4. Carlee
Chapter 4
Carlee
I discard the facial wipes I just used to remove my makeup, into the small trash bin next to the vanity.
Moving to my hair, I carefully pull out the pins before dragging a brush through the long blonde strands. The curls I put in before I left to go out tonight are still there, making my hair spring back up on release. I brush my teeth and strip down to my underwear, dumping my dress into the laundry hamper.
My thoughts filter between my best friend and the hot guy who detained me at the club tonight. I don’t usually like being manhandled like that, but for some strange reason he made me feel safe in his arms. His panty-dropping good looks had absolutely nothing to do with it. I roll my eyes at myself in the mirror.
Who am I trying to kid?
Poor Emma was quiet on the Uber drive home, today turned out to be a total bust for her. Or did it? She said her and that Ashton guy just talked, but her red lipstick was smeared all over her face like some kind of freakish circus clown, so I knew there was more than words exchanged. I didn’t push her for more information though, that’s not how our friendship rolls. I know she’ll talk to me when she’s ready.
Padding back into my room, I move over to my dresser to grab a T-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts. I feel safe here, but I can’t go to bed naked. I’m still held captive by my past, and therefore I’m compelled to be ready to flee just in case.
As I slip the shirt over my head, my phone dings. I left it sitting on the nightstand to charge. Pushing my feet through the legs of the shorts, I slide them over my hips before reaching for my cell. I’m expecting something from Emma, thinking she’s ready to open up about what happened with that twat-waffle tonight, but it’s not her name that I see.
Unknown: Hey. Hope you got home safe. What are you up to?
Future Mrs. Edwards: Who is this?
Unknown: Wow! Am I that forgettable? You wound me, pretty girl.
Future Mrs. Edwards: ???
Unknown: We met earlier at the club. You may have already erased me from your memory, but I can assure you you’re still alive and well in mine. You’re kind of hard to forget. *insert cartoon heart eyes here*
A woosh of air leaves my lungs as I reread what he sent. A second later another one comes through.
Unknown: The night is still young, do you want to meet up? Our time together was short… we need to rectify that.
Unknown: ???
His messages are coming in rapid succession. I barely get time to formulate my reply before the next one arrives. I eagerly throw myself backward, landing on my mattress with a bounce and a tiny squeal. I know he asked for my number, but I wasn’t confident I’d hear from him. He’s all GQ-model-worthy hot, and I’m just… well me.
Unknown: Are you ghosting me now?
Future Mrs. Edwards: Sheesh! Slow down there, tiger. Give me a chance to reply.
Unknown: My apologies, go ahead…
Future Mrs. Edwards: I didn’t get your name, and this number came up as unknown. I’m not in the habit of agreeing to meet up with strangers. You could be an ax murderer for all I know.
Unknown: If you hadn’t run off so fast, I would’ve given you more than just my name. ;)
Future Mrs. Edwards: What, like an STD?
Unknown: Whitty, feisty, and beautiful. A lethal combination. I think I’ve hit the jackpot.
Unknown: My name is Grayson BTW. The people I’m close with call me Gray.
His reply makes me smile. I like his name, it suits him. From our brief encounter, I knew he was different from the guys I usually date. Although he oozed sex appeal, he’s clean-cut… a pretty boy, and not my usual type. I typically gravitate toward the rough and ready kind of guys. Damaged by their life’s circumstances… kindred spirits. Ones who are least likely to judge and look down at me… people from my side of the tracks .
Future Mrs. Edwards: Nice name. I’ll call you Grayson then since we aren’t close.
Unknown: Wow! Harsh. But be fair warned, it’s only a matter of time before you fall under my spell. Nobody can resist my charm. Give me an hour and I’m sure we’ll be BFF’s.
Future Mrs. Edwards: I doubt that. I already have a BFF.
Unknown: Talk about a stab right to the heart.
I bite my lip to suppress another smile.
Unknown: Are you at least going to tell me your name? You only gave me your number earlier, so I’ll be forced to refer to you as, ‘Hot tattooed girl from the club,’ if you don’t.
Future Mrs. Edwards: Oh, so you’re one of those?
Unknown: One of those?
Future Mrs. Edwards: Those men that have an abundance of female friends *insert cough here* and can’t remember said names so their contact list appears something like this:
Blonde with a great rack
Brunette with the bootylicious ass
Redhead that sucks cock like a champ
Tell me I’m wrong.
Unknown: LMAO. I like you already. Are you sure we can’t be BFF’s?
Future Mrs. Edwards: That would be a no. And I don’t see you denying my claims, so I guess I hit the nail on the head.
Unknown: You’ve got me. FYI, the one who sucks cock like a champ has black hair. Unfortunately, the redhead didn’t make the cut. She had a tiny mouth and the most pitiful gag reflex. I had such high hopes for her, but alas, she turned out to be a huge disappointment. I lost her number ASAP. *insert sigh here*
This time I laugh out loud. I think I like him too, he’s funny.
Future Mrs. Edwards: A dreadful gag reflex? Gasp! Good thing I don’t have one of those.
Unknown: You’re killing me here. You’re going to need to prove this.
Future Mrs. Edwards: Nah, I’m good. You’ll just have to take my word for it.
Unknown: No really, I have to witness this firsthand or it didn’t happen. *insert a thousand praying hands here* Actually, make that ten thousand. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine kind of thing. I don’t mean to brag or anything, but I can do magical things with my tongue.
Future Mrs. Edwards: Says who? You?
Unknown: No, my abundance of female friends. *cough* I’ll have you know I’m pretty well-known for said tongue action. Feel free to save my contact details under, ‘The Adonis with the magical tongue’.
Future Mrs. Edwards: Cocky much!
Unknown: If you’ve got it flaunt it. I don’t just talk the talk, sweetheart, I walk the walk. Be honest, you know you want me to come over and rock your world. If you play your cards right, I may even upgrade your description on my phone. E.g. ‘Hot tattooed blonde with no gag reflex.’ How does that sound?
Future Mrs. Edwards: Hmm…
Unknown: Does that mean I get your address now?
Future Mrs. Edwards: Umm… that’ll be no. Like I said I’m not in the habit of giving my details out to strangers. You’ve yet to prove you’re not an ax murderer.
Unknown: I can assure you I don’t own an ax. You’re completely safe with me.
Unknown: Well with ax’s anyway. But be warned, my tongue is lethal.
Unknown: Address?
All this tongue talk is making me antsy. He’s confident and cocky, I know what guys like him are about, but it’s been a while since I’ve hooked up with anyone. I ponder that thought for a moment before finally replying.
Future Mrs. Edwards: How about this… I’m in the mood for some pizza. I’ll send you the coordinates of my favorite place. You can meet me there. Be prepared for a grilling because I’m bringing out all the uncomfortable and hard questions. If you pass, only then will I decide whether you’re worthy of my address.
He may consider my request hard work, but I’ll take my chances. I’ve brought guys home before, but I make sure I know them first. I’d like to think I’m a good judge of character and don’t trust people easily. My gut instincts have got me out of many precarious predicaments in the past.
Unknown: You’re making me work for it, I like it. Easy girls are no fun.
Future Mrs. Edwards: I thought most guys liked easy girls.
Unknown: I’m not like most guys…
Unknown: I’m up for the challenge ‘hot tattooed girl from the club’ (You still haven’t told me your name) so until you do, you’ll be forever known as that. Unless of course, you prove you have no gag reflex like you claim.
My amusement grows. I like his wittiness.
Future Mrs. Edwards: It’s Carlee.
Unknown: No last name? Mine’s Edwards. You’re welcome to google me. You’ll see I’m a pillar of the community. A real upstanding citizen.
Future Mrs. Edwards: Really? That makes you sound kind of boring actually. Such a shame. I have a weakness for bad boys.
Future Mrs. Edwards: And it’s Carlee, just Carlee.
Technically I do have a last name, but I prefer not to use it. My parents are assholes. They don’t want me, so in turn I don’t want their name. It’s only fair. An eye for an eye and all that bullshit.
Unknown: Hmm, that’s an interesting last name. Well, Miss Just-Carlee, as luck would have it, one of my middle names just happens to be Bad-boy. Grayson Robert Bad-boy Edwards .
This man has me grinning like a fool.
Unknown: And I think it’s only fair to warn you, I’m bringing my A game with me tonight. Be prepared to be wooed. ;)
Bring it on, Mr. Edwards.
I pace back and forth outside the restaurant, my anxiety growing with each passing minute. I’ve been here for close to half an hour. This place is only five blocks from where I live, so I walked here. I’m no stranger to wandering around at night on my own. Emma hates when I do it, but her upbringing was a lot different to mine; she lived a sheltered life in the bum fuck of nowhere.
Illuminating my phone, I check the time. It’s just after eleven, I’m not sure where Grayson’s coming from, but I’ll give him another ten minutes. Maybe my request for a little more than a hookup was too much work after all. I hope that’s not the case.
I still don’t cope well with rejection, even after all this time.
A few minutes later my attention is drawn toward a silver sports car as it slows, pulling up alongside the curb. Gardena isn’t a flash suburb by any means, so it’s not common to see swanky cars around this part of town.
I watch on in amazement as the driver’s side door opens upward instead of outward like most cars. Very fancy. It’s futuristic and kind of cool.
Butterflies take flight in my stomach the moment the guy steps out, and his eyes instantly lock with mine over the top of the vehicle.
Cheese on a cracker, it’s him.
His smile lights up his gorgeous face making my heart flutter in my chest. My first thought is he really is beautiful, and totally out of my league.
I’m suddenly wishing I put more effort into my appearance before coming now. Tonight, I left my hair down and parted at the side. The long, loose waves reach down to my lower back and cascade over one shoulder. I don’t go out like this often, especially on a date.
It’s not my signature style. I usually wear my makeup like armor, and in this moment, I’m feeling extremely exposed.
In my defense I was heading to bed when he texted me, so I got ready in a rush. He gave no indication of how far away he was, and I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t going to show.
I’m wearing a pair of formfitting three-quarter red plaid pants and a tight black off-the-shoulder top, which is tucked in at the waist. The sleeves are ruffled, and super cute, showing the majority of my inked arms. The black ballet flats on my feet take a few inches off my already short height, but since I was walking here, I went for comfort. My face is free from makeup, bar my red lips, and a dash of mascara.
Sliding my phone into the back pocket of my pants with shaky hands, I rub my sweaty palms down the side of my legs. Shit, I can’t believe how nervous I am.
He’s just a guy , I remind myself.
Granted a very hot one, but…
Christ, get a hold of yourself, Carlee.
“Hey,” he says as he steps up onto the sidewalk coming to a stop in front of me. He leans down, brushing his lips lightly over my cheek, causing goose bumps to rise along my arms.
I crane my neck so I can make eye contact with him, he is so dang tall.
“Hi.” It comes out more like a breathy sigh. Gah.
“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
I tuck my hands behind my back, so I’m not tempted to reach out and grab him. “No, I just got here,” I lie. Sue me, I don’t want to appear too eager.
The smile on his face grows as his eyes peruse me from head to toe. The heat I see in his gaze scorches my skin. I’m surprised it doesn’t make me feel self-conscious; I usually hate being scrutinized. Maybe it’s the appreciation and hunger I see reflecting back at me, or maybe it’s something else.
I use this time to make my own assessment. The look he’s giving me is devilish, making me want to drink him down like chocolate. His lips are plump and his straight, pearly white teeth are toothpaste-commercial worthy. His parents must have skimmed the very top of the gene pool when they made him.
Damn, I want to do dirty things with this man.
Subconsciously I run my tongue over my bottom lip, and I hear a strangled growl rumble in the back of his throat as his eyes zero in on my movements.
He’s still dressed in the designer blue jeans and the white button-up shirt he wore to the club; the sleeves are now rolled up to the elbows. The picture perfect of casual and cool. There’s a striking resemblance between him and James Dean, with a dash of Matthew McConaughey thrown into the mix. However, if you hand-picked their best features and mashed them together, you still wouldn’t do this man justice.
My eyes continue their appraisal, moving down the tanned skin on his toned forearm. Is that a Rolex? I knew a guy who used to sell those kinds of watches, rip-offs of course. I guarantee Grayson’s isn’t. He reeks of money and class. The total opposite to me. I’m what some people once referred to as trailer park trash, and I’m as poor as a church mouse.
Sheesh, what am I doing here?
Those disarming dimples he dealt out at the club earlier are back on full display. He uses them like a weapon, and it works; my body is on sensory overload. I’m itching to paw at him, to run my fingers through his flawlessly tussled light brown hair. It has a slight wave to it. It’s shorter on the sides and longer on top. His eyes are an unusual color and alight with mischief. The center is a captivating emerald green, surrounded by a ring of brown. Like mint chocolate. Yum . God, I could eat him up.
“You look different,” he says, reaching for one of my loose curls, and twisting it around his finger. I drop my head, staring down at my feet. Damn. It’s rare for me to let my bravado slip, but sometimes that insecure little girl rears her ugly head. Please don’t reject me. “Hey.” He places his knuckle under my chin, bringing my gaze back to his. Tingles run down my spine when his thumb skims over my cheek. “The made-up woman I met earlier tonight was stunning, but the one in front of me now, the natural version of her… she takes my breath away.”
God this man is good. He’s only been here a few minutes and he’s already got me swooning all over the place. He warned me he was bringing his A game, but there’s not a hint of deception behind his words.
His eyes hold mine for a moment before flickering to the pizzeria behind us. This place is nothing flashy, but the authentic Italian food is to die for .
“Do you want to go in?” I ask, throwing my thumb over my shoulder. I need a few moments to gather myself. This man makes me feel off-kilter.
“Sure.” He gives me a devious wink like he can read my thoughts. It’s unnerving. Stepping around me, he opens the door. “After you, pretty girl.” He gestures with his hand for me to go inside. I move forward and as I pass, he rests his flattened palm on the small of my back, following me in. The heat from his touch electrifies my skin, even through my clothes. “I’m ready to be grilled,” he leans in and whispers, causing liquid heat to form in my core as his warm, minty breath ghosts over my skin. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“And I’m ready to be wooed,” I counter, grinning at him over my shoulder.
“Baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.” The tone of his voice makes his words sound more like a caress.
This man is sex on a stick.
We approach a table toward the back of the restaurant, and Grayson moves to pull out my chair. I raise an eyebrow, glancing up at him. I’m not opposed to chivalry; I’m just not used to it.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say, taking a seat.
“My mom raised me to be a gentleman. Do you have an issue with that?”
“None whatsoever,” I reply, reaching for the menu. Emma and I order from here often, so I already know what I’m getting. I just need something to do with my hands. “Thank her for me next time you see her.”
“I’ll do that.” He rocks back in his chair watching me. “So, Miss Just-Carlee, what does a girl like you do for fun?” I bite back my smile when he says my name like that .
“The usual.”
“Like?”
“If I’m not working, I hang out with my bestie…” I shrug. “…amongst other things.” I give my most seductive look when I say the last part, emphasizing the innuendo.
“Hmm,” he says, shifting in his seat slightly. “Your bestie? Is that the girl you were at the club with tonight?”
“The one and only. Her name is Emma.”
“She seems to have caught the eye of my friend, Ashton.”
“Ugh.” I’m not a fan. Both times she’s seen him he’s managed to upset her. I want to junk-punch him for that.
“You don’t sound too impressed.”
“I’m sorry, but your friend’s a colossal douche.” My confession makes him chuckle.
“Ashton mentioned their infamous meeting this morning, but failed to tell me any specifics. Care to fill me in?”
“There’s not much to tell. He knocked a donut out of her hand and made her cry,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I rest my case.”
This time he laughs, shaking his head. “Wow, you’re right, what a douchebag. I honestly don’t know why we’re friends.” I can tell he’s joking by the way he says it. Whatever. “I probably should reevaluate that.”
“You should,” I retort dryly, giving him the stink eye. Seeing Emma upset makes me go all momma bear, and I don’t appreciate him making light of it.
“He may be a tad prickly at times, but I can assure you deep down he’s a good guy. He’s just had some issues of late.” Naturally, he’s going to defend him, but I’m still not convinced. “Did your friend really cry over a donut? She must love them.”
My stink eye grows stinkier. “It wasn’t the donut that made her cry, it was the douche.” I wave my hand dismissing it; I don’t want to mention how he acted when he saw the scars on her wrist. It’s not my story to tell. “He better watch his back; I have ninja skills you know.”
His face lights up with mirth. “Ninja skills? And you’re worried about my ax-wielding abilities.”
Now I’m smiling. “Be a good boy, don’t piss me off and you’ll be safe.”
He drums his fingers on the table. “Duly noted.”