Quirks & Kinks by Laurel Ulen Curtis Page B

happened in the last couple of days, professionally, I really couldn’t ask for more.
    But there was something that bothered me, so after getting changed back into street clothes and removing all of my TV makeup, I hiked up my panties and went in search of Anderson.
    When I found him, he was gathering his stuff in his dressing room, just pulling the bottom of his t-shirt down to cover his exposed abdomen.
    Focus.
    Stay fucking focused.
    “Hey,” I greeted softly, alerting him to my presence for the first time.
    “Hey, Easie,” he murmured back, slapping his hat back on his messy-haired head and tucking his sunglasses back into the front collar of his shirt. The day had truly come full circle.
    “So, um . . .” I stuttered to a start. “The second episode airs tomorrow. I know it’s not you, you know, yet. But, um. Did you . . . Do you maybe want to come over and watch it?”
    “Oh,” he said, surprised, scratching at his chest with long, tan fingers. I couldn’t blame him. I’d totally blackballed him since the moment his tongue left mine. He probably wouldn’t be expecting me to invite him over.
    “I can’t.”
    I tried not to let my face fall too noticeably.
    “I’m sorry, Easie. I wish I could.”
    I waved it off like it was no big deal. Because it wasn’t.
    No, really. “That’s cool if you don’t want to. I get it,” I offered with a smile, internally cringing when I realized it probably looked faker than Pamela Anderson’s boobs.
    “No,” he disagreed vehemently. “You don’t.”
    “Huh?”
    “I want to come,” he said with a chuckle before explaining further. “I can’t. I have to go train, and then I’m covering Tammy’s shift at El Loco.”
    Instead of focusing on the part of his statement that made me imagine stabbing people, I honed in on the other part.
    “Train?”
    “Yeah. I’m running the 100 mile Rio Del Lago Endurance Run later this year.”
    “100 miles?” I coughed. “People miles?”
    “What other kinds of miles are there?” he asked with a smirk that just barely rumpled up his nose.
    “I don’t know. Hamster ones?” I asked hopefully.
    “Nope,” he replied, the shape and intensity of his grin growing into a smile. “Definitely the people ones then.”
    “And by running you mean?”
    “Running.”
    “Like, with your legs?”
    One raspy laugh coughed sharply from his throat. “That’s the plan.”
    “All at once?”
    “Yep.”
    “Holy shitballs. That makes me weep inside.”
    Finally, he let go, laughing the kind of rolling hilarity that started deep in his gut and ended at my ears.
    Yeah, at my ears. Definitely not by forming a floral wreath around my swelling heart. Definitely.
    “I’ll pretend to be impressed by you doing it though.”
    “I’d appreciate it. It seems like it’d be a waste if you weren’t impressed,” he teased.
    “Okay, well . . .” I mumbled, “I guess I’ll see you—”
    “If you aren’t intent on watching the show,” he cut in, “You could come hang out in my section at El Loco.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah,” he confirmed, offering, “I’ll buy you a drink.”
    “Oh, thanks. I don’t really drink, but thanks.”
    “Addictive history?” he asked compassionately, being so understanding that it made my real answer seem even funnier.
    I shook my head and shrugged. “Poor.”
    His Adam’s apple bobbed as he burst out laughing. “You’re one interesting woman, Easie Reynolds.”
    With a knock to the table, he walked toward me and the door, pausing in its opening just inches from me. The dark metal of his chunky ring glinted as his hand came up and tucked my hair behind my ear. His nose twitched and his face turned cautiously hopeful. “Text me if you’re coming tomorrow night?”
    I nodded my acquiescence.
    His half smile turned full. “Later, Litterbug.”

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU ?” Ashley asked as I paced from the kitchen to the living room and back again for the sixty-second time.
    What was wrong