Jackson warned himself to keep expectations low. And they were. But if she was giving, he was taking. If he worked it right, he could have a pretty little buddy. A friend.
Or…more than a friend.
Whatever it was called, it meant he could have regular sex. He had to play it cool.
Still, he picked up around the house. Showered and shaved, washed his favorite jeans and spent too long picking out a shirt to wear. He finally settled on a casual t-shirt with button down over it. Combed his hair without really looking at it. Slipped on a pair of shades and headed to the garage, whistling a ditty he'd made up in his head.
He ducked into the car and double checked himself. Wallet? Check. Aftershave? Deodorant? Check. Confidence and a good attitude? Double check.
As he backed out of the driveway and watched the wide garage door close in front of him, a thought niggled at him. Last night had been the first night in months that he'd gone to sleep without digging out his wallet, flipping it open to the photo of Kim at last year's Maxim party and staring at it, wondering what went wrong and where and how he could have changed it. Maybe Shelby could help him turn over a new leaf.
He hated to admit that Rod was right. Coming back to Orlando was a good thing for him. Even if he wasn't going to stay, getting away from LA, where the hope of seeing her kept his pain alive, was the best thing he could have done for himself. He wasn't so happy with the job, but it was good to be home.
Church Street in downtown Orlando was basically Bar Row. No matter what you were in the mood for, you could probably find it along this stretch. Pubs, jazz clubs, microbreweries and dive bars all shared the same mile of real estate. It made picking a party spot relatively easy and if one place was packed, there were several others to choose from.
Antigua was owned by a friend of his, a buddy from his days as a cast member at KidTV. Every time Jackson was in town, he stopped by. Consequently, he hadn't paid for drinks at Antigua in over a decade. The bartender wasn't in anyway impressive, but free was a good price, even if you had no idea how much money you actually had.
Jackson was early on purpose. He wanted to scope the place out, grab the good table in the corner with the nice view of the stage but away from the speakers so they could talk. At 8 o'clock and just as the music changed to a driving, hard rock beat, he saw her.
Shelby was there, under the arch of the doorway. Looking for him.
She'd put a lot of effort into looking casual. Her hair framed her face. Her jeans made him twitch, the way they hugged her curves as she finally saw him and made her way to him. He caught a glimpse of her blouse as she slid into the seat across from him.
Tiger print....growl. There was a black bra underneath the sliver-thin, silky material. He'd promised himself he wouldn't stare, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep that promise. Shelby was playing hardball.
"You made it. Good to see you," he managed to say, through his grin that was ridiculously wide. She looked good. Smelled good, from the light scent that drifted across the table. He felt like an idiot. He shouldn't be this excited. He met beautiful women every day.
"I told you I'd find it," she said with a smile, her eyes floating up and around at the décor. "So, this place is cool." He watched her check the place out, proud that she was impressed. He pointed out his favorite areas–the sections that looked like porches from old southern colonial homes, the arched doorways, the high back leather seats, the general atmosphere. She listened and nodded and laughed and he agreed with himself that her smile was warm and bubbly but not annoying.
"Well, so," Jackson said, laying his hands out on the table. "We have so much to talk about. Like... everything."
"But it's so weird because, you know…I know who you are."
"Yeah. But you don't know me, know me. There are a lot of things people don't know about me, the real me."
"Really." She leaned in, tilting her head like she expected to hear a secret "Like?"
He leaned in as well, allowing a flirty dip of his eyes to her blouse. "Like… all of a sudden, I really like tiger print."
Shelby laughed, her smile bright, her tongue curled behind her teeth, but she didn't blush. Good girl. No need to be modest. He liked her confidence. She had to know that if he saw her for real, that he'd like what he saw. She was right.
A few minutes of idle, nervous chitchat passed. Jackson cleared his throat and realized he was parched. "Can I get you anything to drink? A beer, or some wine or something?"
Her eyes drifted to the bar and back to him. "Don't think I'm a drunk or anything, but I'm dying for a shot of Patron. I haven't had it in... a while."
"You want it mixed with anything?"
Shelby looked offended at the question. "It's Patron. The whole point is to not mix it with anything."
"I knew that," Jackson replied, laughing. "I was being polite."
"Stop being polite. I'll take a beer to go with it, though," she added with a wink. "Whatever's cold in a bottle."
Jackson headed to the bar, smiling to himself. Of course he hadn't met a girl who liked frilly, frozen, pink drinks. She shot tequila straight. God, he hoped this worked out.