Page 48 of Love at First Sighting
“Whatever. He is not going to help us. And I’m just trying to look out foryou, love. You know exactly why he’s interested in you.”
Of course, I’ve said Carter’s my date for the night, but what we have is still in horny limbo. We do spend a lot of time eyeing each other, and I’ve been trying to forget the sex dream I had about him the night of our archive break-in, but alas. I’m still thinking about the way he manhandled me in my subconscious and how I want to know if that’s what’d happen in real life.
My eyes drift back to Carter at the bar. It doesn’t shock me that he’s already looking at me. Maybe it’s a cry for help as he’s locked in a conversation with Jet. Maybe he wants to be looking at me because that’s what feels good to him. He feels good to me, too.
There’s a voice in the back of my head telling me Carter’s just like everyone else and he’ll leave like they do, too. Day by day, I believe this voice might be a liar. Carter isn’t searching for fame, clearly. He’s behind the camera, helping me shine when he could be helping himself. I’m helping Carter uncover the truth about his dad’s death, and while it’s different from sponsorships or clout, he still gets something from me. If we hit the end of our mystery, will he walk away, too?
The problem is, I will never know if I don’t try to find out, and I’ll never know real love if I don’t give it a chance.
“And why’s that?”
“You’re smarter than that, El. Someone like him—someone with nothing—wants the girl who has everything. And convenient he shows up when you’re in the middle of a little menty B. He probably thinks you’re desperate.”Desperateis a bold fucking word coming from someone putting a herculean effort into bringing back nineties lipliner. “Ever think of that? But this? Dating this bloke who no one knows? This isn’t the egg we want in the Nest.”
It’s an odd metaphor, but I’m too angry to be hung up on it at the moment. I swallow my anger and my urge to toss the remains of my vodka onto Bex’s Party CityBridgertoncostume.
“I’m going to see if the guys need help bringing drinks back.”
I make an executive decision to stomp away. It kind of hurts in my heels, but the pain fades as I reach Carter and he meets me with a smile and an easy “hey.”
“IT’S REALLY NOT THAT BAD,” Jet cries. At least with the cacophony of the bar, he has a reason to be this loud. I think he’s speaking about the vodka, but then we veer into a horror show. “Doesn’t even knick your balls at all.”
Carter chokes on the drink he’s just received. “That’s…awesome.”
Lordy, help.
“Anyway, I can hit you with the link. You get twenty percent off if you use code JETMAN20.”
Jet claps Carter on the backagainand he lets out a low moan. I’m going to have to check him for bruises later. Jet backs away and takes the three drinks for him, Bex, and Lea, leaving the two of us at the bar together.
“What kind of deal did you get?” I ask, sidling up beside Carter at the oak bar. It’s artistically carved, with an arc ofbulbed lights and mirrors behind the bar. Carter, in his full suit and hat, looks like a perfectly placed private eye, with a devilish grin that only grows more mischievous as I run my fingers up the sleeve of his jacket.
“He told me his entire manscaping routine.” Carter slides my drink into my hand. I gasp. “I know. The twenty percent off is for a ball shaver.”
“He’s deeply generous,” I say. “I had to escape the girls.”
“What was the discussion? Metrics? Algorithms? Certainly better than manscaping razors.”
I don’t want him to know the discussion, and it doesn’t matter while I’m near him, getting closer and closer with each breath. Carter raises the glass to his lips.
“Cheers to adding pineapplemaybemaking it better?” he says. Our glasses clink together, sticky cocktail dribbling over the edges onto our fingers. Then we do the bravest thing two people can do: drink Ian Forte’s vodka.
Itisbetter when mixed with pineapple, but not by much. But that might be a testament to Ian Forte and his ability to fuck up anything he touches—from deep-sea tourism to alcohol.
“Not great, but I’ll take it.” He laughs.
“This is one of the first times you haven’t looked like the only extra inAngel City Noir.”
“I think you might have become obsessed with that show.”
“Hey.” I frown. “It’s so mindless. Makes great background noise as I’m editing pictures. However, I might paymoreattention if the leading man was someone as handsome as you.”
He bites his lip and smiles, leaning in so our arms brush together. “Who would I be? A morally gray detective being bamboozled by oneverypersuasive femme fatale?”
Carter removes the aged trilby from his head and carefully places it on top of my curls. For a moment, I think—when he smiles, magic happens. There’s something electric and alluring in the sparkle in his eyes and the bright flash of his teeth.
What mightactuallybe magic is the way Alaka-Sam appears behind Carter and makes me choke on my drink. Sam is clad in his usual lace-up leather pants and sequined blue blouse. Except he’s in a tizzy. And in the time since we broke up, he’s added a dash of glitter to his eyelids, but his hair is still the same greased-up mop of waves and he still smells like cigar smoke mixed with something strangely avian.
“Sam!” I say, still choking. “Uh, hi!”
