“More like I have a date with a bubble bath and a Netflix marathon,” I say. He nods.
“Sounds good. Netflix, I mean. Not bubble bath.” He clears his throat, making his voice as rugged and masculine as possible. “Bubbles. Not something men of the wilderness really know that much about.”
“You’re much more of an Irish Spring in a cold shower type of guy,” I say. “Like all your ilk. You must never enjoy the finery of feminine hygiene products.”
“I once got a loofa for a present,” Flint says. “Had no idea what it was supposed to do. I ended up using it to stop a leak.” He shakes his head. “Didn’t work.”
“Well. Maybe we should continue this scintillating loofa conversation in the car,” I say, sliding behind the wheel. “Come on. I’ll show you the city at night.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve seen the city. Rodeo to Sunset, remember? Publicity hasn’t given us a break.” But he gets in the car.
“You’ve seen LA, sure. But LA and Los Angeles are two different things. LA’s industry, Los Angeles is home. I promise, you’ll like it.”
Flint adjusts his seat again; apparently my puny muscle car is no match for the powerful bulk of his body. It would be really awkward with him stretched all the way back in the seat, his fingers fumbling at the buttons on my blouse, unhooking my bra…
I need to focus on driving so I don’t kill us with my horniness. We drive out and down the glittering streets of the city, managing to thread our way through Beverly Hills and up into the lush, dark twilight in the verdant hills. Once we get up around the Hollywood sign, we stop for a moment and get out of the car.
“Unbelievable,” Flint says, his voice soft with incredulity. Well, he’s not wrong to be amazed. When I first arrived in Los Angeles, I drove up into the hills and went right up to the Hollywood sign. Maybe it wasn’t entirely legal, but hey, I live on the wild side. Ish. Now we’re standing close to where I stood that first trip up here, with the whole city spread out before us in the darkness. The sun’s just gone down over by the ocean, creating a rippling haze of fiery orange and red on the horizon. And the city lights are sparkling, twinkling, almost like the ground remains of crushed diamonds.
“It is,” I say. We stand right next to each other, and the hot jasmine-scented night air passes over us. I can actually smell him close to me, the woodsy scent of his cologne, the musk of his body. Once you learn that smell, you don’t forget it. I’d love to lean against his shoulder, bury my face in him. But that would be a bad move. Bad, bad move.
“When I see it like this,” Flint says, putting his hands in his pockets. “At a distance, I mean. The city almost makes me want to stay.”
There is no reason my heart should do an enthusiastic leap when he says those words. Especially when the next thing out of his mouth is,
“But that’s not who I am. It’s only this beautiful from a distance. I don’t want to be like those people you work with.” He all but shudders.
“Oh?” My blood starts rising, just a little. “Well, we’re trying to make a living in a very difficult and highly competitive industry. I suppose I’m just as bad as the rest.”
“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Flint says, sounding surprised. “I wasn’t talking about you.”
I will not be appeased, dammit. “No, but you’re always going on about how awful we are down here. ‘Boy, those Angelenos, what a waste of space. Trying to make a deal or screw somebody, yee haw.’” I’m not sure it helps my case that I do a kind of swinging arms thing when I say those words, or that I’m making Flint sound like he’s one of the river people from Deliverance. But you know what? I’m frazzled, I’ve been around him for many, many consecutive days, and I miss him too much to be calm right now.