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)
I follow him into the steamy bathroom. I instantly regret not brushing my teeth first thing.
He reaches under the sink, grabs my hypoallergenic, scent-free lotion, and hands it to me, but he doesn’t let go of the bottle when I try to take it. Instead, he pulls me close and kisses me.
Crap. I know my breath isn’t totally horrible since the last thing I had was a vanilla shake, but still.
He doesn’t seem to mind because he keeps on kissing and turns me so my back is to the wall.
I feel all the sparks happening in all the right places, but I don’t know where he wants to go from here. My anxiety starts going through the roof.
I pull back from his lips. “How do you like to start? Do you want me to put the lotion on your balls, or should I go to the kitchen and grab something sweet?”
He frowns. “Mila, I need to make something really clear. I’m a very conservative guy. I don’t do casual sex.”
“Oh. But the kiss and—”
“Kissing is one thing, but sex is something I feel needs to happen at the right time. Why do you think I slept on the couch?”
My mouth flaps for a moment. “You’re…conservative?” Hilarious.
“I should’ve said something sooner, I know. But I didn’t see the need since we’re just getting to know each other, right?”
“Um…” I want to ask him about his side hustle and how that fits into his sexually conservative ideals (and his special diet), but I’m too embarrassed to admit that I’ve watched his video. “I, uh, that’s fine by me.”
He pushes the bottle at me. “Can you get my back? I got a little sunburn the other day, and it’s starting to itch.”
Okay, so he calls and says he wants to see me. Then he practically invites himself to stay at my house. Now he wants to borrow my car. All signs point to he’s using me.
But the guy isn’t broke, and he’s traveling the world. So why’s he really here?
Maybe he doesn’t like to be alone? After all, he did take me on location scouting.
He turns around so I can apply the lotion, and it dawns on me. Something is off about this guy. In all honesty, he comes off as a little nutty. Correction. Super nutty.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The entire day leading into the night, Carter is MIA with my car and not answering texts. I’m starting to panic, thinking something horrible’s happened to him. I’m just about to call the police and see if there’ve been any accidents reported with my car when I get a text.
It’s from Carter!
Carter: Sorry about the radio silence. Bob had a heart attack during our meeting. At hospital now with him. Call you later.
Oh shit. A heart attack?
Me: I’m sorry, too. Let me know if you need anything.
I feel awful because my first thought is that I don’t believe him. But why would he lie about something big like that? Maybe the issue is that I really don’t know Carter.
It’s time to google him and face my second biggest fear, that he has a past with gorgeous women. My first fear? That he’s playing me.
It takes less than two minutes to discover that Carter has won multiple awards for his documentaries and films and that he’s something of an up-and-coming filmmaker.
I find an interview he did last year discussing his documentary The Tomato.
“The Tomato?” I click on the trailer. Apparently Carter followed a tomato all the way from the vine in Tuscany, Italy, to some old woman’s table in Nebraska, where she consumed it in the form of pasta sauce in a can from her local grocery store.
I guess the point of the film was to show how much energy and manpower goes into producing and shipping food all around the world. “Maybe Carter’s a buy-local advocate?” Can’t say I disagree, but the film sounds like the most boring story ever told. Two full hours of watching a tomato.
Anyway, his bio specifically calls out that he’s known for his abstract presentation of the mundane and the overlooked parts of the world.
To each is own, but that doesn’t sound like my cup of tea.
I don’t find much about his romantic or private life, which eases my worries about him being a player, but I also think it’s strange how there’s no mention of his other work: Mr. Sticky Nuts.
By two a.m. I’m completely beat. No word from Carter either, so I slip into bed. I dream of being trapped in a pantry filled with candy shaped like testicles, and I have to eat them all to survive. They taste like cheese.
When I wake the next morning, Carter’s belongings are gone, and there are a dozen red roses on my kitchen counter with a note.
Mila,
Sorry this weekend was a bona fide mess. Thank you for welcoming me into your home and life. It was a delightful glimpse of your domestic refuge. I’ll be in touch soon to arrange a do-over.