Page 12 of Revenge Cake

He smiles. “I feel like you just put me through some hipster test and I passed.”

I don’t even bother correcting his assumption. “You passed. You should know ahead of time that I judge people for not sharing my taste in art. It’s irrational, but I have no desire to change.”

He shrugs. “All hipsters do that, but I’ve never met anyone as honest about it as you. It’s actually very un-hipster to admit it like that. And I’m relieved you want to talk about the Coen brothers. Armaan told me you’re deep into your sociology major. I was worried you’d want to talk about Noam Chomsky or something and I’d have to work really hard to sound smart. Apparently, it would have been extra hard for me too, with my dumb face and dumb voice. I’d already have a handicap going in.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “Why would I want to talk about Noam Chomsky?”

“I don’t know. I just thought maybe you’d want to talk about sociology shit.”

“He’s a linguist. Do you know anything about sociology?”

“Not really, no.”

I smile as I roll my eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t be talking about sociology tonight. I’m not that socially inept. You won’t have to try to sound smart.”

“That’s a legitimately huge relief.” He follows that with a smile that makes my insides turn to mush. I can’t stop my lips from lifting into a wide, girlish grin. His self-deprecation is utterly disarming. I can’t imagine being so comfortable in my own skin.

An idea occurs to me. I glance around the table to assess the situation, to see if people in our group are keeping an eye on us. As I suspected, Armaan is looking in our direction, a slight smile on his face, likely at the progress Logan has made with me. The sight of it propels me to make my next move. I turn to Logan. “I hate this bar. Let’s go somewhere else. Just the two of us.”

His eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly schools it away. Clearly trying to look casual, he nods once. “Sure. Let’s go.”

***

Logan

“Why do you always have to be in a relationship?” Lani asks with that unblinking stare that hypnotized me on the night we met. “What’s wrong with you?”

I shut my eyes as I chuckle. This is probably the tenth time she’s insulted me in the last hour alone, and yet I don’t remember having so much fun talking to anyone in my life. “You’re a delight, Leilani.”

She frowns as she crosses her arms. She leans back into the iron bar stool as if to give herself the space to examine me. “Don’t be evasive. I’m genuinely curious.”

Heat creeps up my neck as I try to fight the smile tugging at my lips. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who seems to find me this interesting, and certainly never anyone like her—someone I’d lie to impress if I had to. I’ve been smiling so much this past hour, my face almost hurts.

“I know you well enough by now to know that you wouldn’t have asked me if you weren’t. Um…” I purse my lips to the side, trying to think of an answer that would satisfy her. “I don’t think I have to be in a relationship, I just tend to be in them, but I’m fine being single too. I don’t know… I think I’m more decisive than most people. When I meet someone and it feels right, I’m confident in my gut instinct, and I just go for it.”

“Why? If you’ve been the one to break up with all of your girlfriends—and usually after a very brief amount of time, according to Armaan—then your gut instinct has always been wrong. You’re an incredibly poor judge of what’s right for you.”

God, she’s amazing. I smile slowly, hoping that my feelings for her aren’t all over my face. “I don’t think I was necessarily wrong about them just because I wanted to break up with them later. I think the night we met gave you a bad impression of my past. None of my other relationships ended as disastrously as my relationship with Brittani. I’ve had a lot of good times. And I broke up with them because I’m just as confident in my gut instinct when it tells me things are wrong.”

She rolls her eyes. “Your gut instinct ought to be telling you that things are wrong between us.”

I exhale as quietly as I can, trying not to show her how much her continued resistance irritates me. Leaning into the table, I lower my voice when I say, “I don’t know how you could say that. I’ve never had this much fun talking to anyone in my life. Is it just me? Are you bored right now?”

When the question came out, it was rhetorical. I know she’s having fun. She’s barely taken her eyes off of me since we ditched the others an hour ago. I’ve made her smile and even laugh, which is no easy feat. But when she doesn’t answer right away, I start to feel nervous. I run my eyes over her face, trying to read her thoughts.

Abruptly, she meets my eyes. “No, I’m not bored,” she says, her tone almost resentful.

Relief washes through me, another smile spreading across my face. I’ll take it. I’ll take her resisted attraction over her indifference any day.

“I like that you let me say exactly what’s on my mind,” she says. “I like that you let me ask rude questions.”

My smile grows lazy. “You can ask me rude questions anytime you want.” I reach my hand across the table and grab hers. She looks startled, but she doesn’t withdraw. My stomach jolts in victory. Her hand is soft, but I try not to think about her skin just yet. With my other hand, I grab my beer and take a sip, feigning nonchalance.

“Do you want to have sex?”

I choke on the beer I just swallowed. My chest heaves in a violent coughing fit, my throat on fire. Leilani reaches out her hand and pats me on the back several times in a row, but it’s futile. By the time my coughing dies down, my throat is itchy and my vision a watery blur.

Through my foggy vision, I see a wide, pretty smile. “You look like you’re crying.”

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