“And that’s how you blend in your brow, my pets.” When she’s done, she picks up a lipstick, slicks on some red gloss, then blows a seductive kiss to the camera.
Fuck me. I’m aroused from a makeup video.
I spit out the toothpaste and gargle some water.
But that barely douses my semi. As I move around my suite getting ready to see her, I start the next video and I don’t stop watching. This is binge-worthy content right here in my hand. From my suitcase, I grab a pair of charcoal slacks with my free hand, then a tailored, black short-sleeve shirt. Perfect for a sultry evening out.
Setting down the phone on the bureau, I get dressed as I watch. I button up my shirt and hit play on another video. I don’t need to know how to put on eyeliner, but I need more of her.
The blonde beauty I’m taking out tonight wears a tank top that shows off that stunning flower tattoo, the color of sapphire. She brandishes a makeup brush and a pot of blue shiny something or other. “Once upon a time, blue eye shadow was a joke,” she says, and okay, that pot is eyeshadow. Cool, cool. “Now it’s a must-have. So let’s enjoy the blues together, my pets.”
I tuck in my shirt as I learn how to make a midnight shade work for you. Who knew what blue could do for an eye?
Once I’m dressed, I hit stop on Lola.Reluctantly.
This woman could make me a video addict.
There’s something in her that’s impossible to look away from, both in person and online. She’s got charisma, shine, chutzpah. Hell, she approached me after the show, ready to ask me out.
That’s why I’m breaking my rule.
At a quarter to seven, I pocket my phone and head downstairs. The L Bar is already filled with the young, the beautiful and the nearly naked. Guys doused in cologne and baring wolfish grins are out in full force on a Friday night.
They’re hunting.
The joint is teaming with the fairer sex too, with svelte and curvy bodies alike poured into tight dresses or bikinis, sky-high heels all around. South Beach is such a fiesta of flesh.
I say hello to the hostess then grab two stools at the sleek, silver counter, scanning the room in case Lola’s an early bird. I don’t spot her, and I’m glad she’s not here yet.
A man should wait for a woman, not the other way around.
I turn to the clean-shaven man behind the bar who looks like he’d be carded in any establishment. He’s probably my son’s age—twenty-one. “How’s it going, Enrique?” I ask, quickly reading his name tag.
“It’s going well. What can I get you, sir?”
Sir.I’m not even forty, but I’ll always be a sir to guys like him. But I wouldn’t trade a thing to be young again. Those years were hard as hell.
“Whiskey, neat,” I say.
“Coming right up.”
I take in the lay of the land as I wait, reviewing the entrances—one from inside the hotel, where I came in, and an open-air one from the pool. A warm evening breeze wafts in.
“Here you go,” the bartender says. I thank him, then slap down a bill.
I knock back some of the drink. It’s ten minutes till seven, but I don’t screw around on my phone. It’s a special moment to witness a woman arriving for a date with you.
I take another drink, then inhale the scent of the ocean.
When the clock hits seven, a vision in red steps through the doorway leading to the hotel.
My skin heats and a rumble threatens to escape my lips as I drink her in from a distance. A red dress with white polka dots hugs her curves. Flouncy material hits at her knees. Perfect. The fabric looks easy to push up. All that lush blonde hair is swept up in some kind of clip that invites me to undo it later tonight, to watch her tresses fall, rope my fingers through those strands and then kiss the fuck out of her as she begs me for more.
Her fingers are covered in skull rings, an interesting contrast to her perky dress.
Before she turns to the bar, the hostess asks her a question, drawing her attention. A table full of young guys all swivel their heads toward Lola, and one with too much gel in his hair not-so-subtly points to her and mouths, “I call dibs.”
I burn inside.