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  “Cool.” Adam glances over his shoulder at his wife, checking on her.

  That girl could talk all night and she’s got options, she knows almost everybody in this place. One ten minute drink! Yeah-fucking-right!

  I head down the hall toward the restrooms. Walking in my direction from the opposite end is the woman who came third on that TV show. She’s with Kayla, one of the dancers responsible for tonight’s production. The two of them are whispering and laughing, seeming excited.

  Brooklyn Scott is even more attractive in the full brightness of this corridor, and I didn’t notice the soft olive tone to her skin under the stage lighting. She was barely dressed then, but now I’m seeing her in her own style of clothing, which I wouldn’t have predicted. There’s no doubt that she’s feminine, but the jeans she’s wearing look more like they should be on a man; they’re loose fitting and worn. Her tight, black shirt that hangs off both shoulders shows the excellent shape of her upper body, all toned and sexy.

  We’re about to pass each other.

  “Great show tonight,” I say, stopping a few feet away from her.

  Not a single trace of makeup, she’s fucking stunning. I’m cursing my sister in my head right now.

  Her lips curve with appreciation, excitement expressed in her moss green eyes. “Thank you, glad you liked it,” she answers in a British accent I wasn’t expecting.

  Kayla tugs on her arm. “Brooklyn, we need to get a move on,” she says in a clipped tone.

  Brooklyn smiles up at me again, and they turn and walk into the bathroom.

  Is she too close to the doorstep?

  Two: Brooklyn

  “Oh. My. God,” I whisper the moment the door closes behind us. “Who was that?” I ask my friend, Kayla.

  “You do not wanna go there,” she says.

  “Erm, yes I do. Trrrust me, I do.”

  I glance at the door as though he’s still on the other side. He may as well be. The vision of him, stood out there, is that clear. Tall. Muscular – from what I could see by the fit of his shirt. That face. Those hazel eyes. Those lips. Smooth, clear skin, the tone like a yummy milk chocolate sauce, the kind you can’t resist licking off a spoon. Mmm, yes, lick.

  “Hah! Yes, I do.” I’m on the verge of hyperventilating.

  She shakes her head firmly. “No, you don’t. Trust me on this.”

  It hits me. “Oh, is he taken?” Someone who looks like him would be.

  Another determined head shake, her blue eyes offering certainty. “You are way too nice for him. You are way too good for him. Just forget it.”

  “I don’t get how. Did you see him, Kayla? He’s proper buff.”

  “I don’t mean looks-wise, I mean you’re too nice a girl for him. That guy fucks, fucks, and fucks. I was stupid enough to fuck his jerk-off of a friend. You really do not wanna go there.”

  “Oh.” My excitement deflates like a wilted balloon which has the words ‘All Men Are Arseholes!’ printed across it.

  It’s typical; he’s fuck-me-all-night hot, so it’s inevitable he’d either be taken, be a player, or be gay. He’s definitely not gay and he’s not taken, but he is overly available.

  “You’re disappointed,” she says, her tone softening.

  I scrunch my nose, nodding my head. “I’m glad I know, though.”

  I’m more than happy to be warned about men like him. That’s my interest over and done with, just as soon as it started.

  Whilst Kayla gazes into the mirror, finger combing her long, golden curls, I use the toilet. Once our needs are attended to, we go to join the others for a celebratory drink.

  We work our way through the people gathered here. The place is packed. It’s really only my dance family I know, so I go through the process of being introduced to a number of new faces. Once I’ve become acquainted with some of the unfamiliars, Kayla and I take up a couple of stools at the far end of the bar, in the corner. The atmosphere in here is great; the show and the response we got from the audience exceeded all of our expectations. I’m still buzzing.

  My best friend comes to join us. “Leona,” I call, reaching out for a long, lazy hug.

  Beneath my excitement, I can feel emotional and physical fatigue lying dormant. Along with a month’s worth of intense rehearsals and the associated stiffness and aches, which coincided with jetlag, I’ve been very nervous about the show because tonight was my first big performance in over three years. I’ve been extra stressed all day. Now it’s over, I need to enjoy some alcohol in celebration, then go home to sleep and rejuvenate.

  The three of us sit and unwind. Speaking at the right level, a little above normal, we can hear each other well enough over the music playing and the other conversations in flow.

  My much needed glass of red wine is barely set down before I grab it and take my first sip. As the ruby liquid rolls around my mouth, the plum flavor tickling my taste buds, I’ve decided since it’s my day off tomorrow I really don’t need to stop at one. And it is Saturday night, after all.

  Lowering my glass, I glance down at the other end of the bar and freeze mid movement.

  Right there is that shit hot guy from outside the toilets.

  He’s talking to a man with fair skin and what looks like well maintained stubble, long, straight brown hair in a ponytail, and a tattoo on the side of his neck. They look so beyond cool sitting there, oblivious to all around them.

  Oblivious means that shit hot guy doesn’t know I’m here, watching him.

  How did I not notice him there when I walked in? Was he there then?

  This is one of those life is so unfair moments. Even the little gold stud in the right side of his nose is sexy. And those long, slender dreadlocks caught in a ponytail are the most impressive, eye-catching locks I’ve ever seen.

  He is officially the most gorgeous, eye-catching man I’ve ever seen.

  “Earth to Brooklyn,” Kayla interrupts my lusting.

  I look at her and she shakes her head at me. It feels like she’s telling me off. I put my wine down. “I was just thinking about what you said. That’s it, nothing more.”

  “I know he’s not what you want, okay?”

  “I believe you.” I do.

  “What’s all this?” Leona asks, her curious brown eyes flitting between the two of us.

  Kayla fills her in. “Brooklyn’s lusting after dude over there, the one right on the end.”

  Discretely, Leona glances in his direction. Her response is to mouth “yum” and “very nice.”

  “Yeah, nice all right, just ask half the girls in San Francisco,” Kayla says.

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  “No interest in relationships, he just fucks, fucks, and fucks. He doesn’t even lie about it or try to hide it. You deserve way better than that. He’d probably break your heart – he’s left a few of those in his wake already. He’s got a very good reputation where the F-word is concerned, but not where the L-word is concerned. I hear he’s very charming, so be aware of that if he ever speaks to you again.”

  “And you got involved with a friend of his?”

  “Yeah, the liar sucked me right in. Chased me for weeks and then turned out to be a total-fucking-jerk.”

  I can see she’s angry with the other guy. If “dude over there” is the same, he can piss off. I’ll gladly learn from Kayla’s mistake – I’ve made big enough ones of my own and I have no intention of creating any others. I don’t care how stupidly gorgeous he is, or how good he is at the F-word.

  “I’m not asking out of interest, just curiosity. What’s his name?”

  “Dane.”

  How weird? I just tingled all over when she said his name. What the heck is that all about?

  I shake my head. No, no way, I’m not going there. I reach for my wine and take a large, disappointed gulp. And another.

  “Don’t worry, Brooklyn, I’ll take you to a rad Latin club next weekend. They have a live band and they serve the best cocktails in the city. A little harmless flirting,
we’ll have fun. You’ll love it.”

  I return Kayla’s grin with my own, liking the sound of that. A night out would be good, and I love live music.

  As I place my glass back down on the bar, Kayla suddenly ducks as though she’s grabbing for her bag on the floor. “He’s totally looking over at you now. Don’t look yet, damn it!” she says, as I was about to do just that.

  Isn’t that a typical reaction? I’m desperate to sneak a peek. Not because I want to look at him, I’m already over him. I just want to see him looking at me. It’s purely an ego thing. Though, going by what I’ve just been told, it’s not much to feel good about, is it?

  He’s a Shag Machine.

  I’m just another random female to someone like him.

  San Francisco, and its influx of tourists, is probably ideal for someone like him, too.

  Three: Dane

  Fuck me. Did she really have to show up at the other end of the bar, perfectly positioned so that I can see her? It’s like walking by a store window and seeing something you really want on the other side, the only one of its kind, but the place is closed.

  Brooklyn is with a chick I don’t know and Kayla, who’s no doubt filled her in on all the gory details. Gerard is trouble, I don’t deny that, but we’re not the same men. Kayla probably views me as just the same.

  People are way too quick to judge. If a lady is happy to go with me, whether it’s instigated by her or me, and I’ve made things clear from my side, then what’s the problem? If I choose not to go along with the whole exclusivity thing, how exactly does that make me a bad guy? I really don’t see the issue if both parties are consenting adults. Admittedly, I can be persuasive when necessary, some may call it charming, but I never lead anyone to believe there’ll be any kind of commitment that’ll come from it.

  I enjoy women and I enjoy sex. What the fuck is wrong with that?

  I’m not out to prove myself to anyone, people can think what they want. The only person I owe anything to is my sister. I got involved with one of her friends years back, it was a disaster, and there’s no longer a friendship. So, I stay away from anyone she’s close to and my own female friends. I don’t mess around at work, either.

  Beyond that, I do what and who I want.

  I want to talk to Brooklyn. I want to do a lot more than that, but I’d be happy to start there. It doesn’t help that I’ve caught her glancing my way. If it was once I’d overlook it, but it’s been a few times. Of course, Kayla’s probably already warned her not to, but the frequency of her glances tells me she’d most likely speak to me.

  “Don’t do it, brother,” Adam says, grinning.

  “She didn’t say I can’t look.” My gaze returns to Brooklyn, who’s listening to her other friend, the one I don’t know who also danced tonight.

  “You are not just looking, dude. It’s not worth it. Saff’ll freak.” He takes another swig of his Bud.

  “I know. This is shit, man.” I sip my beer, wishing I’d kept to rum.

  Adam laughs. “Can you imagine the conversation the three of them are having? Kayla’ll be like, “He’s hot, but he’ll fuck you and go,”” he says, in a high pitched voice, sounding pretty damn feminine. “Then the one with the long blonde hair will be like, “I hate those kind of guys, wanna be playas, they can’t handle sophisticated women like us,” and your chick there will be like, “You know what, he ain’t even that hot, sitting there looking like a Bob Marley reject!”” We both burst into laughter.

  “Bob Marley reject! Dude, I’m hurt.”

  Without intending to, I glance at Brooklyn and catch her doing the same thing to me. She quickly looks away. Yeah, I’m sure she’d prefer it if I didn’t know she’s watching me. She’s more than welcome to know that I’m watching her.

  Being positioned behind the end of the bar, I can only see her from the lower ribs up, but that shirt hangs so nicely off both shoulders, showing the smoothly curved lines of her upper body. Her long, dark hair is pulled up into a messy bun, exposing the full column of her neck. It’s like she’s been put there on display for me.

  Damn, she’s tempting.

  Adam’s right, I’m not just looking.

  “She’s not even from here, she has a British accent. What does it matter, she’ll be gone after the show ends, right?” I say.

  Adam raises a shoulder, meeting my gaze. “Maybe, but why push it? After tonight you probably won’t see her again. For sure you’ll forget her by the time you get home.”

  Fuck that, I wanna take her home with me. I wanna spend all night enjoying her body, exploring her, and learning all the most effective ways to make her come. Shit, I’d keep her with me all day tomorrow, too.

  So she’s friends with Kayla, but after hearing her talk in the theater I know Brooklyn’s definitely not friends with Saffron.

  That makes her fair game, right?

  Four: Brooklyn

  “I’m gonna get going,” I tell Leona and Kayla. “You two don’t have to, I can get a cab by myself.”

  I haven’t finished my second glass of wine and I don’t want to. I haven’t eaten since before the show – bad move, but I got caught up in the excitement of the night – so I’m feeling slightly lightheaded now. I’m also finding it impossible to stop looking at Dane, and he keeps noticing. Obviously that means he’s doing the same thing to me, but getting caught every time I do it is embarrassing. I’m tired as well, so that’s three good reasons to get out of here.

  “Just let me finish this and I’ll come with you,” Leona says, holding up her glass of Rosé.

  “Me too,” Kayla says.

  “Okay, toilet for me whilst you both finish your drinks.” Jumping off the stool, I pick up my bag from the floor and my jacket from the end of the bar, where I had it draped. “Meet me outside the ladies, there’s no point in me coming back in here.”

  There are too many people to say goodnight to, so I wave at those who see me and those who are visible enough for me to snatch their attention. Dane and his friend are sitting close to the door, but I manage to walk past without looking in their direction – even though I’m highly tempted to. I felt Dane’s focus on me from the moment I got off my stool.

  In this instant, he becomes a thing of the past.

  ****

  Today’s clear blue sky and pleasant weather are ideal for an afternoon at the beach, and that’s where we’ve come. It’s the first day, since I came to San Francisco a month ago, that hasn’t been chilly or overcast.

  I climb out from behind the wheel of my Ford, slip on my white-framed sunglasses and correct the waistband of my long, white gypsy skirt. As I close the door, I scan the car park, which only has a few parking spaces vacant.

  “I hope we get a good spot, it seems busy,” I say to Kayla at the passenger’s side.

  “We totally will. Let’s just make sure we stay closer to this end, so we avoid the nudies.”

  My lips curve into a smile at the idea of seeing gorgeous male bodies. “I don’t mind those of the hot variety.”

  “I don’t want to see oldie nudies or gross ones,” Leona says, getting out from the back seat.

  “You can’t avoid either of those, I’m afraid. We’ll stay away from the rocks. That’s where the nude part is,” Kayla says.

  With our towels and lunch in hand, we saunter onto the beach.

  I pause, observing my surroundings. It’s lovely. The ocean is relatively calm; the waves gentle in the light breeze. The sun’s reflection sparkling off the surface gives the feeling of being in paradise. I don’t know what I expected, but this is perfect, and the view of the Golden Gate Bridge at one end is amazing. I prefer small beaches like this, and it isn’t too busy after all. A mix of families, groups of friends, couples, and dogs make up the attendees.

  “Let’s sit over there,” Leona says, pointing to a space between a couple and a small group consisting of three guys and one girl.

  We lay our towels out. Before I sit down, I get trigger happy with my camera.
It goes everywhere with me, mainly so that I can post pictures on Facebook to share my experiences with my parents and my brother. And so I can show off to my friends back home. I’m in San Fran-bloody-cisco! Who wouldn’t want to show off about that?

  It’s warm, but the light wind is carrying enough of a chill to encourage me to keep my skirt and chocolate brown strapless top on. I had hoped for the opportunity to strip down to my fuchsia colored bikini, but that’s not going to happen. I’m happy it’s nice enough to enjoy the afternoon here, though.

  I sit down and cast a glance at the four to our right, who are having lunch. “Leona,” I call in a whisper, just loud enough for her to hear me, but not them. “Looks like you’ve pulled.” The moment we stopped to pick a spot, I saw that one of the guys noticed her.

  The three of us giggle, and he smiles, clearly knowing what we’re laughing at. Leona’s quite shy until she gets to know people, so it didn’t take long for the heat of her blush to stain her fair cheeks pink.

  “Can you two shut up,” she says in a low voice, which sounds menacing with her teeth gritted like that. It’s because he’s laughing as well that she’s so embarrassed now.

  Dark, short, messy hair, unshaven face and nice, slightly muscular arms – he is definitely her type. Going by his reaction to her, the feeling is mutual. As far as I’m concerned, Cupid’s arrow has struck. Leona won’t approach him, and I don’t know if he’ll come to her, so it’s down to Kayla and me. Some giggles here and there, and the odd glance, just might do the trick. It seems to have gotten his attention so far.

  He takes a bite of his hotdog, which I have to say looks tasty and buff, full of onions, ketchup and mustard.

  “Would you like to sample his sausage?” I say to Leona, still only loud enough for us to hear.

  She ignores me, but with the tight press of her lips I can see she wants to laugh.

  I love girlie days out like this, especially when we find a hottie to entertain ourselves with.

  “Okay girls, name and occupation?” I say.

  “Jed, pro surfer,” Kayla says with utter confidence.

  “Impressive, I like,” I say. “Hmm … Marcus, a bartender with the potential to be a model for any trendy menswear brand.”