Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Next, I have to shower, shave the lady parts, and dress like I mean business. Bathing suit with a sundress over. Tennis shoes for hiking. Flip-flops in the magic canvas bag. Done.
I look in the mirror, braid my hair, and then prepare to tackle the final obstacle: baggy eyes. I stare down at my emergency toiletry bag—stuff for cuts, cramps, itches, sunburns, pimple breakouts, and puffy eyes. The little yellow tube stares back at me.
“Stop it, hemorrhoid cream. You don’t get to shame me. You’re a cream that people put on their buttholes.”
I dab the cream under my eyes and wait until my life support comes from room service. By the time I gulp down my coffee and eat, my less-puffy face is ready for the sweat-proof concealer and sunscreen.
I look at my watch: 6:58. Go time!
I rush out of the room and toward the lobby several buildings over. When I enter, I spot Carter waiting near the doors, and my heart goes into a full gallop. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, which stretches across his muscled chest, and cargo shorts.
His blue eyes fix on me, and he smiles. “Wow. Do you look like this every morning?”
I strut toward him, thanking my bad habits: following beauty hackers on Insta.
“I didn’t sleep well,” I say, pretending that I didn’t notice his compliment.
His lips twitch into a bigger smile. “If you look like that after a bad night, can’t wait to see you after a good one.”
I shrug. “Play your cards right, Carter, and maybe you will.” I sail past him, praying that my flirtatious vibrato wasn’t over the top.
“I don’t play cards, but I’m parked to the right.”
Huh? Did he not pick up on my flirty vibe again, or is he just playing it cool like I’m doing?
I stop just outside and wait for him. He’s smiling like he’s having the best day of his life.
“I’m the black Jeep,” he says.
The Jeep is parked in one of the visitor spots and covered in mud. “Wow. I hope all that dirt means I’m in for some fun today. I love getting dirty.” Get it? Dirty in bed? Please say you caught on, Carter.
“It hasn’t rained in a few days, so probably not.”
All right. Now I’m worried. I don’t think he’s pretending. Is he just one of those very literal men?
During the long, bumpy drive down a two-lane road that eventually converts to one lane, Carter and I talk about where he grew up—Indiana—and how he initially went to college to study mechanical engineering, which explains a few things about him. Analytical mind for sure. Then he tells me how he ended up taking an elective on photography and immediately fell in love, which led to a passion for film.
“So you’re a big movie buff, huh?” I ask.
“Actually, no. For me, there’s just something about the process of creating a film and being behind the camera. People say it’s an art, but I think that applies to the actors. The director has to be methodical and meticulous in order to capture the story with a camera. It requires a deep technical background.”
“Wow. You make it all sound so,” boring and tedious, “complicated.”
“It is. But I love it. I mostly make documentaries, but my next project is a full-length feature.”
“Have you ever considered getting in front of the camera?” He has to know he’s got a face that could make him famous.
“I’ve done some acting work. Mostly after college. Tuition loans don’t pay themselves.”
“Anything I’d know?” I ask.
“Nah. Just some short roles, mostly as an extra.”
“Nothing juicy, then?” Because I’d watch. And rewatch. I might even touch myself while I do it.
“No. So what about you?” he asks, changing subjects. “Where did you grow up?”
“Kentucky. But I went to college in Dallas and never left. That’s where I met Sofie, the friend I’m here on vacation with.”
“Did it bother her that I stole you away for the day?”
Steal me for a week. A year. Make it an even decade. Just give me back in one piece after you’ve had your way with me. “She doesn’t mind. Our friendship isn’t like that.”
“Like what?” he asks.
“We don’t hold each other back or need to be glued at the hip. It’s actually pretty great. I can talk to her every day if I’m going through stuff, and she can do the same. Or we can go weeks without checking in. I always know she’s there for me, and she knows I’m here, too. We just…do our thing.”
Carter glances over, flashing those striking blue eyes at me along with a showstopping smile. “That’s different.”
“Different good or different bad?”
“Good. Most women I meet need a lot of…” He pauses. I wonder if he’s searching for a diplomatic word, or is he wondering if he can be candid? “Reassurance in their relationships.”