Going from the absolutely sublime (my Sift Dessert Bar travel mug) to the somewhat ridiculous...today's mug is from Waffle House.
Love, From A To Z
LA Love Lessons 2.0
When April's memory goes missing, not all her millions can buy it back.
Zach Harris was sure the girl he'd picked up in the bar last night said her name was Angel. Too bad she didn't tell him anything more about herself, because this morning, she can't remember anything-not even her name!
What poor-little-rich-girl April Valenzuela views as a problem, however, Zach sees as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; a chance for her to discover who she really is. Not her name or her address, but the important stuff. Her personality. Her likes and dislikes. Her preferences-in and out of bed.
This early in the day, Malibu Beach was deserted; a flat expanse of golden sand under a pale, blue sky. I stared through the window of Gladstone’s restaurant, where Zach had taken me for breakfast, watching the waves roll in—ceaseless, never ending, like the questions in my mind—until his voice recalled me. “You figure out what you want to eat yet?”
Reluctantly, I turned away from the window and gazed at my menu, once more scanning disinterestedly through the list of breakfast items. “No. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I like. I can’t even tell if I’ve eaten any of these things, or just heard about them.” And I wasn’t sure I cared. I had serious doubts about Zach’s contention that I’d feel better after I ate something. Could a full stomach really compensate for an empty head?
“Order the pancakes,” he suggested, smiling sweetly. “You can’t go wrong with that, right? I mean, nobody doesn’t like pancakes.”
“Okay,” I agreed, trying hard not to sound ungracious, trying even harder to hide my resentment over the fact that he could still smile and make jokes and be so cheerfully good humored at a time like this.
Our waitress returned with the drinks Zach had ordered when we first sat down: coffee for both of us, plus a large glass of orange juice for him.
“Are you sure you don’t want any juice?” he asked now, as if we hadn’t just had this conversation five minutes earlier. I shook my head.
As he ordered our meal, pancakes for me, something called a Hangtown Fry for himself, I picked up my coffee cup and sniffed the aroma, trying to determine if it was familiar.
Of course it’s familiar, I realized after no more than a few seconds. I’d been smelling it for the past fifteen minutes, ever since we first stepped foot in the restaurant; I just hadn’t known what it was. Sighing, I returned the cup to the table.
“Anything?” There was a trace of sympathy in Zach’s voice.
I shrugged a little. “Not really.”
“Try tasting it.”
I lifted the cup to my lips. It was hotter than I’d expected, with a dark, bitter edge, a mellow undertone and a hint of something not quite sweet. “It’s okay.”
“Want some whipped cream to go with it? Sugar? How about some of these little chocolate chips they got here? Maybe you’ll like it better that way.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s fine.” I wasn’t all that interested in the coffee. I had much bigger things to worry about.
“Look, this doesn’t have to be so bad, you know.”
“You think not? Maybe you should try it.”
“I kind of wish I could,” he said, and I could tell by the wistful look on his face that he really meant it. “It’s gotta be like...well, like being a virgin all over again. Everything is brand new. You’ve got the whole world to discover.”
“I don’t want the whole world. At the moment, I’d be happy just to discover what my name is.”
Zach sighed. “I already told you that, didn’t I? Your name’s Angel.”
“Well, that’s not very helpful, is it?” One name? One name was useless. Worse than useless, really, since this was LA where entirely too many people used stage names. For all I knew, I was one of them. “I just wish there was something I could do.”
“Like what? We’ve been through this already. You didn’t want to go to the hospital, which, hey, I completely understand.”
“No.” I shook my head. “No hospitals.” What could they do for me in a hospital? There was nothing physically wrong with me, so far as I could tell. And the thought of getting trapped there—with no way to leave, and nowhere to go—was almost more frightening than anything else I could imagine.
“And, like I said, there’s no sense in going to the police yet, since if anyone’s going to file a missing person’s report, they’ll have to wait twenty-four hours before they do it. Plus, it’s a weekend, which means there’s a good chance you won’t even be missed until Monday.”
I nodded my head and sipped more coffee, disguising the vague sense of uneasiness that gripped me every time Zach made that particular point. It couldn’t be normal, not to be missed for days on end. Why was he so anxious for me to believe that it was?
“Besides, like I keep telling you, it’s probably just temporary, anyway. You had a lot to drink last night. You hit your head. You’ll probably wake up tomorrow morning remembering everything.”
“I hope so,” I murmured, clinging to the idea. And, if it turned out he was right, and I’d brought this on myself; if this amnesia was the result of nothing more than a night of too much partying? Then I was never going to take so much as a sip of anything alcoholic, ever again. “We’re still going to check out that bar, though, right? The one where you say we met? Just in case I left my purse there, or my cousin left a message, or something?”
Zach nodded. “Sure. We’ll swing by Zephyr right after breakfast. It won’t be open yet, but they know me there. They’ll let us in and we can take a look around. Who knows, maybe just being there’ll be enough to bring your memory back?”
I sighed. “That would be nice.” But I sure wasn’t counting on it.
Our food arrived, accompanied by a hot blast of fragrance. I sniffed the air appreciatively. Everything smelled so good and I could feel a rumbling anticipation in my stomach. Perhaps Zach was right, after all. Maybe eating really would make me feel better.
I was digging into my pancakes when he stopped me. “Hold on,” he said, picking up the little plastic tub that had accompanied my meal. “Can’t forget the syrup, right?” His eyes were twinkling as he poured it over the contents of my plate. “There. Now try it.”
I slid the first forkful into my mouth and felt my eyes widen in surprise as the soft, melting sweetness, the warm, creamy flavor hit my tongue.
“Good?” Zach asked, eyeing me curiously.
My mouth full, I nodded; and forked up another bite.
“Want to try some of mine?”
I glanced at his plate. According to the menu, his dish was a classic: oysters sautéed with bacon, onion and scrambled eggs. Which meant precisely nothing to me. “I don’t know. How does it taste? Is it good?”
“Well, I think so. Here. Let’s see what you think of oysters.” He leaned across the table. The little blob at the end of his fork looked gray and unappealing, but I opened my mouth obligingly, just the same. One taste, however, and I immediately wished I hadn’t been so trusting.
“Omigod,” I mumbled, clasping my hand to my mouth. I don’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t this. The taste was dark—much darker than the coffee—intense, slightly salty, I swallowed it fast and then drank more coffee to wash it down.
“So? D’you like it?”
I shook my head. “Mm-mm.” Sure, there was something faintly intriguing about the flavor, but it was much too strong.
“Oh.” Zach looked vaguely crestfallen. “Probably more of an acquired taste, I guess. We’ll work on that later. Here, try some of this melon.”
This time, a bright, orange square glistened on the end of his fork, I gazed at it doubtfully. “No, thanks. I think I’ll stick to pancakes.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Zach urged. “Give it a try. What’s life without a few risks?”
“Safe,” I answered, taking another bite, hoping to deflect him. No such luck.
One of those hard to resist grins lit up his face. “C’mon, I promise, you’re in no danger from this cantaloupe. Unless you’re a diabetic, of course, in which case those pancakes you’re eating will probably kill you.”
Startled, I stopped eating and stared at him. “What?”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry. You’re not diabetic. You wouldn’t have been out drinking last night, if you were.”
I sighed in relief. “Don’t scare me like that.” He was still holding his fork out to me, and it was clear he had no intentions of backing down. “You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”
That put the grin back on his face in a hurry. “Not if I can help it.”
“Okay, fine. Let me have it.”
Again he slid his fork into my open mouth. Melon was... nice, I decided. Not as nice as pancakes, but juicy, faintly sweet, vaguely musky. “Does all your food taste like you?” I asked, the words popping out of my mouth before I thought about how they’d sound.
Now it was Zach who looked startled. “Like me?”
I could feel my cheeks burning. “Well, no, not-not like you, exactly, but... you know...sort of...” Sort of like that tantalizing drop I’d licked off the tip of his penis this morning. Even the oyster, while too intense on its own, and not at all what I’d been expecting had had a salty, tangy musk to it that was almost... arousing.
“Interesting thought,” Zach murmured, folding his arms on the table and gazing at me curiously.
The gravelly tone of his voice made my mouth go dry. Avoiding his eyes, I lunged for the coffee.
“So, I guess maybe the next thing we ought to do is to try and find some foods that taste like you.” Leaning in close, he lowered his voice even more as he continued. “Of course, that’ll mean going back to my place so I can get a real good taste of you first, won’t it? You know, so I’ll know exactly what flavor I’m looking for.”
Oh, boy. I’d asked for that, hadn’t I? Swallowing hard, I raised my gaze to his face. His smile was wicked. His eyes smoldered. I was in sooo much trouble.
“Well?”
“Maybe.” Just the thought of his tongue sliding along my slit, teasing my lips apart, licking into me made my pussy wet all over again. I clamped my thighs together, but that only added to the hot, fluttering pressure. My clit throbbed as I imagined his hands prying my legs apart, his lips closing in on the tender nub, nibbling gently...
“Can I get you folks anything else?” our waitress asked, placing the check on the table.
Zach sat back slowly, his eyes still on my face. “I’m good. How about you?”
“Nothing else for me, thanks,” I mumbled as, cheeks aflame, I dropped my gaze and dug back into my pancakes. From the corner of my eye, I watched Zach take his wallet from his pocket and place a credit card on top of the check and all the lust I was feeling dissolved in an instant as it occurred to me just how much I’d been taking for granted. Especially from someone I had only met the night before.
What was he up to, buying me breakfast, driving me around, giving me a place to stay? Was it just sex he wanted from me? Or was he after something else?
My appetite gone, I pushed my plate away. “Why are you doing this?”
Zach looked up in surprise. “Doing what?”
“All this.” I gestured at the table. “Buying me breakfast and... well, everything, really.”
He looked at me curiously. “What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever been on a date before? No, wait.” He put up a hand to stop my reply. “Don’t answer that. I know: You can’t remember.”
“No, I can’t. But what’s dating got to do with it?”
He sipped his coffee, then smiled. “It’s simple. I’m sure you get asked out a lot. And I’ll bet that, most of the time, whoever the lucky guy is, he pays. So, why should I be any different? Besides, what else do you expect me to do? Let you starve? You don’t have any money, remember?”
I shook my head. “I’m not just talking about that. I mean, you must have had plans for the day, didn’t you? And now...” I broke off when the waitress returned with Zach’s credit card, and then I waited, impatiently, as he studied his receipt and added the tip.
“Sure I had plans,” he answered at last, scrawling his name across the sales slip. “What I’d planned on doing was to spend some time with you. I thought we could hang out for a few hours, get to know each other better, have some fun. After the way you tried to run out on me this morning, I figure it’s lucky for me that you did lose your memory. Otherwise, I’d have been eating breakfast alone right now, and then I’d have to think up some other way to spend the day.”
“But, it’s not just today we’re talking about either,” I pointed out, as anxiety set in again. “It’s tomorrow, too, probably. And...and what if you’re right? What if no one even notices I’m gone until Monday? Or even later? How long can I...”
“You worry too much.” Reaching across the table, Zach took hold of my hand. “It’s only been a few hours. Why are you worrying about what’s going to happen on Monday? Let’s just take things one day at a time, okay? Things will work out.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Same way I can tell you’ve probably been on lots of dates.” He squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Trust me. You’re not the kind of person who’d go unnoticed for long. Someone out there is going to miss you real soon, you’ll see. And when they do, you’ll get found. And then you’ll be back home in no time Now why don’t we just forget about the amnesia, for the time being, and pretend that we’d both planned on spending the weekend together. Let Monday worry about itself. All right?”
I nodded. “Okay.” What choice did I have other than to go along with whatever he wanted? Like it or not, he was the one calling the shots, a state of affairs that didn’t sit well with me, not at all.
“Good.” He gave my hand a final squeeze, took a last sip of coffee and then slid from the booth. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Let’s go to Zephyr and see if we can’t find something there that’ll spark your memory.”
