Wednesday
Picture 2
Kimmydon's Choice: Picture 1
Title:
Lisa blinked her eyes open at the familiar sound of her alarm. Her mother had found her an old fashioned windup one that she could take anywhere. It hadn’t failed her yet.
“Mmm, don’t get up.” Lisa rolled away from the groggy man sharing her bed. Shaking her head to clear it, she wondered just what she had done the night before. “Really, honey, you’re gorgeous. Don’t they make you up? You can lay in bed a little longer.”
Lisa inspected the many tattoos on his arms and chest. How drunk was she? She didn’t usually go for guys like this. Pulling on her top, she recalled a welcoming party that her new co-star, Alex, had insisted she attend. This guy, she really couldn’t recall his name, had been her constant shadow. Well, it had been more than long enough since she’d been laid. Judging by the burn in her thighs, she’d enjoyed him a lot. She fought a groan as she pulled on her boy shorts and jeans.
“Look, you don’t have to rush out, but don’t be here when I get back, got it?” she said tersely. The last thing she wanted was a relationship with this guy. I mean, there was a good lay and there was a boyfriend. She knew the difference.
“Are you really Lisa Campbell?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and grinning, “cause my friends aren’t going to believe me.”
“Good,” she muttered, stepping into her flipflops and yanking open the door to her room. “Thank God, Ford,” she muttered, trotting up to her burly bodygaurd. “Why on earth did you let me bring him back here?”
Ford looked up from his coffee toward the door. “He seemed nice.” He sipped his coffee not smiling or meeting Lisa’s gaze.
Lisa crossed her arms and scowled. “Do you even know who he is?”
Ford snorted. “I know his social security number. I get paid for a reason, remember?”
Lisa chuckled and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, leaning over him in his chair. “I love you, Ford, but really, my taste in everything, especially boys, is terrible when I’m drunk. You can’t let me bring them home. It ruins the morning.”
He laughed louder. “I love you, too, which is why I let you see the error of your ways when it isn’t a risk.”
Lisa stuck her tongue out at him. “You know, this love thing is tough. How do you manage it?” She smirked.
“That’s what they pay me for.”
Lisa nearly sprayed her coffee. “That makes you sound like a gigolo.”
The night before wandered out of the room in just his pants. “Is it seriously six A.M.?” he asked.
“It seriously is, and as you pointed out, I need to be in makeup in thirty. Don’t steal anything,” she said with a sigh, rising and heading for the door. “Ford knows where you live.” She didn’t even look back, but Ford stepped up to the strange man, puffing out chest and paunch both. “Sixty-three Spruce Boulevard. I think your mom might be interested in what you were doing last night.”
Lisa clicked her tongue. “He lives at home? Seriously, Ford, be my standards, would you?”
Ford closed the door behind her. “I try. You really needed that,” he admitted, seeming out of sorts for the first time that morning.
Lisa sighed. “Apparently I did. You sure I can’t pay you for that, too?” she joked, hopping through the door Ford held open for her.
He swallowed and shifted himself before rounding the car to drive.
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