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Ryan: I can’t stand you.
Carson: Stop flirting with me. I’m working.
Ugh!He was so infuriating. If I ever found out when his birthday was, I was going to gift wrap the brown shirt and give it to him. He deserved nothing less. I sent Arnold a picture of me wearing the blue T-shirt and waited for his response while I made lunch. I was just sitting down to enjoy my turkey and Swiss sandwich when my phone dinged. Arnold sent a message saying I looked fantastic and he couldn’t wait to meet me in person. The picture he sent back left me in doubt. Arnold looked like a nice guy. Ordinary and forgettable, thinning curly hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and plump cheeks, despite appearing to be thin. Definitely an accountant and not a porn star. He was far from my usual type, but I had nothing to lose by giving him a chance.
We made plans to meet for drinks on Friday night at the only place I trusted to meet strangers, Limericks Lounge.
When the clock on my nightstand reached seven on Friday night, I pulled on the blue T-shirt from my picture and dabbed a hint of cologne in the hollow of my throat. I felt absolutely ridiculous wearing pajamas on a date, but I paired it with charcoal slacks, hoping it classed up the look.
The lounge was loud; the din created by the large group at the bar drowned out the melodic sounds of the piano drifting in from the dining area. Carson spotted me as soon as I walked in. His shrewd green eyes raked down my body from head to toe, igniting a heat in my belly. He didn’t acknowledge me in any way, though, and I felt off-kilter as I scanned the bar for my date. Yesterday, I sent Arnold’s picture to Carson. He replied with a laughing emoji and said‘good luck!’
Smartass.I waved and left him standing behind the bar as I wound my way through the small crowd toward the lounge. Arnold was easy to spot. He wore a huge smile and waved at me as he came to his feet. Dressed in a bright red shirt and brown pants, he reminded me of Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer. It was a horrible visual, and I giggled as I gave him a brief hug before taking my seat. His red shirt clashed with his sallow skin tone, and when he smiled, I saw his front tooth was crooked, almost sitting sideways. It drew my attention like a spotlight—I couldn’t stop staring at it as he talked.
By the time Carson delivered our drinks and a platter of bruschetta, I was convinced of two things. One, Arnold was the nicest, but most boring man I’d ever met. And two, he definitely wasn’tthe one.
I was going home alone. Again.
An hour and a half later, Arnold kissed my cheek and bid me goodnight when I assured him I would find my way home safely. I lingered at the bar after he left, choosing a seat away from a crowd of men talking and laughing loudly. Carson approached me with a big smile.
“I see you’re dressing better, but you’re still an asshole,” I sassed, still miffed about his avoidance of me earlier.
He rarely wore his uniform so polished. Carson liked to look like a bad boy, leaving his shirt unbuttoned at the throat, rolling up his sleeves to show off his inked and veiny forearms. This new and improved version of Carson had all of his buttons buttoned, sleeves fastened at the wrists, and hair combed smoothly into place.
Carson looked taken aback. “Wow. Okay. Rough night? You look like you need a quick fuck.”
“Excuse me?” I certainly did, but I would not repeat that mistake with him twice. No matter how much I replayed that night in my head.
Carson laughed. “It's a drink. Baileys Irish Cream, Kahlua, and Midori melon liqueur. It’s sweet and pretty, like you.” He winked, those sea-green eyes flashing as he pulled bottles to mix my drink.
“I don’t remember you having a dimple.” His smile was captivating. I’d have definitely remembered.
Recognition dawned in his eyes as he chuckled. “Ah, I think you have me confused with my brother.” I followed his gaze across the room and found a much more recognizable version of Carson talking to a couple seated at the bar. “He’s definitely the asshole who dresses down.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather. “Twins?” The man who looked like Carson nodded. “He mentioned having a brother, but not a twin.”
He stuck out his hand. “Carlisle Carrick. Pleasure to meet you.” I shook his hand and returned his easy smile. “Funny, you don’t look like his usual type.”
“We’re just friends,” I explained. Carlisle looked skeptical. Curiosity clawed at me, making me ask against my better judgment. “What’s his usual type?”
Carlisle scanned the room, eyes finally landing on a guy sitting in the corner, hitting on a pretty girl. Carlisle nodded in his direction and smirked.
The guy was close to my age, had light brown hair, a smooth toned body, and was extremely good looking in a ruggedly pretty way. “A twunk? So, he’s basically attracted to himself?” Why wasn’t I surprised?
Carlisle laughed, his voice lighter and softer than his brother’s. “I like you. Call me Carly.” He served my drink with a flourish. “What’s your name?”
“You can call me—”
“Boytoy! How was your date?” Carson appeared over his brother’s shoulder.
My cheeks warmed from his use of my absurd nickname in front of his twin. “Swell. Thank God it’s over.” Carly smiled, and before he moved away, I called out, “Thanks for the quick fuck!”
He winked, and when Carson’s face froze in shock, I laughed, my mood drastically improving.
“You fucked Carly?” His face was priceless.
I brought the layered drink, green, brown, and cream, to my lips and took a sip. “I was referring to the drink. Calm down, Cary.”
“Cary?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. I’m the only one handing out nicknames around here.”
