The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series) (37 page)

“It’s a great party,” I reply as I look over at his plate of food. “The yams were really good.”

“Yeah, I love yams,” he tells me.

“Me too,” I agree, nodding my head. OK, I’m not much of a genius here, but when a conversation goes straight to yams, that may be an indication that you have absolutely nothing to talk about besides yams. As great as Carter is as eye candy, I don’t know i
f we have anything to socially discuss
… or maybe my nerves are getting the best of me.
Is it hot in here or is it just me?

Carter looks at the television screen and laughs. “Oh, I love this movie,” he says to me. “I used to watch this every Christmas when I was a kid.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “I even tried licking a frozen flagpole when I was ten and let’s just say that the movie’s pretty accurate when it comes to that part. My tongue was stuck for two hours before someone came to help me.” I laugh at his story. “I couldn’t taste food for weeks after that.”

“Is that freezer burn of the mouth?” I ask.

“It might be,” he ponders. “I don’t know if they’ve come up with a name for stupidity like that.”

“Maybe people can call it ‘The Carter,’” I suggest.

“No, they can’t because I didn’t do it first.”

“True,” He’s funny in a corny sort of way. It’s refreshing to see that he’s not just another hot guy in a suit (even though hot guys in suits aren’t bad to gawk at). Carter actually has a bit of a witty personality. He would be perfect in my clientele list!

“So, Leslee,” Carter starts, “what do you do?”

“Besides avoiding flagpoles?” I ask and he laughs. “I’m a matchmaker.”

“Oh, interesting,” he says. “So is it just divorcees and widows that you work with? Little people and crossdressers?”

I laugh. “No, I work with all types of people,” I answer. “Everyone is deserving of love no matter what or who they are.” I reach over to the coffee table for my purse, pull out a business card, and hand it to him. “This is my company,” I tell him. “We help everyone find their soulmate so they can live happily ever after.”

“Is it a good business?” he asks and I nod.

“You’d be surprised at how busy it can be,” I answer. “No one wants to be alone for the holidays.”

He ponders on my statement for a second. “That makes sense.”

“Yeah, so if you or anyone you know needs a good match,” I tell him, “just pass them on to me.”

Carter looks at the card then looks at me. “Well, I was thinking more along the lines of—”

Ding! Ding! Ding!
I hear a bell from the other room. A group of people along with Karen and Russ stumble into the living room, laughing. “It’s that time of year again!” Karen slurs as she pulls out mistletoe from behind her back. She hangs it over her and Russ’ heads and they kiss. Everyone claps. “Who’s the next lucky couple to kiss under the mistletoe?” Karen smiles as she scours the room. Her eyes then lock on Carter and me. I freeze.

“No,” I say sternly.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Karen replies as she walks over to the couch. She begins to dangle the mistletoe over me and Carter’s heads. “Kiss him, you bitch!” she yells. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Everyone begins to chant with Karen and I begin to shake my head. I know I’m blushing at this point. This is so embarrassing. I hate drunk people.

Carter and I look at each other and nervously laugh. This just seems like peer pressure to me. Didn’t we learn in elementary school that peer pressure is bad? I can’t take this anymore. The chanting has to stop and there’s only one way to do that.

I grab Carter’s head and press my lips onto his. I push away from him leaving him a little shocked. There’s silence in the room and all eyes are on Karen waiting for her to say something. She smiles. “Now that’s what I call a kiss!” she yells and everyone begins to clap. I now know that I’m blushing and a tad embarrassed at what I did. I just kissed a complete stranger in front of a room full of people. I grab my purse.

“I have to get out of here,” I tell Carter as I rise from the couch. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You’re leaving?” he asks.

I have to think of something that’s not obvious. I don’t want it to seem that I’m leaving because I’m not much of a PDA type of person. “I, um, have another party to go to,” I tell him. “Perhaps I’ll see you at the wedding in two weeks?”

“I’ll be there,” Carter says.

“Great!” I say enthusiastically. “I’ll see you then,” I tell him and jet out of the living room and through the front door. Once I’m outside, I take a sigh of relief.
Ah!
There’s nothing worse in life than drunken friends who force you to kiss strangers, but thankfully the stranger wasn’t that bad. In fact, he wasn’t that bad at all.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Good morning, Lisa!” I greet my receptionist cheerfully as I walk into my office, latte in hand.

“Morning, Leslee!” she says behind an exuberant red rose arrangement sitting on the receptionist desk. She stands up to show her face. “These came here today.”

“Oh, they’re beautiful!” I gush and absorb the refreshing smell of the roses. I look at Lisa who’s holding a card. “So … are these from your fiancé?” I ask her and she laughs. “I didn’t know he was such a romantic!” I exclaim. “You better tell me what you did for him to send you flowers like this.” I begin to think. “Is it your birthday? Because if it is, I’m sorry that I forgot.”

“Leslee, these aren’t my flowers,” she tells me, smiling. “They’re for you.”

I begin to ponder for a moment. Who in the world would send me roses? Could they be from the crazy foot fetish guy? The convict? Eric? My mind starts spinning.

“Dear Leslee,” Lisa starts reading the card. “It was a great pleasure meeting you the other night and I’d love to get to know you. You are beautiful and funny in every way and I’d be honored to take you to dinner. I yearn to see that vibrant smile of yours once more. Love, Carter.”
Carter?
I think to myself.
He’s interested in me?

“Hmm …” I begin to think. I look at the roses again. These are some nice roses he picked out. Should I call him, thank him, and go out with him? How come I didn’t see this coming?

Lisa hands me the roses. “I’m sure you’ll want to put these in your office,” she says smiling. “So I guess the real question is
‘
who is Carter and what in the world did
you
do
for him to send you flowers like this?”
’

“I don’t really know,” I tell her. “We met at a party, we had a short conversation, we kissed under some mistletoe—”

“Whoa, you kissed him?!” Lisa asks and I nod my head.

“It really wasn’t a big deal,” I declare and Lisa smirks. “It was peer pressure!”

“Sure it was.
” Lisa is not buying it. I don’t even know if I’ve fully convinced myself that it was just a kiss. It wasn’t a bad kiss. It actually was a good kiss even though his breath tasted like yams, but to be fair that could’ve been my breath, too.

I pick up my roses and head into my private office. I shut the door and place the arrangement on my desk. I turn toward my filing cabinet, then turn back to look at the roses. They’re just sitting there on my desk, haunting me. I try to ignore them and the fact that Carter is even a tad bit interested in me. What does he even see in a woman like me? I’m not reserved like him, I’m clumsy, sometimes too outgoing, I come from a crazy middle-class family and he’s obviously upper-class status, Mr. Boss and all. Could he even handle a woman like me? I sigh.
Pick up the phone!
I think to myself.
Call him! At least thank him for the roses.
I plop in my desk chair, pick up the phone, and dial the phone number on the card.

“Carter Duvall’s office,” the secretary chimes on the other end of the phone.

“Uh, yes,” I stutter trying to regain a sense of composure. “Is Mr. Duvall available at the moment?”

“He’s actually in a meeting right now,” she tells me. “Would you like to leave him a message?”

“Yes,” I say. “Can you tell him that Leslee Robinson called?”

“Oh, you’re Leslee?” she asks cheerfully. “Did you like the roses? I assisted Mr. Duvall in choosing the perfect arrangement for you.”

“Yes, they’re beautiful,” I say. “Thank you.”

“Mr. Duvall is a wonderful man,” she tells me. “He’s very involved in his work and he’s
very
successful.”

“It seems so.”

“He said so many wonderful things about you.”

“Really?” I asked, confused. It wasn’t like our conversation at the party was a long one.

“I’ve never heard him speak so highly of a woman before let alone date anyone,” she says. “He was really happy to talk about you.”

“Is that so?” I begin to smile.

“You know what? Let me check and see if he’s in his office,” the secretary tells me. “I usually tell people he’s in a meeting, but nine times out of ten, that’s not true. It’s just our strategic little way of screening his calls. One moment, OK?”

“Um, OK,” I reply uneasily as she puts me on hold. I wonder if his secretary assisted him with the card, too. Of course a woman would know what another woman wants to hear. In a sense, he kind of cheated in winning me over.

“Leslee?” Carter says on the other end of the phone. “It’s Carter. How are you doing?”

“I’m well, thank you,” I say politely. “Thank you for the roses, too. They really made my day.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he replies. “I’m glad you like them.”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “Your secretary did a great job picking them out,” I say jokingly. He laughs.

“You caught me,” Carter says. “Flowers aren’t my area of expertise.”

“No worries,” I reassure him. “They are gorgeous and they are sitting on my desk as we speak.”

“Listen,” he starts, “I have these tickets to the
Nutcracker
for tomorrow and I wanted to know if you’d like to accompany me to the show.”

I pause. I never seen the
Nutcracker
before, then again I was never interested in going. It’d be something new to experience, I guess. Carter would be a new experience for me altogether. Victor never took me to something as cultured as the Nutcracker. It was always dinner and clubs. I should try new things with new people. That’s what I always tell my clients so I should be doing the same, right?

“I would love to go with you,” I answer. “What time?”

“Well, it starts at eight, so I figure we can have dinner before then,” he tells me. “Can I pick you up at six?”

“Sounds good,” I say and give him my address. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. It should be fun.”

“It will be,” he replies. I can tell that he’s smiling over the phone. “Well, let me get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow night then.”

“It’s a date,” I say. “See you then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We dined at Davio’s (which is officially becoming my favorite restaurant in Philly). It was once again the most delicious (and can I add
romantic
) dinner I’ve ever had in my life. He ordered this special linguini dinner and I had the fancy tilapia dish, yummy in every way. From there, we went to the Academy of Music to see the
Nutcracker
. I used to think that I’d fall asleep watching a ballet, but it was different than I had expected. It was a moving performance, very entertaining, and not boring at all. For the first time in a really long time, I enjoyed myself. It was a nice, elegant,
normal
date. No drugged up crazy dancing machine, no out-of-the-ordinary public fetishes, and most importantly, no fear of being arrested. I can finally take a sigh of relief. I’m finally on a normal date with a normal guy who’s smart, interesting, attractive, cultured … the list goes on and on. Carter is great. He’s my ideal man no doubt, and I don’t really want the night to end, but … it will.
Practice what you preach,
I think to myself.
Leave the rest for another night.

At the end of the night, Carter insists on walking me to my door. What a gentleman! It’s the perfect winter night without snow. The air is cool with a slight, breathtaking wind. The sky is beyond what you’d call beautiful. It’s almost mysterious in a sense. The array of stars that glisten overhead make the romantic mood of our date even more unforgettable. It’s almost too perfect.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” I tell Carter as we walk toward my front door. “The ballet was great, dinner was excellent. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“I had a good time, too,” he says. “I hope we have the opportunity to do this again sometime.”

“You know what was crazy, though?” I ask him. “The flexibility of those ballerinas.” He laughs. “I don’t know how they can extend their legs into these perfect straight lines. It really boggles my mind.”

“Well, they train for years and years,” he tells me. “My mother used to teach ballet when I was a kid. I used to hate it when she dragged me to her students’ recitals. It wasn’t until I was older that I started to appreciate it and really enjoy things like theatre and dance.” He laughs. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m more of an observer than an artist. I can’t dance for shit.”