Page 14 of Whiskey Splash

Arie sits down next to me and puts her arm around my shoulder. “I’m not telling you to fall in love and get your heart torn out. I’m talking about having a little fun and realizing that most men aren’t douchebags. They also need a little connection.”

By “A little connection,” Arie means fuck your brains out.

“Baby steps, Esme. Baby steps.”

“You think a hot one-night stand with Desmond Pike is a baby step?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Do you realize how delusional you sound?”

“Um, about as delusional as believing that one guy that burned you is going to predict how every guy will treat you.” She stands up and squares off with me, her hands resting on my upper arms.

“Yeah, okay,” I admit, not meeting her eyes. “I hear how bad that sounds.” I stare past her at the vintage culinary posters on the wall behind her. Who knew there were so many different types of pasta?

“Yes, Desmond Pike is a movie star,” my sister says softly, rubbing my arms. “Which is great, because that means he doesn’t need the attention. He doesn’t need to act like the small-dicked worm that Jeremy was. In fact, Desmond’s the type of guy that would probably be extra discreet because he is so famous.”

“I didn’t think about that.”

“Baby steps, girl.” Arie squeezes my arms kindly. “Not to mention, Desmond Pike is so damn yummy, I can’t believe you didn’t jump him in that booth back there. Heck, if he walks back in here, I might have to ask Connor for a cheat card.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she says seriously. “I love Connor. But you—” That mischievous glint returns to her eyes. “You could!” Her tone is insinuating, and I feel my cheeks heat as images from last night dance in my head. “Oh, I know that look,” Arie teases. “You’ve thought about it!”

“Too many ways and too many times,” I blurt, and Arie howls in approval.

“Oh, I knew there was a dirty girl in you!”

I shake my head, embarrassed. “No there isn’t! And even if there was, I wouldn’t tell you.” Arie pouts, disappointed, and I stand up and grab my belongings. “Don’t give me that face! It doesn’t matter anyway. Desmond Pike is gone. I blew it, which was destined to happen, because I’m a total spaz. So, let’s just forget it.” I head for the door. “I’m late for work.”

“Weeeeeell,” my sister draws out the word, almost singing it to keep me from walking out the door. “That’s not entirely true.” Arie skips up to me and takes my phone from the top of my stack, pressing several buttons as she opens an app.

“What’s not entirely true?” I narrow my eyes at her, but she raises a finger to get me to wait.

“Here it is.” She flips the phone around and the screen glitters with some celebrity gossip rag. Desmond’s gorgeous face is smiling under a headline that says,Desmond Pike: Shooting on Location in Oahu for New Movie. “He’s not exactly gone,” Arie clarifies. “The article says they just started shooting yesterday, which means he might be in town for a while.”

I shake my head, even though my lower regions have started to ache at the sight of his picture and the ridiculous possibility that he hasn’t gotten on a plane and flown across the Pacific Ocean. Yup, welcome to the full wrath of a vagina scorned.

“Don’t be silly.” I frown. “It’s a big island. It’s not like I’m going to see him again.”

Arie taps on the photo and zooms in. “Fair point, but does this look familiar? Have you ever seen that logo before?”

My insides squirm. It isn’t—is it? Behind Desmond’s shoulder is a hotel, a hint of palm trees and ocean, and a blurry logo that I pass every morning. “Is that the Atlantis? He’s staying here?!”

Arie’s head is bouncing up and down like a bobble-head. “Yup. I’m pretty sure he’s staying on the premises—which means, it’s only a matter of time before the rumors start and we figure out what room he’s in.”

My stomach tumbles. My one saving grace this morning was the fact that I’d never have to see him again, that I could log him away with all my other embarrassing dates and move on. “I don’t want to know what room he’s in! I’m a spaz, remember? I don’t actually want to see him again.”

“Baby steps!”

“Yes, I understand you have a twelve-step program for getting me laid,” I shoot back at her. “But you forget that there’s no way he wants to see me! Word-vomit, remember?”

Arie bursts out laughing like that was the punchline of the funniest joke she’s ever heard.

“Oh, sweetie!” Arie starts scrolling through the phone again. “You have no idea the effect you have on men.”

She pulls up an Instagram page, pointing to Desmond’s tiny face in the avatar window. His screen name is @TheRealDesmondPikeand below it Arie points to the last picture he’s posted. It’s from last night. She clicks on the image of Flambé’s moody fire-lit dining room. It’s not the secluded seat we sat in, instead, it’s a panorama of all the booths near the window, the glittering ocean moon-lit behind them.

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