THE AFTERNOON, EARLY EVENING with Tinley had been, for lack of a better word, perfect. Instead of grabbing a fistful of her long blonde hair and bringing her lips to mine for a kiss, I reached for the tortilla chips.
“Okay, then it has to be . . . Christopher,” she said, before sucking the lime juice from her thumb.
“Nope, but you are getting closer.” I broke the chip in half and dipped it into the spicy lime salsa.
We’d been playing the game of guessing each other’s middle name for thirty or so minutes. Neither one of us letting up, both determined to win. She was competitive, and not in an annoying, whiny way—she played fair and square.
“My turn,” I announced, wiping my mouth with my napkin. I loved spicy foods, but these salsas were almost too much. Not even my beer seemed to be able to put out the five-alarm fire burning in my mouth. I looked at the piece of paper in front of me, studying the letters of the alphabet after, N. “I still think your name is a classic—I choose R.”
Her face scrunched up and she tossed her napkin onto the coffee table. “Ughhhh, yes, my middle name begins with R.”
I rubbed my hands together. “Roxanne. Tinley Roxanne Atkinson.”
“Ha, wrong answer,” she taunted. “You know what that means—a shot of tequila for you.”
I raised my arms above my head. “Bring it on, darlin’, although I still think stripping over tequila shots would have been way more fun.”
We’d agreed instead of taking shots for every wrong answer and getting completely wasted—every tenth wrong answer required a shot. It should be noted that I lobbied hard for losing articles of clothing.
She laughed handing me a shot of Patron. “You know, every time you call me darlin’ it reminds me of the night at Ronan and Holliday’s.”
I tossed back the shot. “So, you think of me?”
A tiny smile tugged the corners of her pink lips. “Yeah, more so, I wonder about who was on the other end of that call.”
My eyes met hers. “Are you jealous or curious?”
“Jealousy isn’t in my nature, although perhaps it should be—let’s call it a general wondering.”
“Nothing to worry about, I was talking to my niece, Evie. I’m her favorite uncle.”
“Oh, that’s adorably sweet. How old is she?” she asked, shifting her position on the floor tucking one leg underneath.
“Six, she’s smart as a whip too.” I broke another chip in half and then dipped it into the salsa verde. “Is that why you left with the suit that night?”
“Admittedly, yes. Long story, same old story—girl meets guy, he was hiding something . . . someone else.”
Her candor was refreshing. I blew out a harsh breath, and stared at the ceiling. “I’m sorry to hear that. Guys can be dick weasels. Present company excluded.”
All my relationships with women were low-key and casual. In this business, with the travel and long hours, being apart didn’t exactly make it easy on relationships. Most of my love affairs never lasted more than three months.
I’d tried, really tried to make it work with my college girlfriend, Chloe. In between auditions, and bartending to pay the bills, we became two ships passing in the night. When her career took off, it was the beginning of the end and she moved to New York while I stayed in Los Angeles. We were a tragic end—a doomed happily ever after.
Happily ever after, I didn’t know if I believed in all that and I’m an actor. Hollywood thrives on the formulaic phrase of spending one’s life in happiness. Despite living in La La Land, I was a realist.
My gaze swept back to Tinley, who was removing her grey sweater. All that blonde hair spilled over her shoulders sending me back to picturing her naked. Much to my disappointment she had a tank top on underneath, but that didn’t stop me from opening my mouth. “Game changer.”
“Hardly, I’m just hot from the mix of alcohol and spicy sauces. I choose the letter D.”
Now, I was thinking about various sauces I wanted to lick off her body. Scrubbing my hand over my jaw I need to think about something other than the many positions I’d like to fuck her in—easier said than done, as I eyed every flat surface in this place.
“Damian.”
“The name’s Matthew, sweetheart.”
“No, I mean, your middle name is Damian.”
My head fell back onto the sofa cushion. “No, thank goodness growing up Catholic my mother had the good sense not to name me after a demonic child. And that’s ten for you, here comes a shot.”
She tossed a chip in my direction. “We could be at this game for days.”
I sild the shot glass in her direction. “That’s true. Does that mean that you’re throwin’ in the towel?”
She drummed her fingernails against the glass. “I usually don’t give up so easily,” she said through a yawn. “But, after the day I had and between the booze and food, I think my body and brain are fried.”
Admittedly, the long day was catching up with me as well. I tapped my phone’s screen to life. The time read fifteen after eight. Tinley pushed up to her feet, her movement was graceful not at all shaky—reminiscent of a ballerina. When she began picking up the empty containers and beer bottles, I stood and cleared the plates and glasses.
“Oh yeah, how was your meeting?”
“It was interesting.”
“Care to elaborate?” I asked, rinsing out the glasses.
“It seems that Barrington Shores wants me back,” she said, tossing the boxes in the garbage. “This year marks the show’s thirtieth anniversary. Apparently they want to revive my character’s storyline.” She came around the counter to stand in front of the sink.
“Wow, now that is interesting. Are you going to do it?”
“Well,” she inched out, running her hands under the water. “I don’t know, I left that part of my life behind me and I never thought about going back.”
Silence filled the space. As she dried her hands onto the dishtowel I stood there unable to say anything. The question was on the tip of my tongue. Why? I didn’t want to pry into her life, if she wanted to tell me, she would.
“Running the foundation and my art gallery, those two things alone keep me busy.”
I crossed back to the living room, feeling less tired for some odd reason. “Where is your gallery?”
“In East Harbour,” she answered, a hint of a smile her face. “Have you ever been out to The Harbour?” Tinley grabbed a bottle of water from the bar.
“Nope, but now it seems that I have a reason.”
Leaning her hip against the bar, a faint blush splashed over her cheeks. “I think I’d really like that, if you would come.”
And I’d love it if you came all over my cock. The door was wide open for a sexual innuendo, instead I pivoted the conversation. “What you said earlier about jealousy,” I commented, taking a seat on the sofa. “I don’t think jealousy has ever been in my nature either.”
For the most part, I never had to be jealous. Not getting the girl or the job or being envious of what others had, at present that was a foreign feeling. Everything I had gone after in life, I’d attained—with hard work.
She pinned me with a sharp look. “You’ve never wanted something someone else had?”
“Wanting something someone else has, isn’t that envy rather than jealousy?”
She lifted a shoulder, as she brought the bottle to her mouth. Her lips parted slightly, my eyes trained on the smooth expanse of her throat as she swallowed. Tinley was driving me crazy. Her lips, her body, her mind . . . I wanted all of her.
My mind drifted back to that night, when Tinley left with the suit. That was the most recent moment I remembered feeling jealous.
“You know the old saying,” she said. “Some people believe the grass is always greener on the other side.”
And if Tinley Atkinson were mine, I’d never want to find out—because I’d be the envy of every man on the planet.