Not wanting to be left deflated from disappointment yet again, I stay silent, waiting for the young girl to say something more.
“It is you!” She leans into me, inhaling before immediately pulling back. “You do smell good. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be weird, but you’re the cologne guy. The one in the lineup where the girl comes in wearing a blindfold over her eyes and recognizes you by how good you smell.”
“You caught me.” I smile. I’d prefer it if she recognized me for playing, but it could be worse. She could have misidentified me as some crazy psychopath. “How do you know that commercial? It hasn’t aired in the States.”
“I went to Belgium with my parents to visit my grandmother last summer, and it ran non-stop. I loved that commercial. Ten men,” she says with animated hands accentuating her point. “Each one looking smexy. One better looking than the other. You are my favorite, by the way.” She smiles, all dimples and fluttering eyelashes.
“Thank you.” This is the first smile all day I don’t have to force.
She starts fidgeting with her hair, repeatedly smoothing a length near her ear, tugging hand over hand. “Then the police take her into the room to identify the thief. She leans in to smell each of you,and she chooses you. It isn’t until the end, when she leads him—you—away by the hand, that we find out the thing you stole was her heart.” The young woman finishes her monologue, bringing her clasped hands to her chest and over her heart. “Mmm.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, raising her shoulders up and bringing them back down as she exhales. “It’s so romantic. And here you are!” She squeals.
“Wow, I guess the commercial struck something in you.”
“It did! I loved it so much, I downloaded it to my phone. Every once in a while, when I’m having a rough day, I watch it to remind myself that things will get better.”
Like she’d know about rough days. At her age, I didn’t have a care in the world. I had money, skills I knew would bring me great things, and all the tail I wanted.
“You got all that from a minute-long commercial?”
“Oh my god, yes!” She touches my arm gently. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe you’re here and I’m touching you!”
Boy, do I need to shut this down. I can’t afford negative publicity, and being seen too cozy with a barely twenty-year-old girl, if she’s even that, will garner unwanted attention. Or even worse, I might become a meme.
“Thank you very much for the kind words,” I say, trying to end the encounter and get back to the table.
“Wait, don’t you want to see it? The commercial?”
“I have seen it. I was in it, did you forget?”
“No, but wait.” She pulls her phone from her apron and scrolls through her camera roll, rambling on about something. “Here it is.” She bounces with glee. I look away because I don’t want to notice her twenty-year-old perky tits bouncing along with her.
My little talk with Gemma’s mother about taking pictures with the younger guys haunts me. Is that how women look at me when I’m out with someone twenty years younger? Like I’m a pervert?
“You look amazing in a tux.” She leans in so that her arm brushes against the front of my chest, and her thigh touches mine as she plays the commercial for me. When I get these signals from women, I know they’re going to end up in my bed. Today I’m not the least bit interested. “Do you think you can give me your autograph?” she asks as she tucks her phone back into her apron pocket.
“Of course.”
Her eyes double in size. “Can you sign my bra?”
“Sweetheart,” I take hold of her hands and stop her from pulling down the front of her shirt. “Why don’t you give me a piece of paper? That way, you can save it. Frame it if you want to.”
“I have other bras that I framed.”
What the actual fuck?I should be eating this up, and maybe if I were alone or with the guys and not my nephew, his girlfriend, and—.
“I’m sure a pretty girl like you does, but I don’t think my fiancé would understand.”
“Fiancé?”
“Um hum.” I nod. “She’s sitting over there, with my nephew and his girlfriend.” I point to my little group and wave to Gemma’s mom, who plays herpart without even knowing it by giving me a death stare.
“Fine.” The deflated girl takes her pad and pen out of her apron and gives them to me to sign. “Tate Grimm?” She reads my name with a confused look on her face. “Are you a Belgian actor? Are you famous?”
“Yes, for playing rugby. Look me up.”
Without another look in her direction, I head back to the table, prepared for the shit that woman is going to give me.
“FRIEND OF YOURS?” GEMMA’Smom asks. If I didn’t know better, I might think she was jealous. Of course, I do know better. I can’t do anything right in this woman’s eyes.
