Page 22 of Escaping Our Reality

“Lulu, just how old are you?”

She peers at me over the pages of her paperback. She thinks about lying. She really does. I can see the lie swirling around behind her gorgeous honey eyes like a tornado. Eventually, she slaps her book down on the table. “Seventeen. Why?”

I lean back in my chair and scrub my hand across my face. I nearly kissed a seventeen-year-old kid. Correction: I reallywantedto kiss a seventeen-year-old kid. “Holy shit, Lulu. You went to a drunken, drug party, acting like damn Sherlock Holmes, and you’re a junior in high school? Are you crazy?”

Well, that was the wrong thing to say.

She reaches across the table and slams the lid of my laptop closed. “I’m a senior, if you must know. I’ll be eighteen next month. And don’t presume to know anything about me, Ry. I’m more of an adult than most forty-year-old women out there. My mother included. You don’t want people to treat you like the guy from the wrong side of the tracks. So, don’t treat me like some inept, whiny, princess child.”

I didn’t tell her that.

But she knows.

She canseeme.

And now, she’s even more beautiful than she was.

“Well, there you are,” a high-pitched voice interrupts us, “hiding in the corner. Here’s your coffee. And some cream and sugar. But, in my opinion, it’s already sweet enough.” The cashier girl licks a fake drop of coffee from her fingertip.

I glance over at Lulu. She rolls her eyes and picks up her book.

“Thanks so much…” my voice trails off.

“Peyton. My name is Peyton.”

“Peyton. Thanks for the coffee.”

“My shift is over at eleven. If you want to get to know one another, give me a call. I wrote my number on the napkin.” Peyton flashes a wink and walks away.

Lulu’s eye roll, this time, is so dramatic I nearly spit my coffee all over the table, laughing.

Her nose scrunches in annoyance. “What?”

“You’re jealous.”

“Excuse me?”

“You get jealous when girls hit on me.”

“Are you high right now? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She writes something in her notebook, pretending it’s very important.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You roll your eyes. Maybe, you don’t realize you’re doing it. But it’s a moot point. The fact remains that you’re totally jealous.”

And I love it. I love that this gorgeous, stubborn, strong woman rolls her eyes. For me.

Correction: I love that this gorgeous, stubborn, strong seventeen-year-oldkidrolls her eyes.

I’m a fucking sicko.

“I did not roll my eyes.”

“Of course, you did.”

“Well, maybe, I did. But come on, she’s flirting with you and I’m sitting right here.” She points at her own lap. “Right acrossthe table. For all she knows, I’m your girlfriend.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she blushes.

She blushes, but she doesn’t look away. She stares at me, eye to eye. I get the feeling that Lulu never looks away.

Standing up from the table, I walk to the nearest trash can and toss the napkin—and Peyton’s number—inside.

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