Romance Fiction posted June 17, 2015

This work has reached the exceptional level
My take on the artwork..

Martinis, Love, and Me

by Jacqueline M Franklin


<> Slight sexual Innuendo…
<> Story created from my take on the artwork..
<> A little different from my norm—just for fun…


Martinis, Love, and Me
Okay, so I may have over-calculated just a bit. How was I to know he was married and aimed to stay that way … he just wanted to come out and play?
I mean, really, he wore no wedding ring, carried no family pictures in his wallet, nor did he act as if he were seeking fun on the sly … just wanted hot, mind-blowing sex with no strings.
I thought I had found the—one. I could have my career, come and go without having to answer to anyone, and have my own scorching, mind-blowing sex too.
What’s not to like about martinis, love, and me? Who would care about what we did?
His wife … that’s who!
As I look back on when we met six-months ago, it started so innocently. I had just finished a modeling job at Newport Beach. I decided to soak up the California sun as I sipped the martini that Juan, the cabana boy brought me. He was a looker, but too young for me—I like experience—you know what I mean.
I’ll never forget the come-on from tall, dark, and gorgeous when he apporached.
“Hot-damn, if I had your arms and legs wrapped around me, I’d be the luckiest man on the planet.” 

I looked over the top of my sunglasses and gave him one of my million-dollar smiles as I stretched so he could observe the merchandise. “If you had these arms and legs wrapped around you, darling, I can assure you of that statement.”

Tall, dark, and gorgeous sat on the lounger next to mine and gently ran his hand up my thigh. “Just so we’re on a first name basis, I’m Blake Stanley, and you, Miss November of ‘Playtime’ magazine, can warm me up anytime.”
“I see my reputation precedes me,” I said, a sexy look on my face. “And here, I thought you wanted me, for me … little ole Tanya.”
He stood and held his hand out to me. “I must confess. I was a technical advisor on one of your shoots last year. However, I left before you actually started filming. I’ve been abroad the last few months. When I saw you back then … I’ll admit it … my body started doing somersaults—just as it’s doing right now.”
I took his hand as I stood, pressed my body against him provocatively, and nibbled on his ear. “I do love somersaults. Shall we enjoy our own gymnastics in my room … or yours?”
We did just that, only we never made it to either one of our rooms. Blake knew of a secluded spot a short distance from the hotel. We walked along the beach, and ended up in an alcove where there was plenty of sand, a decanter of martinis, and a blanket he had conveniently placed there earlier. I do love a man who thinks of everything.
We shed our clothes, and the horizontal mambo began. From that day forward, every spare minute we had outside of our busy work schedules were spent together.
My head still reverberates when I think of this one special night we spent in his hotel. We had room service deliver martinis, caviar, and chocolate covered strawberries. After we indulged in those treats, we showed each other treats of a more personal nature, until a pounding at the door stopped everything.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Blake snapped as he rolled off me. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his middle. I grabbed the tangled sheet off the bed, wrapped it around me, and walked to the door and stopped.
“You good for nothing, asshole!” the woman with long blonde hair bellowed as she stomped into the room. “Which flavor of the month is she this time?”
“Miss November,” I said. “Just who I might I ask, are you … Miss Frumpy?” 
“Mrs. Danielle Stanley, you home wrecker!” she spat, now face to face, her black eyes shooting darts at me.
I remember looking at Blake with a confused look on my face.

The bastard shrugged. “A slight detail I forgot to mention,” he said while securing his towel, though why he bothered at that point seemed a moot point.

I turned on my heels and stomped back into the bedroom and began to dress as if my ass were on fire, all the while mumbling to myself about how stupid I’d been for not checking out the conceited Mr. Asshole beforehand.
Blake even had the nerve to try stopping me. “Look, Tanya. All Danielle wants is another trinket or some such, and then she’ll leave us alone. Won’t you, dear,” he sneered, turning toward his wife.
Danielle lit a cigarette. “There is a diamond broach I have my eyes on. Daniel needs eight-thousand dollars for a trip with his junior soccer team for the finals in Japan. And, Carly needs her daddy to go to Father - Daughter Day at school next Tuesday.”
I stood flabbergasted at what was playing out before my eyes as I shook my head. “You two obviously despise each other. I don’t get it.”
Blake looked at me. “Simple economics, really, because if I divorce my wife, she’ll take me to the cleaners since we’ve been married for eighteen years. I play her games; she lets me alone to play my games.”
His conceited smirk showed. “And, Miss November, I do like your games.”
I grabbed my purse off the coffee table and slung it over my shoulder. While holding my sandals in one hand, I tried buttoning my blouse with the other one—all the while shaking my head. “You two deserve each other.” 

I stomped toward the door, but tuned back. “I hate to break it to you, tall, dark, and gorgeous, but Slim Jim isn’t all its cranked up to be.” I slammed the door behind me.
Yep—that was six months ago. I chalked it up to lesson learned. I understand he’s in to Miss February now.
“Thank you, Juan.” Ooohh, that cabana boy is looking better, I decide as I settle into my lounger.
Then a voice from out of nowhere, says, “Hey, gorgeous … how about I refill that martini for you?”

I look over the top of my sunglasses. “Indeed, long, tall, blonde glass of water … I do love my martinis. Don’t forget the olive. I have to have the olive … and you.”

©2015 Copyright Jacqueline M. (Jax) Franklin


_ I usually create stories from a photo or artwork for my poetry.
_ When I saw this artwork---it had a short story written all over it, so what's a storyteller to do?
_ This is a little different tack for me, but it's just the way I interpreted the picture.
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