We end up at a cutesy local diner down the street. I’m probably still over the legal driving limit after all those drinks at the bar, and I haven’t eaten a square meal since breakfast, but more than either of those things I can’t resist one last opportunity to convince Flint that this renovation show could be a truly great idea.
I mentioned the terrier thing, right? That terrier’s now in full force.
I order coffee and a cheeseburger with the works, opting for sweet potato fries so I can pretend I’m eating my vegetables. Flint follows my lead. I like a man who can take direction. After our coffees are poured, I lean forward and clear my throat.
“Uh oh,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Are you about to tell me you have even more surprises up your sleeve?”
I sip my coffee and smile, calculating my next move. I’m still a little light-headed from the tryst in the alley, but instead of feeling awkward around Flint, it’s like the ice has broken between us. Alright, Laurel. You can still win this battle. All you have to do is fight Flint’s icy coolness with the flames of your conviction.
“Well for starters, I surprised myself when I got on a plane and flew three thousand miles to chase after a man who I thought showed promise on his audition tape. I haven’t done anything that ridiculous since my junior prom.” When my date and I got caught skinny dipping by some Jehovah’s Witnesses, but I keep those details quiet. Some memories you prefer not to discuss.
“I may have overreacted when you showed up,” he admits, stirring a packet of raw sugar into his cup. Point, Team Laurel. But I don’t gloat.
“From your perspective it was probably creepy,” I offer generously. “I mean, what would I have thought if you just showed up at my door?” Besides ‘come in and take your clothes off, yay’? I take another sip of coffee but I’m still buzzed, my body all warm and tingly. Then again, maybe it’s the afterglow of the rendezvous behind the bar.
Flint grins. “More ballsy than creepy. I appreciate balls on a woman.” He pauses. “Not the best word choice, but you know what I mean.” He looks over at me again. “Honestly, I thought your phone call was a joke at first. But then I asked Callie, and she told me she sent the video in to some reality production company. I didn’t realize anyone was ever going to see it.” He sighs and runs a hand through his (glossy, flawless) hair.
“Is Callie your wife? Girlfriend?” Don’t sound too interested, Laurel. Don’t get weird. “Sounds like she’s invested in your…career.”
“Sister. Older sister,” he says. That shouldn’t be such a relief.
“I always wanted a sister,” I blurt. “‘Only child syndrome,’ I guess.”
He grins. “And I always wanted to be an only child. The grass is always greener when you’re a kid with siblings. I’m lucky to have them though, I know that now.”
Our food arrives and we dive into our burgers and fries, which taste like ambrosia of the gods. I feel more relaxed than I have in a long time, just sitting here in a cozy booth chatting with this flannel-clad hunk, slightly drunk and devouring a pile of delicious fried food that I’d feel guilty touching with a ten foot pole in LA, that glamorous city of pressed juice, quinoa and kale. He’s being so friendly now, and I can be friendly too—
No. I hit the brakes on that thought, then steer it off the road and out of traffic. This is a business meeting, not a date, despite what may have occurred beforehand. I can’t be having unprofessional feelings about the prospective star of my potential show. Herman Davis told me I had one shot, and nothing can go wrong. Panting after some hot guy, mucking up a potential professional relationship? That is a buffet of things that could go wrong. As hot as Flint is, he’s not worth ruining my career over. So I stop ogling him, and start imagining millions of American women ogling him every Thursday night at primetime. I plaster a confident smile on my face, and get back to talking TV.
“I believe that Callie sent us the tape because she saw something special in what you do. And honestly, I have to agree with her.” I grab a few sweet potato fries and think while I’m chewing them, angling for the best way to convince Flint. “I’m the most hopeless person with a hammer and nail on the planet. I can barely keep up with ‘the pointy end goes through the wood.’ But after watching your tape, I wanted to go down to Home Depot and stock up. You made me want to learn the right side of a nail.”
You. Me. Nail. Snort. I’m not drunk. I may have ingested twice my usual cocktail limit, but I am sooooo not drunk.