Page 11 of Wine & Dine

Alicia’s text is like something out of a bad comedy. I’m not her lover. I’m not her anything. Unfortunate for me, I’m a decent guy sometimes, and I let her in my condo last night when she Uber’d over. One too many drinks and a sloppy drunk later, and I had a new cushion on my couch for the evening. She tried to make a move for me, but I don’t get it up for sappy Sallys, and even when I tried to pump myself later, the release was weak. Strangely, it wasn’t the bleach blonde on my couch filling my fantasy in the shower but a certain brunette neighbor. The aftereffects left me shivering. I cannot be interested in Dolores.

As for Alicia and me, been there, done that, and every man knows you don’t tap what you don’t want twice. Only, I’m an idiot. A week ago, I was the one with too many drinks and a sorry pick-up line, leading me back to Alicia’s place, tapping where I’ve already been one too many times. Years ago, Alicia filled a void. I don’t like to think about what happened, with who, or why. Just one night, Alicia was there, willing and a little too wild. She was everything opposite…nope, not going to think of her. We’d been friends. I wanted to add benefits. Alicia wanted more, and that was when it was time to dismiss Miss Clingy.

Only I’d made the mistake of being with her again, and now, I get this. I toss my phone on my desk and lean back, taking in the view of the LA skyline. I love this city despite the fact even on a clear day you can’t see it clearly. Smog. Forest fires. Pollution. It’s so different from where I grow up but no less murky. I left behind a factory town and traded up to another more expensive one. Still, I have the money, and speaking of, I had hoped Dolores was the one texting me. I wanted to hear how excited she was to be made up. A caterpillar metamorphosing into a beautiful butterfly. Not that I think Dolores is beautiful. I mean, she’s cute in a disheveled kind of way, but those eyes. It’s like she sees into me when she looks at me, and I want to see inside her. The sadness in her eyes is mesmerizing.

Which it shouldn’t be.

I straighten up, righting the tilt of my desk chair and spin for my computer.

It’s been a hectic morning, but the glory of owning my own business and working for myself means I call the shots on my schedule. And today, I clear my afternoon, deciding to leave early to pick up Dolores, who still hasn’t called me. Instead, I call the salon to confirm she is still there, and I tell Beverly not to let Dolores leave.

“She’s a beauty,” Beverly says in her heavy Eastern European accent. I snort as I don’t know what she could possibly see in the woman with split ends, dried hair, and the start of a skunk streak down her part.

But her eyes, something inside me whispers.

I enter the salon, walk past a woman waiting at the counter, and stop to speak to the girl working behind it.

“Hello, Mr. Fox,” she purrs. She’s eyeing me like she knows me, and I mean more than my name. Shit. Have I slept with her? If I haven’t, she looks willing, but she’s a bit too young for my taste. I’m trying to stick with the over-thirty crowd.

“Hello, Ginger.” I smile, reading her name tag, and then turn to the woman next to me, feeling her eyes boring into the side of my head.

“Hey,” I say, tipping up my chin, and turn back to Ginger. “I’m here to pick up Dolor…” Her name fades as I slowly turn back to the woman next to me. Leaning against the counter with her mile-long legs casually crossed and arms folded over her chest stands Dolores.

With silvered hair.

Which is so not my thing.

I like younger women, yet I can’t stop looking at her. Her dark hair is nearly gone, the ends cut, and in its place is a shimmery sterling color interwoven with inky black and a hint of blue in gentle waves. I didn’t even know how long her hair was as both times I’ve seen her it’s been pulled up, but it cascades down her back. The silver makes her eyes brighter along with a touch of red lipstick accentuating the dip and curve of her pouty lips.

“Dolores?” I choke on her antiquated name, and then I swallow. She straightens and smooths her hand down her skinny jeans, which hug her hips and outline her hourglass shape. On her feet, she wears suede booties, and her top is more fitted than the too-large sweater she had on earlier. A deep V accentuates her breasts, hinting at the cleavage in the middle of the exposing material.

She’s been holding out on me.

“You look…stunning.”

I’ve never seen a woman turn so red, and watching the heat crawl across her skin makes me want to chase it. Where does it begin? Where will it end?

“You don’t think it makes me look older?” She’s worried about looking older when she just looks breathtaking.

“No. No, I definitely think you can pull this off.”

She nods with a weak smile. The blush returns.

“Are you ready to go home?” I ask, hardly recognizing my own voice. She nods again and bends for two shopping bags near her feet.

“Here, allow me.” I step around her, awkwardly brushing against her hands as we reach for the bags at the same time. We stop and turn to one another, our faces close, our lips not close enough. I swallow again as I find I want to kiss her. I want to taste those rich red lips and run my fingers through those multi-colored waves of silver and ink.

“Thank you,” she says, slowly standing. My eyes follow hers. When did they start to sparkle? “For everything.” Her voice is so sincere it nearly fills my hollow heart.

Dammit. What is she doing to me?