La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink} (8 page)

“Let’s you and I get a table and talk.”

Was that a question? “Sure.”

She followed him to a small booth in the corner. “So tell me a little about yourself, Emma.”

Cautious not to spill her guts again, she spoke slowly. “Well, I’m newly single and I’m sort of just looking for something easy and fun right now.”

“Right. Right. Do you work out? You look fit.”

Feeling a bit exposed, she shifted and sipped her drink. Was that a normal date question? “Not particularly.”

“I’m at zero percent body fat right now. That takes dedication, but that’s the kind of guy I am. I know what I want and I go for it. Hardcore. Always closing.”

Forcing herself not to laugh, as he was clearly devoted to these ideals, she considered how much bacon she ate on a regular basis.

He said something about his car, but the sunglasses around his neck momentarily distracted her. It was dark out—put the glasses away.

“Tell me something about yourself, Emma. What’s your five year plan?”

Was she interviewing for a pyramid scheme? “Um... I’d like to find a new job.”

“Good. It’s important to push for more, always strive to be at the top of our game. Losers wait for motivation. Winners make things happen. Doesn’t matter what you do as long as you get out there every day and crush it.”

He was more exhausting than a preschooler, but if she looked hard enough, she could see his nipples through the cotton of his shirt. “Um... what was the question?”

“What are your goals?”

Finished with her drink, she stifled a giggle. Given the choice, Mark might ask to see her resume before her boobs. “I’d like to someday own a car less than a decade old.”

His brow lowered. “What?”

This was simply too much. “Look, Mark, I’m not in the market for anything serious right now. I do, however, think you’re cute. I’m just getting out of a really long relationship and the only thing in my plan is a guy capable of making me forget my ex for one night. Do you think you could be that guy?”

His expression was priceless, a cross between shock and fascination. “Do I...you want...me and you...I should...”

It was sort of fun being the aggressor in this instance. “Sex, Mark. I’m asking if you’re interested in having sex with me.”

A garbled string of chirps escaped his throat, sort of like a sentence of hiccups. “Y—yes.” He cleared his throat and dropped his voice an octave. “Yes. I would very much like to have sex with you.”

He was definitely more attractive when he was silent.  “Good. Why don’t you order us each a shot and clear the tab? I’m going to freshen up and then we’ll head back to my place.”

“O—okay.”

She slid out of the booth and hid a smirk. The new her was ballsy. She liked it.

After using the ladies room and washing her hands, she gave herself a mental pep talk. Mark was perfect one-night-stand material. His personality was long-term repellant, an insurance that would prevent any attachment issues from unexpectedly cropping up. Plus, he was pretty and she was very interested in counting his abs with her tongue.

Stepping out of the ladies room someone snagged her arm and forced her to an abrupt stop. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Riley. Jesus. You scared me!”

“You can
not
go home with that douchebag. He keeps checking himself out in his phone.”

She yanked her arm out of his grip and tsked. “I’m not going to marry the guy, Riley. And he’s got reason to check himself out. He’s hot.”

His face scrunched up. “Ew. Come on, Emma. I feel violated thinking of him in our home. You can’t honestly be considering letting him in
you
.”

Her mouth unhinged as her cheeks burned. “Riley!”

“What? Look at him. He has a neck tattoo of a dollar sign.”

She shook her head. “You’re such a hypocrite. I’ve seen some of the women you’ve brought home. Talk about double standards—”

“Yes, Emma, it’s a double standard. Tough shit if you don’t like it. This guy’s a total piece of shit. He’s a condescending, superficial narcissist. I’m not telling you to give up on finding a hookup, but for Christ’s sake, raise the bar above a crawl and let someone better than that snake get by. Oh, and by the way, your big tipper doesn’t leave a dime when he’s alone.”

Glancing around the corner, she watched as Mark silently practiced schmoozing to himself. She deflated. “Fine.”

Riley seemed surprised she’d conceded. “Really?”

“Yeah. But I already told him it was a sure thing.”

“I can take care of that for you.”

“No.” She sighed. “I don’t want to embarrass him. I’ll do it.” He was already embarrassing himself enough, using the camera on his phone like a narcissist’s mirror app.

Pursing her lips, she returned to the dining room. Mark beamed, waving a hand over the shots he’d ordered. “All set?”

“Yeah, it’s not gonna happen, Mark. I’m sorry.”

“But...” His expression crumbled. “I thought...”

It was like giving a kid a new toy then snatching it away. “I’m really flattered that you would... but... I don’t think we’re the right fit.”

His head lowered in disappointment and guilt swamped her until his gaze lifted and all cocky signs of bravado returned. Brow quirked, duck lips out, and a penetrating smolder zeroing in on her, he cajoled, “Come on, Emma. You know it would be great. We have this incredible connection and—”

“Get out.”

They both turned and she stomped her foot. “Damn it, Riley!”

“You know this guy?” Mark asked, confused.

“We live together,” Riley answered before she had a chance. “Now, beat it.”

Mark stood, his eyes drifting from her to Riley and back to her. “Emma?”

“I’m sorry.”

Finally, he huffed and left the inn without much of an argument, which was mildly disappointing.

She glared at Riley. “That was unnecessary.”

He shrugged and strode to the bar. “I’m over it.”

“I could have been under it.”

His steps faltered as his face twisted. “Gross.”

“Serves you right.” She reached for the shot and tossed it back, unprepared for the burn of turpentine. “Son of a bee sting! What the hell is that?”

Riley shook his head. “Look at you. You’re not ready to have sex. That was schnapps.” He let out a long-winded sigh and walked away.

She placed the empty glass on the table with a snick and scoffed. “What do you mean I’m not ready to have sex? I am too ready to have sex. Don’t you walk away from me, Riley Morgan Lockhart. I’d have sex right here, right now if I saw any doable men, but all I see is you and you’re just a cock-blocking killjoy.”

He continued to shake his head as he returned behind the bar. “Are you done now?”

She scooted onto the stool. “No. Maybe. Yes. Ass.”

“We’re going to have to work on your insult repertoire.”

A man approached the bar and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, miss. I couldn’t help over hearing you were in the market for some company—”

“
Get out of here!”
she and Riley yelled at the same time and the man took off.

Unreal. She faced Riley and rolled her eyes. The entire predicament suddenly seemed hopeless and hysterical. Her palm covered her mouth as a fit of giggles escaped. His head tipped back as laughter barked out of him.

When they finally got their amusement under control, Riley passed her a soda. “I’m pretty sure you can have your pick of any man here—now that they all know sex is on the table.”

She snorted. “How sad is it that I’ve never had sex on a table?”

“Not what I meant, but good to know. Here’s a lesson on men, leave a bit of mystique. We like a challenge, the thrill of conquering. If you let them know sex is guaranteed, they’re sold, but they’re not gonna work for it. Even the unavailable assholes can sign up for a sure thing.”

“Gross. I’m not that desperate.”

He wiped away a spill. “You don’t have to be any level of desperate, Em. Just be you and eventually it’ll happen.” He crossed his arms and leaned on the bar. “You don’t want to sell yourself short and miss the best part.”

She arched a brow. “Which is?”

“That moment where all the desire builds into this bullet of need aimed to one target and then...pow.” He drew in a slow breath. “Chemical explosion. Lust. Need. Hunger. All those intense senses come into play and make...” He shrugged. “Ecstasy.”

She swallowed. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt ecstasy.”

“You will, but not with some douchebag you search out at a bar. The connection has to be authentic.”

Massaging her forehead, she growled. “This is so hard. It never used to be this difficult.”

“It’s not that complicated. Stop trying so hard and just wait for it to happen. You’re so worried about selling yourself you’re overpitching.”

“But no one sees me if I don’t put myself out there.”

“They see you. You
are
out there. You’re here, in a bar, looking beautiful. That’s the appeal. Constant declarations of self-worth scream insecurity. Have faith in yourself. Being you is enough.”

Ashamed her insecurities made a spectacle of her first evening on the prowl, she decided to call it a night. What was she doing anyway? This wasn’t her.

Plucking the earrings from her lobes, she slouched forward and sipped her soda. “You’re pretty knowledgeable when it comes to women.” It freaked her out how in tune he was with her flawed logic. He knew her better than she knew herself in some cases.

“I get people. It’s part of being a bartender.” He rested his elbows on the counter. “I watch them, Emma. The women that come in here and lay it on thick, they’re as transparent as glass. Sure, they get plenty of company and free drinks, but that’s because they’re selling guarantees. They’re still paying. It’s a trade, their body and pride for a shallow impression of affection. They get exactly what they ask for, but nothing more. You deserve the more.”

“What’s the more?”

“Respect. There are ways to keep it casual and respectful, but you can’t rush into it.”

“You’re right. I should probably thank you for saving me from that guy.”

“Yeah you should. He was a tool.”

“Thank you,” she grumbled. Scooting off her stool, she grabbed her earrings and tucked them in her purse. “I think I’m heading home.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. The only guy I want to be with right now is Colin Firth.”

“Who?”

“He’s a British actor. I’ll see you at home.”

“Hey, Em...”

She turned. “Yeah?”

“I got more ice cream. One for me and one for you. They’re hidden in the back of the freezer behind the corndogs.”

Her face softened, as her opinion of him climbed another notch. Ice cream was exactly what she needed. Ice cream and maybe a good ugly cry. “Thank you, Riley.”

He nodded. “See you at home.”

––––––––

J
oni Mitchell’s voice crooned from the television as she and Riley crammed onto the couch, foot to foot, sharing the comforter from her bed while watching her favorite movie of all time,
Love Actually
.

Her heart pinched as the scene unfolded in a memorable display of treachery and neglect. Hearing a sniffle from the other side of the couch, she glanced at Riley. “Are you okay?”

“She’s just so stoic. How does she do it, knowing he bought the necklace for the other woman while she’s home breaking her ass trying to raise his family?”

She wiped her eyes. “I know. It’s a great movie.”

The scene cut to Liam Neeson’s character. “Oh,” Riley groaned. “And then there’s these two. This boy’s ripping out my heart. Why did you make me watch this? I’m delicate!”

“Wait. It gets better,” she promised.

Since embarrassing herself in front of a bar full of people, she decided to spend the last of her vacation doing things she truly enjoyed. Riley was sucked into her plan of absolute laziness sometime mid-Wednesday during the second
Bridget Jones
movie.

Turned out, he had a soft spot for romantic comedies, so it was only right for her to introduce him to all her favorites. After this they were watching
The Princess Bride.

As the movie played her mind wandered. This was not where she expected to be. Her calendar was crammed with appointments she wouldn’t keep, consultations, tastings, dance classes and more. She’d been so consumed with planning a wedding, she’d forgotten who she was before she got engaged. The real her was in there somewhere, but lost.

“Do you believe in God, Riley?”

She hadn’t expected him to answer anymore than she expected to ask the question out loud. He was so engrossed in the movie, but it was a quiet scene so he did. “Sometimes, but I think I’m wrong. My God’s a cross between St. Nick, Jesus, and Zeus from the Disney version of Hercules, but not as tan.”

This made her smile. “You believe in a Santa God?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, sort of. I imagine him sitting on a throne like the Abe Lincoln monument, but holding a trident and surrounded by clouds. But I know that’s not what it’s really like. It’s just what I imagine when someone says God.”

She grinned, finding his version of Deity charming. “Do you think God has a plan for us, like everything happens for a reason?”

“I don’t know, Em. If he does and you find the cheat sheet he’s only going to change it to smite you.”

She also wasn’t sure the real God smote people. Maybe God wept with them and steered them toward something better, but if they made too much noise or moved too fast they’d miss the purpose of the struggle. “I think God’s a woman.”

He was quiet for a long while. “You’re probably right.”

She decided there was a bigger reason Becket was removed from her life. She just didn’t know what it was or if she’d ever find out.

After the movie was over and they had themselves a nice cry—which Riley swore was allergies—he insisted she watch some stupid online clip about screaming goats.

“I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

Riley jumped onto the couch like an excited tween and opened his laptop. “I dare you not to laugh. As a matter of fact, I
bet
you crack up.”