dogs have always been part of my family, you know?”

  “That’s how it was with Shelby. She’s the only dog I’ve ever had, but I got really attached.”

  We’re quiet for a minute, and then I ask, “What about all the traveling you’ve done? Didn’t the dogs have to stay home?”

  “Yeah, but we always had someone who could care for them.”

  “So how do you know the shelter lady?”

  “My family owns the shelter.”

  “And you’re here checking up on it?”

  He shrugs. “Sort of. My parents met in San Diego when my dad was here on business and went to a local restaurant. My mom was his waitress, and the way he tells it, it was love at first sight. She was nineteen and he was twenty-four, and they were married two months later. They’ve been married now for over thirty years.”

  “Do you believe in love at first sight?” I ask.

  He narrows his eyes in my direction. “I believe in aggravation at first sight.”

  I giggle. “Me too.”

  He averts his eyes out over the water. “I sort of have to believe in it. If I don’t, then what do my parents have?” He lets the question float between us for a minute before he speaks again. “What about you? Do you believe in it?”

  “I believe in attraction and lust. I believe in really hot sex. But I think love—actual love, the kind that can last forever—I think that takes time to develop.”

  “Then how do you explain my parents?”

  “Do you really think they knew instantly? Or do you think they gambled on it and it happened to work out?”

  “So you’re saying it’s luck?”

  “I think it’s lucky to meet a person who completes you, no matter what. If it takes two months or ten years to develop, it has to be pure luck to find someone you like enough to spend the rest of your life with them.”

  “And what about hard work?”

  “All relationships are hard. That might be why I’ve never been part of a serious one.” That little piece of information drops out unfiltered. It’s strange how this guy can just get me to talk, get me to admit things I’ve never really even put together myself.

  “You haven’t?” he asks. He sounds incredulous.

  I shake my head.

  “But you’re…you’re you.”

  I chuckle and nod before pressing my lips together. “Yep, sure am. I keep things casual. I prefer distance and I air everything about my relationships on my blog. Most guys just aren’t okay with that.”

  He lifts one shoulder. “Maybe most, that might be true.” He lowers his voice. “But not all.”

  I chew on that for a while, watching the dogs as they splash in and out of the surf. I feel a pang for Shelby, and it’s not the first time in the past few days I’ve realized what a special place dogs hold in our hearts.

  We finish our lunches, moving away from the heavy conversations and on to lighter ones as we laugh at the dogs playing. Then we gather up our garbage, and he takes my hand as we walk back toward The Port.

  I still don’t know exactly what he does, if anything, but at least he let me in on a little piece of the puzzle at our lunch today. At least he told me the truth about his family, and that seems like a good starting place.

  As his hand warms mine on our walk, I’m actually feeling really good about him.

  * * *

  I hear a knock on my door, and I’m running late. “Be right there!” I yell from my bedroom. I spent the afternoon drinking coffee and writing, and now I’m rushing around, slipping into my heels at the same time I’m fastening on a necklace.

  I look in the mirror and take a deep breath. I look good. I know I do. I took my time primping, and I chose my lucky hot pink Fendi dress (with pockets, naturally).

  I open the door, and he’s leaning on the frame and looking up at me with these sexy, heated eyes that make me want to tear the hot pink dress in two and leave it on the floor. He’s got on black pants that hug every curve of his ass, and I can’t help the image that flashes through my mind: his ass bumping up and down as he fucked me on his boat.

  Did it just get hotter in here? Or is that just my body heating up because Carter is around? This reaction I have to him
is unreal; I don’t know if I’ve ever been this attracted to a man before.

  “Wow,” he says, and I shrug and smirk, trying my hardest to pretend like his little word of praise doesn’t do all sorts of naughty things to my lady parts as an ache spreads through my lower belly.

  “You ready?” I say. I want to say so much more to him. I want to tell him how hot I think he looks in those black pants and that light gray shirt. I want to tell him we should skip dinner and instead spend the evening having sex at my place.

  But I don’t do any of that. I like him more than I thought I would, but I still feel like I need to play my cards close to the vest.

  Despite the rabid sex we had last night, we’re still in the getting-to-know-you stage, and the things darting around my head aren’t part of that first stage.

  All of that only serves to tell me I’m already in deep with this guy—much deeper than I’d anticipated getting when I accepted that first date with him.

  It’s almost like glimpsing my future just looking at him standing there in front of me—and that’s a scary thought. I hardly know Carter, but we have this pull I’ve never felt before. Maybe that’s why I hated him so much at first. It’s always passion that gets in the way of our true feelings. The passion of irritation and hatred I felt for him when his dog ruined my dress has somehow turned into a different set of feelings. It’s much too early to identify it as anything other than feelings, but I can plainly see that it has the potential to morph into something I’m not sure I’m ready for.

  So, I push down those thoughts and feelings. It may not be good for my mental health, but you know what? I’m not sure allowing those feelings to come to the surface would be very good for my mental health, either—especially not with someone like Carter, who I think has the potential to be very damaging to me. For now, at least, I’m going to distance myself just a bit.

  His eyes run the length of my dress before flicking back up to mine. He takes a step closer to me and reaches around my waist, pulling me close to him as he thrusts his pelvis against mine. “Oh, I’m ready.”