Page 37 of Escaping Our Reality

First: Lulu’s on student council. That’s a sentence I never fathomed myself saying. I’m a man dating a high school student. I know that’s over-simplifying it, but technically it’s true. Lulu is right; she’s more mature than almost anyone I know. But she’s still seventeen. And that’s part of the reason we have only kissed. Normally, I have sex as soon as the girl is willing and ready,andshe makes the first move. But not with Lulu. Even if she were eighteen, it would be too soon. I’m only the second guy she’s ever kissed. Which, by the way, still pisses me off. I should’ve been the first. And let’s not forget that I made the first move. I kissed her. I started this chain reaction. But now, I’m no different thanmy brother’s customers…I’m addicted. I can’t do more than kiss her right now. Anything else, would lead to a new addiction. And neither of us need that. I’m already fighting a losing battle when it comes to keeping my lips off hers.

Second: I’m an asshole. That seems to be a recurring theme as of late. I’m making Lulu do all the work. She drives thirty minutes one way to see me. I don’t even know where she lives. She’s called me at the garage, obviously having looked up the phone number on the Internet since I didn’t give it to her. I don’t even have her cell number. That all ends tonight. Tonight, I get her number and her address. Plus, I know where she goes to school. I can be one of those guys who leaves a note for his girl on her windshield. Can’t I? The thought is cheesy enough to make me want to throw up, but I vow to do that at some point. Leave a note; not throw up.

Third: I’m really selfish. When Lulu told me she had supper with Detective Marcum, one thing went through my head.Please don’t tell him about the drugs.I’m not naïve enough to worry about my brother. He made his bed a long time ago. He can wallow in its filth all day long as far as I’m concerned. But Lulu is a different story. For once in my life, I’m terrified. Terrified of her getting hurt, of Trey finding out she told someone about his business and him coming after her. And I can only assume the supplier is a hundred times worse than Trey.

These spinning thoughts are interrupted when I hear her tires crunch down the driveway. Jumping out of her SUV, she tries not to smile when she sees me. Really, she does. She tries to hide behind her hair. She tries to bite her lip. But eventually she gives up, granting me the gift of her radiant smile.

I’m stepping off the patio to greet her when she thrusts a large white bag in my hand, catching me by surprise. “I brought dinner! Are you hungry?”

She doesn’t wait for me to answer. Instead, she hurries over to one of the chairs and quickly pushes a table in front of her, setting her own bag down and pulling out Styrofoam containers.

“Hell, Lulu, I thought you were smiling because you were excited to see me, but I think you’re more excited to eat.”

“Of course, I’m excited to see you. I’m here, aren’t I? But I haven’t eaten all day and I’m starving. I had a phone call during lunch and missed the whole thing.”

I grab a water and beer from the cooler in my truck. By the time I set the water bottle down beside her, she’s tearing through a sandwich like a rabid animal. A very messy sandwich. Pulling a chair next to her, I chuckle, watching a large streak of grease slip between her fingers and run down her wrist. “Is that a Philly cheesesteak sandwich?”

She quickly wipes her hands—taking extra care with the healing bruise and scrape on her left hand—and takes a drink of water. “Mmm-hmm. Yours is too. I hope you like them.”

“I do.” When I don’t unpack my bag, she glances over at me, shrugging her hands in question. “I didn’t peg you for a Philly cheesesteak kind of girl.”

“What did you peg me as?” She stuffs a bite that’s too big into her mouth and tries to politely find a way to chew. She can’t. She eventually covers her mouth with her hand so she can chew open-mouthed without me seeing the food.

“Salad. A chicken Caesar salad when you wanna get crazy.”

“Iamthat kind of girl. That’s what I order when I go out with my parents or with my classmates. That’s what they expect a girl like me to order. So, I do.”

I don’t like that comment. I don’t like it one bit at all. “I don’t know how you do it. I know I couldn’t. I couldn’t pretend to be someone I’m not just to make others happy.”

I guess that’s a little bit of a lie. I actually pretend all the time. I pretend I’m not poor white trash with every woman I meet. Every woman except Lulu.

She puts her sandwich down, staring at me like I’ve gone stark-raving mad. “I don’t do it for them.”

“Who do you do it for?”

“I do it for me.”

I furrow my brow. “You pretend to be a different person, pretend to act a certain way, and pretend to like certain things all for your own benefit?”

She nods.

“How? How does that benefit you?”

“Because they don’t deserve to see the real me. None of them do.”

Words choke in my throat, constricting my voice. “But I do?”

This time she doesn’t try to hide her smile. “Of course, you do, Ry.”

***

It’s been a great night.

I’ve had Lulu tonight way more than I’ve had Ella. Each time we’re together, I see more of the real her, and after her admission at dinner, I can’t wait to see every part of the real Lulu. Learn everything about her. She’s my new favorite subject, and I’m gonna become the most eager student there ever was. A damn Nobel Prize Laureate of what makes her laugh, what makes her cry, and what makes her angry.

And especially what makes her moan the same way she does when she’s ready for me to kiss her.

It’s official. I’ve apparently grown a vagina and become a love-struck woman in one week’s time.

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