Craving Perfect (19 page)

Tanning salon? In Arizona?
Fortunately, I had a valid excuse.

“I’ve got to be at a happy hour tonight. It’s a benefit for a women’s shelter. It’ll be at Mario’s.”

“Mario’s?”

“It’s a great little restaurant.” My chin lifted. “It’s in the middle of old-town Scottsdale. Great place. You should meet me there.” Then I wished I hadn’t said anything.

“Sounds like a total snore, Callie. Let’s meet at
Chocolat
instead. The crowd is a bit…” Her lips smacked. “Better dressed.”

My chin pulled back and I couldn’t help feeling a little insulted. I loved Mario’s. “Well, I know someone who
might
be there…”

“At Mario’s? Fat chance.”

“Remember the dark-haired guy who works at the gym? Carlos Flores—.”

“I’ll be there,” Alexandra blurted before I even finished my sentence. “What time?”

Returning to Mario’s was a bad idea, I knew that, but I was curious about Carlos. All I wanted was a glimpse. He was one of the few parts of Grace Mills that I wanted to remember.

I harbored a recurring secret fantasy that maybe Carlos and I could be friends, even though he’d been about as friendly as thunder when I’d seen him at Goldie’s Gym. So different from how he treated me when I was Grace Mills. But maybe, just maybe, Carlos might learn to like Callie Collins, even a tiny bit. The prospect of a possible friendship lifted my spirits.

I parked in one of the last available spots at Mario’s and scanned the cramped parking lot for Carlo’s black pick-up as I walked toward the front entrance. It was a hard vehicle to miss, with its oversized silver-rimmed tires. But tonight it was missing.

My stomach sank with that realization.

But then I remembered the parking spots in the rear, behind the kitchen, and my emotions continued their internal roller coaster ride.

Carefully, I trudged through the unpaved parking lot, wondering if I’d ever get used to stiletto heels. My ankles didn’t seem to think so. At least I had changed into black shoes to go with my crème-colored linen pants, although I still thought those yellow suede peep-toes were adorable.

It took me a few blinks before it finally registered that it was my photo in the right corner of the poster. It looked like one of those professionally done glamour shots, where everything in the background was kind of golden and fuzzy and perfect. Too perfect.

I leaned closer. Callie—
I
—looked incredible, even though my face looked a little airbrushed.

Instinctively, I reached up to smooth my hair as I pressed against the restaurant door. It opened into a bright waiting area with wooden benches on three sides and a hostess station in the center. Ten people waited to be seated.

“That’s Callie Collins!” someone whispered from one of the benches the moment I entered. Instantly, my cheeks flushed hot. It was impossible to pretend that I hadn’t heard her.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” another voice whispered back.

I proceeded toward the empty hostess station and then I froze, grabbing it with both hands.

What’s the protocol?
I’d never been noticed before by strangers. Until becoming Callie Collins, I’d never really mattered.

The whispering continued.

Turning slowly, I smiled in the direction of the voices. The people seated on the benches stopped fidgeting and the waiting area grew uncomfortably silent as they waited for me to say or do something.

“Miss Collins?” asked a teenage girl with a shiny complexion. She rose from the bench between a man and a woman—her parents, I presumed. “Can I have your autograph?” She held out a paper takeout menu.

Just to be sure, I pointed a finger at my chest. “Me?”

The girl’s mother blinked wide. “You are Callie Collins, aren’t you? You look just like your picture.” She nodded at the poster on the door.

“Even prettier in person,” the man piped in.

I cleared my throat. “Yes, that’s me. I mean, I’m me.” I paused to take a breath and slow my words. “I mean. I am Callie Collins.” A stifled giggle erupted behind me.

And the girl and her parents stared back at me like I just might be a tiny bit crazy. Quickly, I said, “I’d be happy to,” fumbling inside my purse for a pen.

“Here’s one,” the girl offered. “And if you could write it on this corner.” She pointed to a blank spot above the appetizers section.

I took the menu from her, along with the pen. “Thank you,” I said as I scribbled my name on the paper, reminding myself to write
Callie Collins
. Then I returned everything to the girl.

“Thank you!” she gushed. “We watch you all the time!”

“Really? Well, I appreciate that.” I felt my face flush all over again.

“I’m going to be on TV too one day,” she added.

I smiled at her. “I’m sure you will.” Then I nodded toward her parents and walked to the safety of the darkened bar where I drew back a breath. It was like walking off a stage. And it would be a painfully long time before I ever got used to being a celebrity, if I ever warmed up to it at all.

No one had ever requested my autograph after tasting a piece of my crumble cake.

Alexandra was already seated at the bar. It was impossible not to be blinded by her shimmery, silver halter top and skintight shiny leather pants. With one thin leg crossed over the other, her foot bounced as though it was keeping time. From the amount of visible cleavage, Alexandra might as well have been topless.

I hung back in the doorway for a moment, watching her.

All of the men in the bar swarmed around her like a school of guppies, waiting patiently for any acknowledgement from her that they could simply exist in her world. Even the bartender was captivated. Just like at the gym, Alexandra made being beautiful look so easy, so effortless. I envied that.

How did she do it? Clearly I should have been taking notes. She was the teacher; I was definitely the pupil.

Alexandra lived for compliments and attention, and she expected both. Who could blame her? She’d probably been fawned over since the day she was conceived.

“Callie!” Alexandra waved from the bar.

Like spotting her was impossible.

I bit back a smirk.

A dozen shiny silver bracelets sprinkled down her forearm as she continued to wave, while eight pairs of male eyes reluctantly left her to gaze at me.

At first they seemed irritated by the interruption. But then their expressions softened.

As usual, my skin flushed all the way down to the hollow of my neck. It was difficult not to run for the safety of the parking lot.

But then I remembered who they were staring at.

So I swallowed my shyness, pulled back my shoulders, and smiled till my cheeks stretched.

The man planted on Alexandra’s right stood immediately, offering his chair.

Grateful, I nodded at him and sat down.

“Boys, you all know Callie Collins from Channel 2, don’t you?” Alexandra paused, waiting for recognition. Her question was meant to be rhetorical, which I realized just as I was about to open my mouth and introduce myself.

The tilt of Alexandra’s head told me that introductions wouldn’t be necessary.

Instead, each of the men began to introduce himself—and I did my best to memorize faces with names. And other things.

“Hi, I’m Randy from Scottsdale…”
Beautiful blue eyes.

“My name’s Blaine…”
Way too much cologne.

“Ethan…”
Nice dimples.

“…Mark.”
The whitest teeth I’d ever seen.

We went around the circle until the introductions were completed. I hoped that I wouldn’t be quizzed later.

As they continued talking all at once, my eyes drifted discreetly around the bar and through the door to the restaurant, looking for Carlos.

Carlos. Where are you?

“What would you like, Miss Collins?” the bartender asked.

“Huh?” I blinked, turning. Conversation around the circle paused.

“You’ve got to try the margaritas!” Alexandra shouted, even though she sat beside me. “They’re yummy!” Her words slurred. “I’ve already got a major buzz on.”

Great. A drunk Alexandra.

“Sure, how about a margarita?” I said to the bartender. Then I lowered my voice. “And please, call me Callie.”

The dark-haired bartender nodded. His eyes twinkled over his smile in the same warm way Carlos’s had. I wondered if he was one of his many cousins, part of the same cedar tree.

Then I turned back to Alexandra, who had already read my mind. “Haven’t seen him yet.” She sipped from her drink.

I feigned surprise. “Who?”

But Alexandra rolled her eyes. “You know who…” Her tone was playful. “You can’t play stupid with me.”

I cringed inside. I hated to think I was playing stupid. “No, I don’t.” Unfortunately, I was still the world’s most pathetic liar.

“Mr. Hot-As-A-Thousand-Tamales from the gym,
that
you-know-who.”

I suddenly felt very uncomfortable. I didn’t like that Alexandra knew my secret. In fact, I didn’t like that she knew Carlos existed. I stared into my margarita glass, which had appeared when I wasn’t paying attention. The blue glass reminded me of my date with Carlos. Quickly, I lifted the heavy drink and took a greedy sip.

Fortunately, the bar grew more crowded and Alexandra lost interest in me. Most of the men gravitated toward Alexandra and me, including the eight hunks already seated around us. Alexandra did enough talking for the both of us and for that I was grateful. Beautiful or not, I just couldn’t stomach small talk.

In the corner of the bar near a hardwood dance floor no bigger than a Twister mat, a four-piece Mexican band began to play. Several couples stood to dance. They all did that fast, two-stepping Latin move that Carlos taught me. He’d made it seem so easy.

“What do you say we grab a couple of these losers and show them how to really dance?” Alexandra slurred behind her hand.

My nose wrinkled from the tequila on her breath. “Maybe in a little while.”

“Oh, come on, we’ve gotten down on most of the dance floors in Scottsdale. What’s wrong with you?” She pulled back her chin and pouted, studying me with her steel-blue eyes that, underneath the bar lights, matched her margarita glass.

“I just don’t feel like dancing right now, that’s all.”

Alexandra leaned against me. “What did you do with my friend Callie?” She pointed a manicured finger at my nose.

“I think you’ve had one too many.” I tried to brush her off by taking a sip of my margarita.

“Even Max thinks you’re different, you know.” Her head began to bob as she struggled to study me.

“Max? When did you talk to him?” I was eager for a new topic. I hadn’t heard from Max all day. Truth be told, I was still uncomfortable around him. Fantasizing was definitely easier than dealing with him in the flesh. You’d think it’d be easy, especially with a killer body like mine, but it wasn’t.

Alexandra took another long sip from her drink and then waved the empty glass at the bartender. “I saw him today at the Biltmore.”

“What was he doing there?”

Alexandra shrugged her pointy shoulders. “Shopping, I guess.” She handed her empty glass to the bartender, who set another drink in front of her. “He may stop by here tonight.”

“Stop by? Why?”

Alexandra turned to me. A maniacal grin stretched slowly across her face. Not bothering to hide her sarcasm, she said, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because he’s your fiancé? And maybe because he’d like to be with you?”

“Oh. Yeah. That’s right,” I said quickly, ignoring the dig. “Did he say what time he’d be here?”

Alexandra shook her head, her forefinger brushing the salt that lined the rim of her glass. “All this salt will make me retain water.” She reached for a cocktail napkin to wipe it off, grimacing. “You should wipe off yours, too. You can gain a couple of pounds just from salt.”

My jaw clenched. Salt was the tastiest part of a margarita, but I didn’t say so. It would have propelled Alexandra into more diet do’s and don’ts. And I was already guilty of too many don’ts.

Suddenly dancing far away from Alexandra with any one of her eight admirers didn’t seem like a bad idea.

“Be a BFF and call me a cab?” Her words practically collided with each other.

I pulled out my cell phone. “Gladly.”

After pouring Alexandra into a cab at the end of last call, I returned to the bar to find Mario.

Thanks to Alexandra, I’d barely had time to talk to him and I wanted to thank him for hosting the fundraiser for the Women’s Shelter. Being the official Channel 2 representative for the event gave me a good excuse to talk to him. I didn’t expect him to know who I was, beyond what he saw on television.

Based on the crowds, and Alexandra’s bar tab, I suspected that a rather substantial check would find its way to the shelter. That made me feel good and was the part of my job I could learn to love. It beat pointing at weather maps and pretending I was a meteorologist.