Beyond this set up being predictable at this point, it’s really fucking old or I am, probably both. I ignore their taps on my shoulder and them calling my name. I ignore everything to do with them and focus on my phone.
On the inside, I’m freaking the fuck out that I’m sitting in the cargo hold of a huge van in Germany with attractive girls willing to do anything I want them to, but I prefer to look at a photo of a little blonde with hazel eyes. Freaking the fuck out might be an understatement.
I’m a player or was, supposed to be, maybe still am. I don’t keep score or anything like that, but I’ve slept with plenty of women, sometimes more than one at a time. I used to blame my lifestyle, but more recently, I realized I’m the common denominator in the bad relationships I’ve had.
The car comes to a stop and the driver rushes around to the back to let me out. I stumble while climbing out, and hurry inside away from the sound of my name being called. The girls will be upset when they realize I’m not staying to play, but Dex will be thrilled—more pussy for him.
Cory hops out from the front, and follows me. “Wait up,” he says, jogging to catch up.
When we reach the elevators, we look back. Dex is helping the girls out of the vehicle one-by-one. With a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, he’s sloppy, already drunk. He never lacks for female companionship. By the way he acts, I don’t see the appeal, but I don’t think that’s why they’re hooking up with him anyway.
Cory looks at me and nods once. “What’s up? What happened back there?”
The elevator doors open and we step in, pushing the button for our floor. “Over it. Over it all.”
“The girl from Vegas?”
“She’s not from Vegas, but yeah, I’ve kind of been thinking about her.”
When the brass doors reopen, we walk down the hall to our rooms. Cory and I don’t do small talk. We’ve been friends for years, best friends if I think about it.
“Maybe you should call her,” he suggests as we open our doors.
“Maybe I will.”
“Night.”
“Night,” I mumble and shut the door behind me.
1
Holliday Hughes
“Comfort zones are like women. You have to try a few before you find the one that feels right.” ~ Johnny Outlaw
That damn lime and coconut song has been playing on a loop in my head, driving me nuts for hours. I make a mental note: Fire Tracy in the morning for subjecting me to that song twenty-thousand times yesterday. She called it inspirational. I call it torture after the first two times.
Rolling over, I look at the time. 4:36 a.m. I have four hours before I need to be on the road. This may be a business trip, but it will still be good to get away for a few days. I need a break. I’ve been in a bad mood lately. The spa and I have a date I’m really looking forward to. The thought alone relaxes me. I close my eyes and try to get a few more hours of sleep before I need to leave for Las Vegas.
I get two tops.
I tighten my robe at the neck. Just as I open my front door to get the paper, I hear a male voice say, “Hello?”
Peeking through the crack, I hold the door protectively in front of me just in case I need to close and lock it quickly. “Hi.”
“I’m your new neighbor. I just moved in last week. I’m Danny.”
Curious, I slowly stick my head out to get a better look at this Danny. Strands of my sandy blonde hair fall in front of my eyes, so I tuck it behind my ear and get an eyeful. To my surprise, he’s quite handsome and has a big smile. “Oh, um,” I say, dragging my hand down the back of my hair, hoping to tame the wild strands. “Hi. I’m Holli. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
He nods toward the paper on the bottom of the shared Spanish tiled steps that lead to our townhomes. “I’ll get your paper since you’re not dressed.”
“Thanks.” I watch him. He looks like he just got back from a run or workout—a little sweaty, but not gross, in that sexy kind of way. Or maybe Danny’s just sexy. He’s well built with short, brown hair and when he bends over, I notice his strong legs and arms. Well-defined muscles lead to—Oh my God! Not just my face, but my entire body heats from embarrassment. Hoping he doesn’t say anything about me checking him out, I turn away and start picking at a piece of peeling stucco near my house number. “Um, so are you settled in, liking your place?”
His chuckling confirms I was busted. But he’s a gentleman, so he acts as if it didn’t happen. “I like the neighborhood. The place is great,” he says. “I like all the space, especially the patio. I’m thinking of having a party to break it in, maybe in a few weeks after I finish unpacking.” He hands me the paper and takes two steps back. “You should stop by.”
Nodding, I look into his eyes. I think they’re brown, lighter than mine, more honey-colored. His offer is friendly, not a come on, which is good since we’re neighbors now. “Thanks for the invitation.”
Walking back to his door, he steals one more glimpse over his shoulder. “Have a great day. See you around, Holli.”
“Yeah, see you around.”
I shut the door, paper in hand, and fall against the wood with a smile on my face. One of my golden rules is not to date where I sleep, but I still appreciate that my new hottie neighbor is easy on the eyes. He might know it, but he doesn’t seem arrogant.
I lock the door and get ready to leave.
Los Angeles is hot, smoggy, and grey at this hour and I have a feeling it won’t be much different a few hours from now. I close the patio door and lock it, double checking for safety. After pulling the drapes closed, I take one last look around to make sure I’m not forgetting anything. I text Tracy and let her know I’m leaving. She doesn’t reply, but I’m not surprised. Her boyfriend proposed last night after six years of dating. Being the kind boss and friend I am, I let her out of this trip, so she could spend the weekend with their families to celebrate the engagement.
There are selfish reasons as well for letting her off the hook. I really don’t think I can handle hours of sitting in the car with her as she reads bridal magazines and plans every detail of her big day. After too many dud dates in the last couple of months, I’m not in the right frame of mind to plan her happily ever after.
With my garment bag in one hand and my suitcase in the other, I click the button, disarming my car’s alarm as I walk to my parking space. I've lived here a couple of years. I wanted a place near the beach that also had space for my office, and I was fortunate enough to find both in this townhome.
A meme I created went viral three years ago this month. Who knew a snarky-mouthed fruit would be the way I make my fortune. I took it though and ran with the brand, building it into a small empire I named Limelight. The company is lean and I keep my costs under control. My fortune has grown by a few million in the last year alone.