Party Girl_ A Novel - Anna David [20]
“Why don’t I tell Chad I looked for him everywhere but couldn’t find him?” I ask Bill while Rick is in the bathroom. Guys isn’t exactly a massive nightclub—it is, essentially, one room—but Bill nods supportively.
“You should,” he says. “Rick is definitely into you. Just call Chad when you get home and tell him that when you couldn’t find him, you got another ride home.”
I’m not sure exactly how this plan is communicated to Rick but the next thing I know, I’m making my way toward the bathroom, being careful to make sure Chad isn’t looking in my direction, and then out the back exit, where I then crouch by the side of the building like I’m the female James Bond or something.
“Let’s get you home.” Rick smiles as he walks outside. Grabbing my hand, he leads me to a black BMW parked in the back and opens the door for me. I slide in and unlock his side, remembering that some guy once told me that he knows a girl is going to sleep with him if she unlocks his door. Rick notes that his door’s unlocked with a wink at me as he slides into the driver’s seat and starts the car.
“Are we all clear?” he asks. “Any sign of your guy?”
I look around and see only valet parkers.
“I think we’re good,” I say. “But just to be safe…” I slide down the seat, so that my legs and butt are on the floor of his car and my head is on the seat. From this angle, I can’t help but notice the bulge in Rick’s jeans. He glances down at me noticing, and winks. I laugh, and continue to when he looks around, jokingly furtive, as we pull in front of Guys and out onto Beverly.
“I think we made it,” he says, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. “It’s not always easy to escape from the claws of a smarmy agent.”
I slide back onto the seat and sit up straight. “Well, this damsel formerly in distress is quite grateful for your help in the matter.”
When we pull up in front of my building, he immediately starts looking around for a space. “Do you need a permit to park here at night?” he asks.
I hadn’t had any intention of actually bringing him inside my apartment. Call me a tease—and believe me, many have—but if I like a guy and think we have a chance of actually having a relationship, I won’t do anything more than kiss him, unless I’m severely impaired to the point of near blackout.
“You don’t need to park,” I say. He looks annoyed.
“Should I leave the car running?” he asks, and I reach over and turn the ignition off as an answer before leaning in for another of those fantastic kisses. Fairly quickly, we’re making out passionately and, as I alternate between breathing into his ear and kissing his neck, it occurs to me that Rick could be the answer to all my dreams.
Pulling away, I ask in a low, sexy voice, “Are you seeing anybody?”
He looks so horrified, you’d think I’d just asked him if he masturbates about family members. “Whoa—mood killer,” he says, leaning back and immediately pushing the cigarette lighter in.
“I wasn’t trying to kill the mood,” I say, kicking myself for my timing, and yet snuggling up next to him and grabbing another Marlboro Red from his pack. “I was just curious because I think you’re cool.” As soon as it’s out of my mouth and surrounded by nothing but silence, I realize how lame this sounds.
Rick lights his smoke, takes a drag, and exhales. “I don’t have a girlfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I smile and drag on my cigarette, as Rick unleashes a torrent of non sequiturs about a girl he was seeing who was always ruining what they had by trying to make the relationship more serious. He says the word “serious” the way a vegetarian might say the word “steak.” I’m sitting there and smoking and regretting having launched him on this entire line of thinking, when I hear him muse, “Don’t you think it’s interesting that the word for someone being sent to an insane asylum—‘committed’—is the same as the word for being in a serious relationship?”
I nod, for the first time wondering about the decision-making ability I’ve displayed in the past few hours. Though this anti-relationship rant has helped to make