That last one, the one at the Art Gallery, should be a cakewalk considering I’ve been handling their events and openings exclusively for the better part of the last year. And that would be thanks to Alex Holt, the owner.
Alex is kind of an enigma. Well maybe not, but there is something about him that I can’t quite put my finger on. My best friend Sabrina worked for him at the gallery before moving to Philly. At some point, he made it clear that he had the hots for her, but she was already in too deep with her boyfriend, Tyler. Well, not technically, but deep enough that Alex didn’t stand a chance.
Sounds like a fucking soap opera, right?
Anyway, the shit hit the fan, then yada, yada, yada, she moved away. But not before I made a deal with him that I still had to repay him for. I kind of told him that I would do any event of his choosing, free of charge, if he got Sabrina’s résumé to the right person at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. He did, she got the job, and almost a year later, he still hasn’t collected on my debt. He hasn’t even brought it up to me once, and I see him quite regularly. And we’ve become good friends.
Well, good friends is a bit of an overstatement; good enough is probably more of an accurate depiction. It doesn’t help that he’s hot as hell either. I’m not going to lie; the man is sex on a stick. He is gorgeous with a capital G. If Josh Holloway is ever in need of a stunt double, well look no further, because Alex should be the first and only person he would need to call. Our “friendship” could be described more by saying we playfully argue and exchange one too many flirtatious comments that drive me crazy. I didn’t even say anything yet about those dimples of his. Sweet baby Jesus, it’s just not fair.
“Julia, what the hell is wrong with you?” Lisette asks in a concerned voice, while I’m still conjuring up images of Alex’s dimples.
“What? Nothing’s wrong,” I say a tad too defensively, playing it off with a shrug of my shoulders. The last thing I need is for Lisette to drag out my daydreams of Alex in any way, shape, or form. “Just thinking about how crazy the schedule is for this week.”
“It’s not that bad. We’ve done three events in one week before. You can do this with your eyes closed and your hands tied behind your back.”
My mind goes straight to the gutter. Thoughts of being blindfolded and bound to a bed, at Alex’s hands and completely at his mercy, start whirling around in my head. God, it would be good … soooo good. Like earth-shattering good. Like speaking in tongues good. And I’m not even that into being tied up. But for Alex … damn, I’d haul my ass on over to Home Depot and buy the rope myself.
You know how I know he’d be amazing? Because there are some men—and when I say some, I mean a select few of the species—that the first thing you do when you meet them is picture how many sexual positions you can recreate from the Kama Sutra. Alex, without a doubt, is one of those men.
Okay, okay, so maybe I have a little crush on him. I don’t think I would act on it, though. The guy did boldly go where no man has gone before, or at least he tried to with my best friend. That would be like sloppy seconds, right? Maybe incestuous in Bizarro World since she’s like the sister I never had? Eww, so gross! I really need to come up with another way of looking at this whole situation. There are times, however, that it feels like he wants something to happen. Like he’s waiting for me to make a move. Goading me even. These instances are becoming more frequent to the point that I’m constantly questioning the parameters of our friendship. But the second I teeter on the brink of doing something about it, I reel myself back in.
“Earth to Julia! Come in, Julia!” Lisette’s hands are cupped around her mouth when her voice snaps me back to reality.
Shaking off the mental hopscotch I just played, I get back to the business at hand. “Sorry,” I quickly answer. “Was just thinking about all the redecorating I’m planning on doing this weekend. Where were we?”
Her cackle fills the room instantly. “¡Por favor! You were not thinking about redecorating.”
“I was! I was thinking of color palettes.”
She narrows her eyes at me and says, “You forget how well I know you. If you don’t want to share, fine. But remember, I’ve got my eyes on you.” Then she lifts her two fingers and points them toward her eyes, then at me, and then back to herself again.
“Whatever.”
“Yeah right, whatever,” she says, mimicking my dismissive tone. “Fine, can we discuss the Grandersons’ party then?”
“Yup, hang on a second while I pull up their file.”