Page 11 of The Boyfriend List
As I dip the brush in more paint, I’m convinced this penguin is going to be disfigured beyond repair. His beak is a lopsided orange triangle, making him resemble a puffin that’s been in a bar fight. His eyes, which were supposed to be cute and round, are more reminiscent of the villain inSaw.
“How are you so good at this?” I grumble. London sits across from me, calmly painting stripes on his butter dish.
“I don’t pick projects that require artistic skill,” he retorts, gesturing his paintbrush in the direction of my clay penguin.
We’re at the pottery painting shop, Colouring World, which is attached to a cafe whose lattes are to die for. It’s the perfect screen-free, relaxing Friday afternoon activity after a long work week. Afterwards, we usually get dinner at the nearby sushi place (frequented by the celebrities Poppy and Naoya Sugawa!) or a Korean barbecue restaurant.
“Your butter dish looks pretty difficult to me,” I retort. His brows furrow in concentration as he adds yellow dots to the purple stripes he painted.
“You mean I don’t make pottery painting look effortless?” London contorts his face into a dramatic pout that draws attention to his lips, which are unfairly full and soft-looking for a man’s. Does he use lip balm? Vaseline?Laneige’s lip sleeping mask in their berry flavour? Why am I thinking about London Young’s lip care regimen?
“No. More constipated than effortless.” I focus on my penguin—puffin?—that I’ve decided to name Archie. As I paint his wing, however, my brush slips and I smear black onto the white portion of his body. Groaning, I set down the penguin and watch London work instead.
He fixes his gaze on the butter dish with surgical precision. I only have that kind of intense focus at work. The second I trade my pumps for Keds, I transform into a relaxed woman who practices deep breathing and doesn’t care if her painting is sloppy. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“Are you okay there, Ria?” London asks, eyeing me with a look of concern. He’s the only person who’s ever called me that. I secretly like that he has a nickname for me that no one else does. “I could’ve sworn you let out a growl. Is your penguin threatening you?”
“No. Archie has been perfectly nice to me, unlike other men.”
“Who’s Archie?” His brows push together in confusion.
“Archie is the penguin.”
“That’s a great attitude for your dating life. ‘All men are evil, except for this clay penguin that looks like Frankenstein’s waterfowl.’” London’s playful smile tells me he’s joking as he pushes his glasses up his nose.
“Hey! There’s nothing wrong with Archie.” I was having the same thoughts, but I can’t admit that. “He’s a very good-looking penguin.”
“Uniquelygood looking.” London holds back a laugh. “Seriously, though. What happened to your coffee date with that other guy? After Jeb?”
I take a long swig of my latte instead of speaking. Maybe it will give me the fortitude to recount my horrendous coffee date with Richard. “He said he worked in the energy industry. Guess what his job was.”
“Engineer?” London says. I shake my head. “Wind turbine mechanic. Pipeline technician.”
“He was agas station attendant. He pumped gas.”
London snorts. “Are you looking down on the lowly gas station attendants?”
“No, except he was too broke to buy a small black coffee and told me he forgot his wallet, so I had to pay for it. After that, he dropped the gas station attendant bomb, and I hightailed it out of there.” I shake my head. “I wasted forty-five minutes of my life on that guy.”
“Does that mean you’re throwing in the towel on dating?” London asks. He leans toward me, putting down his paintbrush and butter dish and fixing his dark eyes on me.
“I don’t know.” I rub my temples, remembering the list I made with Raina at her party. “I thought about your advice.”
“Did you realize I’m always right?” he jokes.
“No. I realized you’re right sometimes, and our conversation in the break room was one of those times. You told me I need a dating strategy, remember? So I made a list.”
“A list,” he repeats. “A list of potential suitors?”
“A boyfriend list. A list of all the qualities I want in a man.”
“Hmm.” There’s something he’s holding back.
“Say it.” I poke him in the arm. His surprisingly muscular arm. I mean, we go to the law firm’s gym together, so I know he works out, but I didn’t know it was enough to warrant muscles like that.
“No.” He refocuses on his butter dish, picking it back up. I poke him again.
“Come on, Leeds.”
