Love on the Rocks (with Salt) (10 page)

“
This is Laney’s first time
clubbing in Hollywood,” says Natalie.

“
You have got to be kidding,” says
her friend Jasmine. “Did you just move here?”

“
I’m originally from Thousand
Oaks,” I answer. “I lived with my boyfriend for about five years in
the Valley, but we broke up a few months ago. We never went to
clubs on the Westside.”

Jasmine and Natalie’s other friend, Holden,
exchange a look that confirms my worst fear: I am a total loser who
has no business being here. I should take off this stupid cowboy
hat and get my lame ass home. I look past Jasmine and Holden for
Mr. Pearl Snaps—maybe he’d like to take me.

“
So, what do you do, Laney?”
Jasmine asks me.

“
I design wedding dresses at a
shop on Rodeo. I’ve designed a lot of dresses for B-list
celebrities who want an original couture dress but can’t afford
Vera Wang or Dior,” I say hoping to show them just how hip I
am.

“
That’s cool,” she says, though it
doesn’t sound like she means it.

“
Looks like we need to break you
in to West Hollywood clubbing, Laney. It’s time for you to dance
with a gay man.” Holden pulls me onto the dance floor. “Just don’t
fall in love with me when you see how skilled I am. You are
gorgeous, girlfriend, but my hips only swing your way on the dance
floor.”

I laugh as we’re dancing and am actually
starting to have fun when I look up and see Pearl Snaps Tom and
Black Bart Bill heading toward the door. Tom catches my eye and
tips his hat. I give him a little wave, and Holden looks over his
shoulder to see where I’ve turned my attention.

He pulls me close and says, “Stay away from
that one, honey. He’s a bad, bad boy. A nice girl like you is
better off on the dance floor with a gay boy like me.”

Almost as if he’d heard what Holden said, Tom
shrugs, gives me a smile and walks out the door.

After many more turns on the dance
floor—and my fourth Frosted Cowboy—we head to an all-night coffee
bar, where I see one of the Baldwin brothers buying a watch out of
a briefcase and Toby Maguire taking turns playing backgammon with
two guys who look like computer programmers. I order a decaf and
try to sound intelligent and maybe even a little bit feisty, all
the while wondering what it would have been like to go home with a
bad boy like Tom with the pearl snaps instead.

Late Sunday morning, I grab
the
LA Times
and
head down to Mel’s Diner on Sunset. Nothing like a little chorizo
and eggs to nurse a hangover. As I walk in the door, I see Mr.
Pearl Snaps himself. Before I can avoid him, he catches my eye so I
walk over to him. “Oh my God, aren’t you Chris
Pine?”

He smiles. “Aren’t you
that
Sports Illustrated
model?”

“
I can’t believe you recognized me
without my bikini.”

“
Are you meeting someone
here?”

“
Nope, just me
and the
Times
.”

“
Care to join me?”

“
Sure,” I say, and sit down across
from him.

“
It looked like you were having
fun on the dance floor last night.”

“
You know what?
I
did
have a lot
of fun. I haven’t been dancing in years. We closed the place down
and then went out for coffee because that’s what I need at two
a.m., a big shot of caffeine. I didn’t get home until almost
four.”

“
And you’re actually out in the
daylight before noon. I thought you were a rookie at the whole
nightlife scene.”

“
I
am
a rookie. I’m just
not used to sleeping in. I don’t think I’ve slept past eleven
o’clock since college.” I suddenly become aware of my appearance.
I’m wearing ripped jeans and my favorite ratty Henley shirt, and my
hair is pulled into a sloppy ponytail. Did I remember to brush my
teeth and put on mascara? Think, Laney, think. Yes to both. Nothing
to conceal the zit I feel coming in big and strong on my
chin.

“
Is it really OK if I sit here?” I
ask, shifting in my seat a bit, my confidence suddenly
plummeting.

“
Only if you let me read the book
reviews.”

“
Do you read a lot?”

“
Does that surprise you?” he
asks.

I shrug. “You look like you spend more time at
the gym than the library.” Crap. Did I say that out
loud?

“
Ouch,” he says to me.

Yep, said it out loud. I’ve really got to
learn to control that.

The waitress comes to my rescue and takes our
order. “Elvis scramble, coffee, large orange juice and a water
please.” He orders an egg white omelet with spinach and feta. Oh
brother. He’s probably used to breakfasting with girls who eat half
a grapefruit for breakfast, not chorizo.

“
So what kind of books do you
read?” I ask when the waitress leaves us.

“
Mostly books about
bodybuilding.”

“
Are you always this
sarcastic?”

“
I could say the same thing to
you,” he says.

“
Sorry. Defense mechanism. I used
to be good at talking to boys, but I just got out of a long
relationship. I’m out of practice.”

“
Why not talk to me like I’m a
person, not a guy? Like you’d talk to a friend.”

“
Wow,” I reply.
“I’m already getting the let’s be friends routine. I
am
out of practice.
Either that or I look as bad as I think I do.”

“
No,” he says. “You look cute all
dressed down, but it doesn’t seem like you’re ready to date yet.
But if you want, we could go back to my place after breakfast and
just have sex.”

Did he say what I think he
said?
Did he ask me to have sex with
him?
I’m too fragile to date but not too
fragile for a Sunday morning shag? And why does it turn me on? You
know what? I
don’t
want to date this guy. He’s an ass. But I was with the same
guy for seven years. Maybe a mindless roll in the hay is what I
need.

I feel myself blinking as I come out of my
deer-in-the-headlights stare. “Hey, I was only kidding,” he
laughs.

“
Do you have a condom?” I
ask.

“
I always have a
condom.”

“
OK.” I smile. “After we eat
breakfast.”

~~~~

I’m lying in Tom’s bed after the most
incredible sex I’ve ever had. He can use his tongue in ways I
didn’t know were possible. And for a long time.

“
Wow,” he says to me.

“
Wow yourself.”

“
Are you sure you never do this?”
he asks, drawing circles around my navel. “You seem awfully good at
it. Amazing in fact.” I feel myself blush.

“
I didn’t say I never had sex. I
said I’d been having it with the same person for the last seven
years.”

“
I’ve heard that’s kind of the
same thing.”

“
You’ve heard?”

“
Well, the longest I’ve ever been
with someone is three months, but I’ve heard that after a while sex
becomes almost non-existent.”

“
The longest you’ve ever been with
someone is three months?” I say incredulously.

“
Hey, I don’t want to do this. I
thought we were just having fun.”

This guy may be good in bed, but I swear, he
is getting less appealing by the minute.

“
Who said anything about a
relationship? I’m just shocked that you’ve never actually been in
one. How old are you?”

“
Twenty-seven.”

Twenty-seven?!
I just had sex with a guy five years younger than
me. Holy crap, he must have been born in a different decade. When I
got my driver’s license, he was in elementary school. When I
graduated from college, he was feeling some girl up at junior prom.
No wonder he’s such an ass—he’s barely even a
grown-up.

I see his lips moving again. I shake my head.
“Pardon me,” I say.

“
I said I’m twenty-seven. How old
are you?”

“
Thirty-two.”

“
Really,” he says with a big smile
on his face. “Aren’t women in their thirties in their sexual
prime?” he asks, kissing my stomach.

I push his head away. “Not
until they’re thirty-five or thirty-six.” I start putting on my
clothes. I cannot believe I just went to some guy’s apartment after
breakfast—
breakfast!
I wasn’t even drunk—and had
down-and-dirty-not-yet-in-my-sexual-prime cougar sex with him.
“I’ve still got a few more years. Maybe I’ll give you a call then,
and we can do it again, but right now I think it’s time for me to
go.”

And with that I kiss him on the forehead, slip
on my clothes and walk out the door.

Find out what happens next…
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