Protein Shake

Between you and me, though, there’s one thing I have to admit - Liam Donovan looks good. And when I say good, I mean really good. I had already seen photographs of him (I mean, who hasn’t), but seeing him live is a completely different experience. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of swimming shorts and, God, his body is perfect. He has the looks of a model, and he’d be at home in a Hollywood set; his muscles seem like they’ve been carved out of marble and, more than that, they have a certain rawness to them. You know how some men look jacked up, as if they spend every waking hour in the gym to look good? That’s not the case with Liam - he’s cut and ripped, yeah, but he looks functional and powerful. More than looking like a model, he looks like an elite athlete - or, even better, like a goddamn warrior.

Add to that the way he’s smooth talking these girls and his striking features, and you get a guy that looks like he was born to break hearts. Well, I think it’s high time he experiences a bit of heartbreak first-hand, don’t you think?

Getting up from the lounge chair, I saunter toward the bar lazily, carefully making sure that Liam doesn’t see me coming. I lean against the counter, positioning myself right behind him, and ask the bartender for a mojito. As the guy gets my order, I remain there in silence, just listening to what Liam’s saying.

“...and then he wanted to jump out of the balcony. He has his arms open, screaming at the top of his lungs that he’s Superman, and if I hadn’t caught him… Well, he’d be a dead Superman,” he finishes, and the girls start laughing hysterically again. Jesus.

“There ya go,” the bartender tells me, pushing my mojito across the counter, and I thank him with a nod and a smile. Watching Liam gesture through the corner of my eye, I act as casually as I can and turn on my heels, closing in on him just as he’s turning around to talk to the bartender. As a result, he bumps me with his shoulder and I stumble forward, my mojito glass tilting and its content spilling across his chest.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers, taking a step back as the glass falls from my hands and shatters on the floor at his feet. I act surprised, looking at him as if I’m only seeing him for the first time. “You okay?” He asks me, sidestepping the pieces of glass on the floor and pushing me back to safety. “Watch out, don’t get cut.”

“Sorry, I didn’t see you and --”

“Nah, don’t worry,” he cuts me short, waving at the bartender. “Another drink for the lady. Put it on my tab,” he tells him, and then runs the palm of his hand over his abs as he realizes that he’s covered in alcohol.

I look at him do it and I feel my heart tightening up as I watch his abs glisten from my ruined mojito, beads of it dripping down between his perfect squares of muscle. N

ow that I’m this close to him, I realize that he doesn’t have a six-pack - nope, he has an eight pack. Forget about him being a heartbreaker - with looks like this, he’s probably ruining more than just women’s hearts.

“You’re making it worse,” I laugh as I watch him try to swat the alcohol away from his abs. Stealing a cloth from the other side of the counter, I reach toward him and brush the fabric over his stomach, feeling the bumps and grooves of his abs. He lets me do it, and I clean him as slowly as I can. If you’re wondering, yeah - I’m probably enjoying this more than I should. But it’s all part of the way I’ll ensnare him, so don’t worry about it.

“Thank you,” he says as I throw the now soaked cloth back over the counter. “What’s your name? I’ve never seen you around here.”

“Caralyn. But you can call me Cara,” I reply, offering him my hand. He takes it in his, his fingertips brushing against the inside of my wrist. God, his hands are big.

“Liam,” he tells me with a smile, and I have to force myself to take my eyes off his. There’s a certain energy around him, and I can see how most women would feel drawn to him.

“Alright, Liam, it was nice to meet you,” I say, and then look down at my wrist watch. “But I gotta run. Have fun,” I lie with a smile and a nod, and then turn on my heels to leave.

Most men with a reputation such as Liam can’t stand being ignored like this, and I bet it won’t take him more than five seconds to chase after me.

“Hey, Cara!”

See? Easy and predictable. I turn on my heels to face him, acting surprised, and he closes the distance between the two of us. The three girls that were talking to him throw me malevolent stares, but I just pretend I can’t see them.

“I’d like to have your number,” he tells me, and I just look at him slightly surprised. And, no, this time I’m not faking my reaction. You see, most men ask for my number; a few cocky ones demand it. Liam did none of these things - instead, he just told me he’d like my number. He didn’t ask and he didn’t beg. He just told me what he wants and left the rest in my hands.

I like that.

“If you promise not to be a nuisance,” I tease him, watching as he grabs his cellphone from the pocket of his swimming trunks and hands it to me. I type my number into it and, instead of writing my name in the contact info, I simply write Pool Girl. Why? Well, whenever he decides to call or text me, he’ll try and find Cara in the contact list and won’t find it. He’ll probably think that I blew him off and didn’t give him my number, but he’ll inevitably find the Pool Girl contact a few minutes later. And when he does, relief will wash over him. That’s how you seduce a man - you make him go through the whole range of emotions, even in the most simple things. Seduction is an art where the smallest details matter.

“I might call late at night with some great marketing offers,” he jokes as I give him back his phone. I’m actually surprised that he isn’t acting like one these New York Bros, massive douchebags that can’t even string three words together. That’s what the tabloids led me to believe Liam was, but he actually seems to be a charming, down-to-earth guy.

“Bye, Liam,” I force myself say, completely ignoring his joke and axing the conversation. I want him to spend the whole day thinking about Cara, the woman that didn’t care about him one bit.

As I walk out of the pool area, heading toward the changing room, I make sure to sway my hips seductively; I can almost feel Liam’s gaze tracing the contour of my body right now, and I want to leave a lasting impression.

Phase One - success!

Liam

The spreadsheets and reports in front of me look like a bunch of gibberish. Everything blurs together, and I rub my tired eyes. I need a break from work. I’ve been at this for hours. But you wouldn’t know it based on how much I’ve gotten done.

Which is basically nothing.

I can’t get Cara out of my mind. Haven’t been able to since she spilled her drink all over me yesterday. Her surprised face, her lack of pretension, a combination of sweet and sexy that was so far from what I’m used to in a woman. I’m totally intrigued.

And she wasn’t throwing herself at me, either. That one is totally new. I can’t go anywhere without girls draping themselves all over me like they’re a fucking accessory, running their hands all over my body, trying to get a piece of me.