“Hm,” she murmurs, eyes returning to the menu.
“I’ll just take a cheeseburger,” I say while she keeps studying the menu.
“Fries?” he asks.
I nod. “No salt.” She glances at me like it’s an odd request. Salt makes my hands swell, and there’s nothing worse than fumbling with the strings on my bass with swollen hands. The competition is a few days away, but I’m not losing focus.
He looks at Lexi from Nashville again, and she glances up a little nervously, like she’s on the spot while she decides between which of her two rabbit food choices is better, and then she says, “Make it two burgers. But no tomato.”
I laugh when she chooses something other than the salads she was debating between, and the bartender huffs out an annoyed breath.
“Salt on your fries?” he asks.
She nods. “I am human, after all.”
“Why no tomato?” I ask once the waiter stalks off.
Her nose wrinkles. “I hate the taste.”
“You hate the taste of tomatoes? Tell me you eat pizza. If you say you don’t eat pizza, I may have to leave right now.”
“Of course I eat pizza. Extra salty with no tomatoes.”
“Tomato sauce?”
“Yeah, sauce is fine. Why no salt?” she counters.
“It makes my hands swell up when I eat too much of it,” I say.
“Isn’t pizza salty?”
“That’s different. It’s worth it then. I just mean no extra salt.” I change the subject because now we’re riding a line a little too close to why I need my hands unswollen. “So you do make-up in Nashville, and you’re here visiting friends. Why aren’t you with them tonight?” I ask.
Her eyes widen at my random question, and she grabs her drink to take a sip like she’s trying to come up with the right answer. When she swallows, she says nonchalantly, “Oh, you know. I just got into town this evening and we’re getting together tomorrow.”
“They didn’t come get you at the airport or want to see you tonight? They seem like bad friends.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s not that. They, um...it’s a surprise. They don’t know I’m here.”
It sounds like a lie—and a blatant one at that—but I don’t care why she’s here. I’m just glad she is.
“What about you?” she tosses back. “Don’t you have, like, sales meetings or something?”
“Long day of them,” I lie. “And a few more booked tomorrow and Saturday.” I toss in the second lie for good measure.
“When do you head home?”
“Sunday,” I say.
“Me too,” she says. “Just a quick weekend to get away and then it’s back to work.”
“I suppose you have plans with your friends tomorrow night, then.” I’m hoping she says no.
She takes another sip of her Long Island, and then it’s empty. She picks up the godfather.
“You may want to slow it down, Nashville.”
She giggles a little sheepishly. She’s clearly not used to drinking like this.
Our food comes, and we eat as we get to know one another.
Once we’re done and finishing our drinks, she asks a question. “Can I be honest with you?”
I nod.
“I’m not really here visiting friends.”
“Oh?” I raise my brows at her honesty.
She shakes her head. “I just wanted a weekend getaway in Los Angeles. I decided to treat myself to a luxury hotel.”
“Nice gift to yourself,” I murmur, and I almost think that would’ve been a better lie than the sales thing. “Why’d you lie about the friends?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I didn’t want to seem like a loser.”
I laugh. “You don’t. I love that you’re treating yourself.”
She presses her lips together in a thin smile, and then before I lose my nerve, I throw out a question.
“What would you say to spending the day with me tomorrow? We can tour LA together. I can show you some of the sights."
“Don’t you have meetings?” she asks.
“I’ll blow them off,” I say. “I think you’re worth it.”
Her brows dip down. “I don’t even know you. How do I know I can trust you?”
“Well, for one thing, I just tried to get you to slow your drinking. If I was an untrustworthy fellow, wouldn’t I be pushing to get you drunk faster?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Wouldn’t an untrustworthy fellow say that to appear like he’s a good guy?”
I lift a shoulder. “Maybe. Probably. Look, you can’t deny there’s an attraction between us. I want to kiss you. I want to take you up to my room and show you what a good time is. But I won’t do any of that unless it’s what you want, too. You’re in charge. Tomorrow, too—you can choose our Uber driver, you can choose where we go. You can be in charge if that’ll make you comfortable.”
“Well, for starters, I’d choose a Lyft.” She shrugs, and I laugh.
She’s feisty.
And even if this just lasts for the next few days, I think we can both give each other some great memories of Los Angeles.
“Thanks for the offer,” she says. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
The sting of rejection bites at me. “All right.”
I drain the rest of my Miller Lite, my drink of choice to get rid of that God-awful godfather drink. “I’m going to head out. If you change your mind, I’m in room twenty-two-seventy-one.”
And I don’t look back at her as I stand and leave even though I feel her eyes on me all the way out of the lobby bar.
CHAPTER 11: LEXI
Two things hit me in the morning.
First is the headache.
Second is the regret.
Aside from my nine o’clock massage, it’s not like I really have anything to do today other than get nervous for what’s awaiting me on Sunday.
I wish I could remember what he said his room number was but all I have is his first name and the fact that there was definitely a seven somewhere in his room number.
I think.
The Long Island and the godfather were a bad combination. My head is throbbing, but at least I slept okay.
I think.
Saying no was probably the right thing.
I think.
God, I’m not usually this indecisive.
I think back to the great salad debate of last night.
Okay, so maybe I really am this indecisive.
It’s just been a long while since I’ve had such a fun night with a guy. I’ve been so focused on Electric Red Summer for so long that I haven’t taken the time to meet someone new. Instead, my most recent prospective love interest was...Danny?
The last guy I could really call my boyfriend was Bobby, who I was with for six months and split when he realized I was more focused on ERS than him. I’ve only slept with two guys in my entire life. Bobby was one, and the other was the guy I lost my virginity to...if you can count ninety seconds in the back of a Honda as losing my virginity.
I grab my room key after a quick shower and stick it in the secret compartment of my phone case, tuck my phone into my pocket, and open my door.