Page 10 of Two Sticky Nuts

I couldn’t sleep last night, but for the first time in a long time, it was because a man was on my hopeful mind.Mr. Hot Coconuts.

Yeah, yeah. I don’t know Carter, but wow. I’ve never had such an immediate, visceral reaction to a guy. It was like this empty spot inside, that had never been there before, opened up, and now I’m ravenous for him.

It has to mean something, right?

But here’s what’s standing in my way of going all in: He’s too hot! I mean, a man who’s that good-looking and passionate about his career has to have a flaw if he’s still single.

Now, now, Mila, the same could be said about you,I counter myself. I’m still single, yet I bring a lot to the table.

But do you have the kind of looks that instantly make men ejaculate?No. And no, I didn’t climax when I saw Carter, but holy hell, one flick of the lady pebble and I could’ve. He’s in a whole different lane of hotness compared to normal men.He’s like the Autobahn, and the rest are dirt roads filled with mud puddles.

Still, I have to wonder: What’s the catch? Because when something seems too good to be true, it probably is.

Tired and with a throbbing headache, I peel myself from bed. Sofie texted last night and said she was going to stay at Romeo’s place. Is that his real name or a metaphor? Not sure. Not caring. Because when I look in the mirror, my green eyes are like Christmas ornaments, green and red, completely bloodshot. To boot, I have dark bags under my eyes, which resemble sad, used-up teabags, and my frizzy red hair reminds me of a crime scene. Arson, for sure.

I look at the clock on the nightstand. “Crap.” I have thirty minutes to get ready—thank you, snooze button—but I need two hours to make myself into a seven (at best).

Game plan time. I have to go about this strategically. Wash hair and braid into pigtails. This will keep the frizz down in this humidity. Take vitamin B, ginseng, and order room service. Coffee and eggs for energy. I pick up the phone and order. I tell them I need service in fifteen.Boom. Done.

Next, I have to shower, shave the lady parts, and dress like I mean business. Bathing suit with a sundress over. Tennis shoes for hiking. Flip-flops in the magic canvas bag.Done.

I look in the mirror, braid my hair, and then prepare to tackle the final obstacle: baggy eyes. I stare down at my emergency toiletry bag—stuff for cuts, cramps, itches, sunburns, pimple breakouts, and puffy eyes. The little yellow tube stares back at me.

“Stop it, hemorrhoid cream. You don’t get to shame me. You’re a cream that people put on their buttholes.”

I dab the cream under my eyes and wait until my life support comes from room service. By the time I gulp down my coffee and eat, my less-puffy face is ready for the sweat-proof concealer and sunscreen.

I look at my watch:6:58. Go time!

I rush out of the room and toward the lobby several buildings over. When I enter, I spot Carter waiting near the doors, and my heart goes into a full gallop. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, which stretches across his muscled chest, and cargo shorts.

His blue eyes fix on me, and he smiles. “Wow. Do you look like this every morning?”

I strut toward him, thanking my bad habits: following beauty hackers on Insta.

“I didn’t sleep well,” I say, pretending that I didn’t notice his compliment.

His lips twitch into a bigger smile. “If you look like that after a bad night, can’t wait to see you after a good one.”

I shrug. “Play your cards right, Carter, and maybe you will.” I sail past him, praying that my flirtatious vibrato wasn’t over the top.

“I don’t play cards, but I’m parked to the right.”

Huh? Did he not pick up on my flirty vibe again, or is he just playing it cool like I’m doing?

I stop just outside and wait for him. He’s smiling like he’s having the best day of his life.

“I’m the black Jeep,” he says.

The Jeep is parked in one of the visitor spots and covered in mud. “Wow. I hope all that dirt means I’m in for some fun today. I love getting dirty.”Get it? Dirty in bed? Please say you caught on, Carter.

“It hasn’t rained in a few days, so probably not.”

All right. Now I’m worried. I don’t think he’s pretending. Is he just one of those very literal men?

During the long, bumpy drive down a two-lane road that eventually converts to one lane, Carter and I talk about where he grew up—Indiana—and how he initially went to college to study mechanical engineering, which explains a few things about him. Analytical mind for sure. Then he tells me how he ended up taking an elective on photography and immediately fell in love, which led to a passion for film.

“So you’re a big movie buff, huh?” I ask.

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