Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
After a little bit, I got up and started to gather my things, and pulled my sundress on over my suit. My shoulders had a definite pink tinge and I needed to get inside and start thinking about dinner plans.
As I walked past the entrance to the lounge, the cool quiet called to me. I hesitated. A visit to the bar hadn’t been on my personal itinerary, but the air conditioning inside felt wonderful, and now that my studying was done, a margarita with an actual shot of tequila sounded like just the thing.
I took a seat at the elegant bar and glanced around. It wasn’t very crowded for a late Friday afternoon, but presumably, people were probably still out by the pool or getting ready for dinner. “What can I get for you?” The bartender asked with a smile, placing a napkin down in front of me.
“A margarita, please. On the rocks. No salt.” The bartender turned away with a nod and I took a deep breath and joined my hands in front of me on the bar, smiling a contented smile. This was definitely more my speed than the whizzing, dinging, atmosphere in the casino just beyond.
“No salt?” a voice from my left said. “Who orders a margarita with no salt?”
My smile evaporated and I swiveled my head, leaning around the gentleman a couple stools down and staring at the one just past him. Seriously? “Why, if it isn’t Carson Stinger, Straight Male Performer,” I said. I groaned inwardly. No, no, this is good, Grace. You’ve been given another chance to heal your wounded pride. Come out of this exchange on top—so to speak. Gah. Everything was a porn pun now.
He was staring at me strangely, waiting for me to say something, a look on his face that was amused yet watchful.
I raised an eyebrow. “If you’re considering telling me you’ve got something for me that’s nice and salty, please restrain yourself. Predictability bores me.” I turned as the bartender placed my drink in front of me and I took a long sip.
Carson chuckled. “I doubt it.”
He doubted it? He doubted what? That predictability bored me? I opened my mouth to say something but snapped it shut. He was right. I loved predictability. I lived for it, actually. Before I’d come up with a response, he was moving down the bar with his beer in hand to take the stool right next to me. I turned to glare at him.
“What I was actually going to say, buttercup, was that you’re really missing out ordering a margarita without the salt. It’s all about licking the salt off the rim and then sucking the sweet liquid through the straw. The contrast of sweet and salty on your tongue is so, so good.” He leaned closer to me as he lowered his voice. “Try it once, just once. You’ll never want it any other way.”
Okay, now he was just trying to get a rise out of me. And why? What exactly had I done to this man? I seethed, even angrier at the fact that his words were turning me on—again. My traitorous body liked his damn, deep, sugary voice and purposefully titillating words. And the way he smelled, that was nice too. Stupid body!
“Let me buy you one,” he offered, his lips curving. “Seriously. Just one drink my way. You can do a taste test and see who’s right. We can get to know each other a little better.”
I rotated my body, facing him fully and taking a deep breath before smiling sweetly. What I was going to give him was the plain, unadulterated truth. And it was going to work beautifully. “I’m going to lay it out straight for you here, Carson. And the reason I’m going to do that is because I have every confidence it will scare you off badly enough that I can then finish my drink in peace, and we can part as mere acquaintances who simply have nothing in common.”
He looked at me dubiously as I joined my hands in my lap, tilting my head as I continued. “I’m the kind of girl who wants to get married in a big, white dress, wearing my grandma’s pearls. I want a husband who loves me faithfully. I want him to come home to me every night, and I don’t want to have to worry about whether he has his secretary bent over a desk because he’s the kind of man who has too much honor for that kind of disloyalty. I want to wait a year and then start trying for the two kids that we’ll eventually have, a girl and a boy. And when we have those kids, I do not want, one day, to have to look in their little faces and explain why their daddy is on the internet having relations with everyone from college honeys to cougars gone wild for cash. I want to throw a cartoon-themed birthday party at a jump house for my six-year-old, not mark the occasion by explaining what a ‘money shot’ is. I have a feeling your life goals are somewhat different than mine. And by ‘somewhat,’ I mean utterly and completely. Does that explain why it would be a waste of time for both of us to continue being in each other’s company?”