F*CK Reality: Take One Page 9

  Finally, I break into a smile. My friend isn’t crazy—she’s nuts.

  His head turns to her, where she ignores it and continues staring out the open door. Then his eyes come back to mine, a smile quirking his lips.

  “But I don’t think I hate him,” she whispers, and I lose it. I can’t stop my laughter.

  It’s a release of tension from the traveling, the tension of tomorrow, and the scrutiny of his gaze on us both.

  Damn, it feels good to smile.

  Chapter Eleven

  Drinks are on me.

  Brock

  -

  I had every intention of spending the evening alone. No matter what my friends said, I was not going to look for a woman to spend my last night with before meetings began tomorrow. I had this.

  That was until I saw the same woman on the same elevator again. The amber-eyed, light-haired girl who nudged me earlier was standing inside when the elevator doors opened. She didn’t pay much attention. Her friend had no issue checking me out and any other time, I’d have manned up and taken the opportunity to talk to her.

  But not this time.

  As I reach my floor, I immediately hit the button to take me back down. I’m not sure what I expect, but if the bitch of fate is on my side, I’m hoping she’s generous.

  The elevator quietly dings before stopping at the thirteenth floor. When the doors open, there’s a very tall, very blonde, very beautiful woman waiting with one hand clutching a purse as the other pimps her hair. Her eyes scan me up and down, assessing all facets of my large six-foot frame before she steps in and assures our destinations are the same.

  “Nice night,” she comments first, breaking the silence.

  “It is,” I agree, but wouldn’t know. I haven’t been outside of the hotel at all.

  “Are you here for the show?” she questions next.

  I don’t want to divulge this. I hate being dishonest, but I don’t know this woman and yet she’s looking at me as though we’re about to get acquainted. I’ve met women not so unlike her. If I’m putting forth effort to make a play, I’d like the recipient to make it interesting at least. I don’t like to be chased. I do the chasing.

  “No,” I advise. “I’m here with my fiancée.” Not a real lie, considering eventually I will be here with said fiancée.

  Jesus, I eventually will be here with my fiancée.

  Swallowing the creeping bile in my throat, I keep to small talk. “Are you here for the show?”

  Her hand draws near her face where she plays with her metallic red painted fingernails and runs her tongue along her front teeth before answering, “I am.”

  Her sudden disinterest in me is welcome.

  The elevator opens and I step back out into the foyer I had met Jerry in. The sound of high heels clicking on its marble floor echoes off the walls. When I round the corner and head back to the bar I just left, I find the two women I’m in search of.

  The darker-haired woman is sitting next to the light-haired brunette who’s ordering a drink from the waitress. Two men have already zeroed in on their entrance and are standing in close around their small table. They also appear to be chatting them up.

  I have no right to be jealous. The fact that I am is ridiculous. But fuck it, I’m not going to dwell on it for long.

  “You’re back so soon,” the female bartender greets as she leans her small but visible cleavage over the bar. “Another whiskey neat?”

  “Yeah,” I confirm. “Please.”

  Sitting down at the bar, I turn my chair slightly to ensure my view from here is good. The dark-haired woman is laughing out loud to whatever the man behind her just whispered in her ear. The light-haired woman is staring at her drink, maneuvering the straw around the edge of her glass. From here, it doesn’t look as if she’s paying attention to the gentleman pulling up a chair and taking a seat too close beside her.

  Again, I’m not sure why I appreciate her disinterest. I’ve never met her. For all I know, she could have a voice that mirrors Minnie Mouse and a body marred with poorly thought out tattoos.

  “Are you sticking around here a while then?” The bartender, who I may add has told me her name at least eleven times, inquires as she remains standing in front of me.

  I keep my focus on the women’s table and answer, “I’m not sure.”

  “Here’s my number,” she insists, sliding over a napkin with her name—Julie—on it with a heart dotting the i. “Call me if you’re up for company later.”

  My thoughts filter through, wondering how many men have sat at this hotel bar with her name and number scrolled on a square, white napkin. Then I wonder how many have called and how many rooms, how many beds, in this very hotel she’s been inside.

  No way.

  “Thanks.” I graciously accept the napkin and silently vow to lose it as soon as I’m able.

  “So, what do you do for a living?”

  “Media,” I respond, if only to satisfy her.

  “Media,” she repeats. “Like commercials and stuff?”

  I bite my lip, not wishing for her to expand on what she thinks she knows. My father insists I find someone who knows what the word media means. I want to laugh, seeing this woman stuck as she is, but don’t.

  “Yeah, commercials and stuff.”

  “Two shots of tequila,” a woman’s voice at my other side orders. “The good stuff, please.”

  When I turn toward the woman, I realize she’s the same one from the table I’ve been watching. I note she no longer looks as mischievous as she had earlier, but now a little exasperated. I quickly look back to verify her friend is still at the table. She’s still not sitting alone; she has company. However, her face still shows complete indifference.

  Good.

  “Make it four,” the woman tersely adds, then mumbles, “Ten if you got a tray for me to carry.”

  “Got it.” Julie—now as I know her to be—returns with a bottle and lines up four shot glasses.

  “Make it five,” I toss out.

  I hate tequila. If there’s a drink that gets me wasted in a short quantity, Jose Cuervo does the job.

  “And put them on my tab.”

  “Hey, thanks!” The woman smiles at me, then quickly looks to Julie. “Better make it six so I can down one with my new friend here.”

  Shit, she’s getting the wrong impression.

  To quickly divert her attention, I ask, “Are you here from out of town?”

  “Yep. My friend is going to live it up whether she wants to or not.”

  She points to the woman I’ve been watching, and I nod.

  “So far this trip, she’s been a total downer.”

  “Tequila. You’re getting your girl drunk,” I accuse.

  Lifting a glass to her lips, she smirks before quickly downing it. Once she’s finished, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and admits, “I totally am. Wanna join us?”

  I don’t answer right away. Grabbing another glass, I tip it back and skip the lime and salt. It won’t do any good. To me, tequila goes down as well as I figure airplane fuel would.

  “Come on,” she encourages. “Look at my girl.”

  We both turn in place to take another glance.

  “She looks miserable,” I advise. “She’s not even trying to appear interested, is she?”

  “Nope,” she sighs. “She’s totally not. Help me.”

  Turning to the now irritated bartender, I place an order. “Give us six more of these.” I take out my wallet and throw down a hundred-dollar bill. “Keep them coming until this runs out, but before your twenty percent take.”

  “I think I love you,” the woman at my side states. She extends her hand between us and introduces herself. “I’m Addie. I’m the devious best friend who’s about to introduce you in a way that’s sure to piss Brooke off.”

  Brooke. I like her name.

  “Lead the way, Addie, soon-to-be-ex-best-friend.”

  She grins, grabs a few of the shots, and leads me
back to the table.

  Chapter Twelve

  One tequila, two tequilas, three tequilas...twelve.

  Brooke

  -

  “You have fantastic skin,” the man who introduced himself earlier as Charles Avery the Third whispers in my ear, while his hand draws in close to touch my face. “Flawless.”

  Immediately, I pull back and hear his sigh of discontent.

  But really, that’s his best effort to hit on me? I have fantastic skin? Gross.

  The sad fact is I don’t play the field as many other women do. However, I do play in the common sense club from time to time, and judging by his close examination of my facial pores, he’s obviously not an active member. Maybe he was and has been rejected.

  “I’m engaged.” I try to speak the lie as truth, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not listening.

  Just as he hasn’t listened since I sat down and told him how my Great-Aunt Carol died in a tragic car crash yesterday. I spared no details, meaning I described her imaginary wedding ring being the only thing she had left behind to identify her. He didn’t care about the fact he was hitting on a woman in mourning. Because again, he wasn’t listening.

  What’s the matter with these people?

  His friend, Jay, had followed him to our table and immediately came to sit at Addie’s side. He’s not shown any interest in her skin whatsoever. Jay’s been nothing but sweet, even telling us all about his fiancée back home, who would be waiting for him to call her later. He’s made no moves toward either of us. Seemingly, he’s the only gentleman at the table, so much unlike his letch of a friend.

  “Brooke, look who I found!” Addie exclaims, walking to us with two fists full of shots.

  I’m not sure what’s in them, but I’d be willing to consume each and every one in quick succession if it led me to passing out and forgetting this night ever happened. Maybe even forgetting why I stepped foot on the plane that brought me here in the first place.

  Jason.

  I blink twice in surprise when the man from the elevator earlier dutifully walks toward our table at Addie’s side. His hands are also full of shot glasses, but he’s also carrying a bowl with limes and a small shaker of salt. I blink again when he comes directly to stand beside me, looks down, and winks.

  Carefully, he nudges his full hands in my direction, so I help him unload one item at a time. When we’re finished, he licks his thumb and I watch with bated breath to see if he’ll lick another.

  So far, the vodka cranberry I’ve tried to finish hadn’t been sitting well. Now, however, a taste of whatever is in those shots sounds delicious.

  “Hi,” he greets quietly.

  “Um, hi.”

  As Addie takes her seat, she straightens the mess of limes while advising, “I found your man at the bar. He insisted on the tequila.”

  My man?

  “Your man?” Charles, who I’ve forgotten was in the room, let alone still sitting beside me, questions.

  I sit frozen in place as the man Addie ‘found’ bends to kiss my cheek, then leaves a burning hot trail up to my ear, where he whispers, “If you want to be saved, then go with me on this, Button.”

  How does he know my parents call me Button?

  “Okay,” I whisper back, heat racing up my spine in response to his touch.

  Finished with his message, he stands straight, only to look down and offer another playful wink. By now I know my cheeks have reddened, considering all the blood in my body is rushing to cool them. He’s made me dizzy.

  Reaching for a shot, he slowly brings it to my lips in offer. I graciously part them before the sour taste of tequila hits my tongue then burns down my throat. The lime comes next. Again, he positions it at my lips and I open, held in rapture by his seductive way of doing so. His playful smile adds dimples, which are perfectly symmetrical on his beautiful face.

  Dear God, I’m still dizzy.

  When I look to my left, I’m relieved to find Charles has reluctantly pulled away. His back is against his chair, and his hands sit on his thighs as he surveys what’s happening in front of him. I have more space than I’ve had since he arrived, and I’m thankful, but I’m sharing his confusion.

  “I left you for an hour and you’ve made new friends, I see,” the man, still holding my used lime rind, tsks.

  My eyebrows furrow, and I move my gaze to Addie where she sits across from me, sitting up straight and smiling enthusiastically. When she catches on that I’m still stumped, she does the same that he had; she winks.

  “Brock here has been looking all over this hotel for you, honey.”

  Brock interjects by bending down and resting his hand on the back of my chair before moving his face toward mine. His eyes shine with unheard humor. Unfortunately, my fuzzy head still doesn’t fully understand the play.

  His nose briefly brushes against mine. When he speaks, he’s close enough for me to smell the alcohol on his breath. “I thought I told you to wait in our room and I’d come get you for a late dinner after.”

  Addie giggles. Charles growls. Jay sits in his chair, staring at his phone. I remain, like an idiot, unmoving.

  Brock, if that’s his real name, brings his hand between us, placing the back of his fingers across the apple of my cheek in a caress. Obviously, Addie set this up in an attempt to disengage the others, and she’s done a fine job at that. The problem I foresee now is, I’m considering time with Brock will be a loss I won’t want to endure when he walks away.

  “Can I sit, or are you ready to come upstairs now?” he questions, raising his eyebrows, prompting me to answer.

  “You can sit,” I return quietly, in place of admitting I’d follow him wherever he wanted to lead. “There’s a chair over there.” I point to an empty seat at the table next to ours.

  Brock refuses what I offer and points to my new friend, Charles, still seated at my other side.

  He clears his throat before insisting, “I’ll take his.” Charles looks up, eyes venomous, as Brock continues with, “You were leaving, weren’t you?”

  A second or two passes and I’m undecided if I should stay or run. Finally, though, Charles straightens his sweater vest—yes, he’s wearing a sweater vest—and scoffs to himself. His friend nods at him then stands as well before the two of them walk off together, most likely to find another woman with fantastic skin.

  Still, so gross.

  “Thank you,” I sigh as I sit back in my seat. My nose still burns from where his grazed it, and my cheek still tingles from where his fingers had caressed.

  Since the others have left, I assumed Brock’s rescue mission was over and he’d leave. At the very least, I thought he’d take the seat I offered him at the other table. He doesn’t. He does just what he said he was going to do and takes the closer chair Charles had been seated in.

  “I found him at the bar,” Addie tells me, smiling wide as Brock sits smirking with his arm draped over the back of my chair. “He looked lonely, so I nabbed him.”

  “I wasn’t lonely,” he retorts, then grabs a shot, and downs it quickly. “I was bored.”

  “Well, now you’re engaged,” she chides. “How nice is that?”

  “Engaged,” he repeats, looking down and suddenly defeated.

  “Oh God. Are you engaged?” I ask.

  Instantly, the skin of my neck, which he breathed heavily against earlier, heats with betrayal on behalf of a woman I’ve never met.

  His expression fades as he looks up and smiles. “No. I’m not engaged.”

  “Are you here on business?” I query next.

  I’m thankful for him coming to rescue me from Charles—a lie told or not.

  “Yes,” he confirms. “One could call it business.”

  “Evasive,” I blurt. “So, you’re here on business.”

  Brock’s eyes fire at mine. A look of uncertainty passes between us before he says, “I’m trying to save the future of one.”

  “Interesting,” I concede and let it go.

  “Loo
k!” Addie points to the other end of the room.

  Our heads turn at the same time to find four middle-aged men setting up what looks to be a variety of band equipment.

  “Oh, I hope they play the oldies,” she cheers. “I love the Beach Boys.”

  Brock looks to me at the same time I turn my head to him. “She’s kind of like that. How’d you know my nickname?”

  “I told him on the way over.” Addie interjects. “I also told him about Charles.”

  “And you do have lovely skin, by the way. Flawless,” Brock voices with insincerity. When my eyes narrow, he laughs.

  Then I do.

  “We’re almost out of shots. I’m going back for more.” Addie stands, then looks down to where I’m sitting, closer to Brock than I should be, and grins. “Unless, of course, you’d rather we go back to our room to finish unpacking?”

  “No,” I reply quickly.

  “All right.” She smiles smugly. “I guess I’ll be back.”

  As she walks away, Brock turns to me and questions, “What are you two up to in L.A.?”

  Suddenly, the idea of being on that damn show sounds more desperate than it had an hour ago.

  “Not much. You?”

  “You asked me that, remember?” he counters to my embarrassment. “But I’m up to the same. Not much.”

  “Do you go around saving helpless women being hit on by creepy men often?”

  He laughs again. So easy. So simple. I love that in a person, man or woman.

  “I don’t,” he returns, swiping his dark brow with his large hand. He’s nervous. I can tell. “But, when your friend gave me an in, I took it.”

  “An in?”

  Leaning in closer, he brings the last of our first round of shots to my lips, so I part them. He’s no longer looking at my eyes, but at my throat as I swallow.

  “An in,” he says again with conviction and seduction. Confident and demure—I can’t fight this.

  Experience things you’ve never had the chance to.

  Dad’s advice shouldn’t apply here. He didn’t intend for me to hook up with my first one-night stand, especially as I’m about to attend a meeting in the morning, which means to set me up to gain a perspective husband.