Texting With the Enemy (Digital Dating #1) - Marika Ray Page 0,5
be as cute as this one—even if the guy had licked me. I saw the green porta-potties and made a beeline for them. Thankfully there wasn’t a line yet. I hoped that meant the stench wasn’t deadly yet either.
I didn’t actually need to relieve myself, but I did use the toilet paper to blot the sweat happening under my arms. I’d tried every deodorant under the sun and not one lived up to its antiperspirant claims. I’d learned to blot a lot and never, ever wear gray. Oh, and breezes were lifegiving.
“Come on, El. Time to put the girls out there and reel him in. You got this,” I muttered to myself as I stepped out of the porta-potty, now moisture-free and ready to flirt even if it killed me.
I saw Chad’s bouncing blond head as he danced to a fast song by himself. He looked a little crazy, but I had to hand it to him for having the confidence to be out there on the dance floor without a partner. Pushing between couples, I made my way over. Right before I got to him, Ashley caught my attention, dancing with a guy I’d never seen before. She mimed writing something down and then putting a phone to her ear.
Ah man, she wanted me to get his number, and I knew she’d dog me until I did. The moisture was back.
“Hey!” I waited for the timing to be just right and touched Chad’s arm when it wasn’t flailing through the air.
“Oh, hey, babe,” he said with a smile aimed at my face, then my boobs, then my face. Oh, nope. Back to the boobs. “You’re back.”
I nodded. “Yep, I’m back. Hey, so I was wondering if I could get your phone number?” I mean, I wasn’t sure I wanted it, but it would get Ashley off my back, so I’d go along with this sham.
He licked his lips. “For sure. Got your phone in that bag of yours?” He gestured to the tiny purse strapped across my chest, reminding me it was there.
I fumbled with the zipper, trying to get my phone out. Come on, fingers, cooperate. “Ready.”
He gave it to me and I typed it in under Chad the Neck Licker. “Awesome. I’ll text you later, but I’ve gotta go.”
He bobbed his head. “Okay, yeah, cool.” For some reason I felt like we both knew in that moment that I wouldn’t be texting him.
I walked away, dodging the other dancers and wiggling my phone in the air to Ashley so she knew I got his number. Phew. Now the pressure was off. I could enjoy my afternoon without feeling like a failure in the man department. I was no closer to that white picket fence and two-point-five children, but at least I might have found a new job.
Wandering through the first row of tents, I had a gut-wrenching memory of the oldest Cunningham brother informing me that I lacked a general sense of professionalism when I’d interviewed for a sales position at West Wines a few months back. That had hands-down been the most humiliating moment of my life. He’d sat there in his designer suit with his perfect hair and Rolex watch that cost more than my beater of a car, and told me I needed more polish. Sure, I’d been sweating like a pig just to get up the nerve to interview for the position, but I didn’t need him to be so specific with his criticism. Not my fault the donuts he’d brought in that morning for the company had been jelly filled. It was the white shirt curse. You wear a white shirt, you’re going to spill something on it. Everyone knew that was a law of the universe. Again, not my fault I came into the interview wearing my donut.
But that was in the past. Today, the sun was shining, the music was perfect, and I had a sweet lady willing to consider giving me my dream job—assuming it paid well. Life was pretty darn good, even if I never actually texted Chad the Neck Licker.
I felt an evil grin light my face. Daydreaming about telling my boss to shove his “professionalism” where the sun didn’t shine brightened up my day considerably.
3
Boston
* * *
The rest of the wine festival went well—at least from a sales perspective. I introduced myself and West Wines to a few wineries I hadn’t spoken to before, making connections that would hopefully help us grow. Dad had made us