probably one I should be involved in, I instead studied the possible recipients of that second glass of wine.
No. No. No. Not him. Not her… I scanned the crowd ahead of her, hoping against hope that she was there with a friend. A girl friend—no, even that wasn’t enough clarification. A girl friend, two words, not a girlfriend. I hope. And please God, not a boyfriend.
I had to shift my position to continue watching her walk. I had to be sure it was as mesmerizing as it had been when I first noticed her. It was.
Jesus, the last thing I need is a hard-on in the middle of this party but look at that ass in that dress. I love short dresses. Uff, what I would do to that… Okay, enough. I peeled my eyes away and got myself in check. My thoughts were headed to a place they shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t talk about her in such a way—not even just to myself. Not yet at least.
Turning my gaze back to her possible destination, I searched until… BINGO! The cute girl in the blue. That’s got to be her, look how excited she looks. I’d be just as excited if ruby red were walking my way.
I watched as they exchanged glasses and hugs. Perfect. She’s here with a friend. Girlfriend? I scrutinized their body language and interaction for a second to be sure. Naw, just a friend. This revelation was accompanied by a wave of tingling nerves through my body. What the fuck? I don’t get befuddled very often—in business, life, or love—but this girl had me twisted.
“So you think you can help us with this in Miami?” Kevin asked me, his eyes expectant.
“Hell, yeah!” I answered enthusiastically though I had no idea what I’d just committed to. Kevin was a guy you said yes to first and then figured out how to make it work no matter what. He could turn shit into gold in under three phone calls.
“Fantastic,” he said with a smile and pat on my arm. “I knew I could count on you.”
I’d better figure this out quick. They were talking about…TV shows. Right. “So what’s the demographic?” I asked, praying silently it was a reasonable question.
“We’re thinking twenties through fifties, men and women. Mostly men, though. We want to corner that market. It’s untapped.”
Not much help. Okay, how about this… “And the main competition, in your opinion?”
“Well, the Food Network, of course.”
Ahh… something to do with cooking. Piece of cake. Literally. “Yeah, no problem.” But what am I doing? Finding venues? Sponsors? Casting? “Any requirements?”
“Well, just like I said, I need a fun personality, easy to look at. A new, upcoming face who looks great on camera, has a creative edge, and can cook. That’s about it.”
Casting. Got it. “Well, there are chefs—good ones, too—all over Miami. I’ll sort you out.”
“Don’t fail me now.”
“Have I yet?”
“We shall see! Now, how about some more wine and a cigar?”
“Groovy. Let’s hit up the front bar by the dance floor. Seems like that one’s clearing out.”
As I turned to follow him through the crowd, I couldn’t help but cast another glance to make sure my girl was still at her table. Table 9. She looked even better now—as if that were possible—in the setting sun. I started a romantic checklist to confirm whether this lightning in a bottle might be for real:
Ability to dumbfound: CHECK (one of the hardest checks to achieve)
Body: No doubt. CHECK
Face: A beauty from what I could tell from afar. Check. But I need to confirm.
Wine drinker: CHECK. Red. DOUBLE CHECK!
Single: God, I hope.
I have to talk to her tonight, or at least get a closer look. I need this. It’s way past time for me to grow some balls and go after what I want. Take a chance. Put myself out there. Come on. You can do it.
I promised myself I’d talk to the girl in red, but right then, I needed some fucking wine.
“So, how you been, man?” Kirk asked as he handed me a glass of wine from the bar.
“This side of the dirt, my man, so
No. No. No. Not him. Not her… I scanned the crowd ahead of her, hoping against hope that she was there with a friend. A girl friend—no, even that wasn’t enough clarification. A girl friend, two words, not a girlfriend. I hope. And please God, not a boyfriend.
I had to shift my position to continue watching her walk. I had to be sure it was as mesmerizing as it had been when I first noticed her. It was.
Jesus, the last thing I need is a hard-on in the middle of this party but look at that ass in that dress. I love short dresses. Uff, what I would do to that… Okay, enough. I peeled my eyes away and got myself in check. My thoughts were headed to a place they shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t talk about her in such a way—not even just to myself. Not yet at least.
Turning my gaze back to her possible destination, I searched until… BINGO! The cute girl in the blue. That’s got to be her, look how excited she looks. I’d be just as excited if ruby red were walking my way.
I watched as they exchanged glasses and hugs. Perfect. She’s here with a friend. Girlfriend? I scrutinized their body language and interaction for a second to be sure. Naw, just a friend. This revelation was accompanied by a wave of tingling nerves through my body. What the fuck? I don’t get befuddled very often—in business, life, or love—but this girl had me twisted.
“So you think you can help us with this in Miami?” Kevin asked me, his eyes expectant.
“Hell, yeah!” I answered enthusiastically though I had no idea what I’d just committed to. Kevin was a guy you said yes to first and then figured out how to make it work no matter what. He could turn shit into gold in under three phone calls.
“Fantastic,” he said with a smile and pat on my arm. “I knew I could count on you.”
I’d better figure this out quick. They were talking about…TV shows. Right. “So what’s the demographic?” I asked, praying silently it was a reasonable question.
“We’re thinking twenties through fifties, men and women. Mostly men, though. We want to corner that market. It’s untapped.”
Not much help. Okay, how about this… “And the main competition, in your opinion?”
“Well, the Food Network, of course.”
Ahh… something to do with cooking. Piece of cake. Literally. “Yeah, no problem.” But what am I doing? Finding venues? Sponsors? Casting? “Any requirements?”
“Well, just like I said, I need a fun personality, easy to look at. A new, upcoming face who looks great on camera, has a creative edge, and can cook. That’s about it.”
Casting. Got it. “Well, there are chefs—good ones, too—all over Miami. I’ll sort you out.”
“Don’t fail me now.”
“Have I yet?”
“We shall see! Now, how about some more wine and a cigar?”
“Groovy. Let’s hit up the front bar by the dance floor. Seems like that one’s clearing out.”
As I turned to follow him through the crowd, I couldn’t help but cast another glance to make sure my girl was still at her table. Table 9. She looked even better now—as if that were possible—in the setting sun. I started a romantic checklist to confirm whether this lightning in a bottle might be for real:
Ability to dumbfound: CHECK (one of the hardest checks to achieve)
Body: No doubt. CHECK
Face: A beauty from what I could tell from afar. Check. But I need to confirm.
Wine drinker: CHECK. Red. DOUBLE CHECK!
Single: God, I hope.
I have to talk to her tonight, or at least get a closer look. I need this. It’s way past time for me to grow some balls and go after what I want. Take a chance. Put myself out there. Come on. You can do it.
I promised myself I’d talk to the girl in red, but right then, I needed some fucking wine.
“So, how you been, man?” Kirk asked as he handed me a glass of wine from the bar.
“This side of the dirt, my man, so
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