Page 91 of Crazy In Love
She scoffs. “You’d be surprised by the things that go through my mind when I catch them whispering about me.” She nibbles on the carrot. “It’s not all about them, of course. And ultimately, their opinions about me hardly matter. Though, the volume with which they speak can’t be ignored. Their animosity toward someone for…” She pauses and grins. “Literally existing is pretty gross. Then there’s the fact Plainview’s largest grocery store closes at nine p.m., and Bealls is the only clothing store for a fifty-mile radius.”
“You don’t like Bealls?”
“I don’tnotlike it, but variety is important, too. I like not wearing the same thing as everyone else. I like wandering a department store with nothing in mind, exploring their offerings until something jumps out and inspires me.”
Fuck me. Why does sweat trickle along my spine?
“I like meeting new people, and I like that those people don’t all look exactly the same, with the same skin color and the same life experiences and prejudices and stories to tell.”
“Well… if you lived here and traveled with Alana and Tommy for his fights, you’d get all those things still.”
You’re reaching, dickhead.
Amused, her glistening lips curl up. “I like not always knowing what to cook for dinner, so I can walk outside my apartment building and headfirst into a dozen different restaurants with a dozen different smells. I follow whatever inspires me and eat something new each night. This…” She looks down at her dinner. “This is one of the most aromatic meals I’ve smelled since being in Plainview, which is both wonderful and horrifying at the same time.”
“Horrifying?” She still hasn’t picked up an olive. In fact, she hasn’t eatenanythingexcept a corner of a carrot. “You don’t like olives, do you? You can tell me. I won’t be mad about it.”
“I like olives,” she snickers, poking at them.Just like one would when avoiding eating something they don’t like.“I’m not horrified by the meal you’ve prepared, Christian. I’m horrified that nowhere else in town offers anything like it, so if I were to live here, I’d have to rely on irritating you into cooking for me.”
She so easily scars my heart, slashing at it with a newly sharpened knife.
Worse, she’s clueless to the fact it’s her hand that wields the blade.
“I wouldn’t mind cooking for you.” I set my silverware down. I can’t fit a single bite when my stomach is so full of dread. “Anytime you wanted it.”
“You’re just saying that because we’re getting along right now.” She flashes a bright, beautiful,oblivioussmile. “But eventually, the magic of sex will wear off, and when it does, we’ll go right back to who we are beneath the orgasms; annoying and petty.” She slices into her chicken and brings a chunk up to her lips. “What about you?”
“What about me what?” Still no olives. And fuck, the entire dish tastes of olives.I ruined everything! “What do you wanna know?”
“Would you ever moveawayfrom Plainview?”
My heart flips at the very thought. “Doubt it.”
So fucking quick to answer. So sure. I destroy us before I even give us a chance to breathe.
“Oh?” She opens her mouth and places the olive-flavored trash on her tongue. “You wouldn’t even consider it?”
“And go where? My entire life is wrapped up in the gym. Tommy and Alana and the kids. My house.” I settle back and gesture toward the starry ceiling. “I’ve only ever known Plainview. Not sure I’d even knowhowto live somewhere else.”
“New York is an amazing city.” She chews, careful not to show the food in her mouth. “It’s so large and magical. The people can be really nice, and butting up against such diversity is like living multiple lives all at once. Iwouldn’t be the same Fox you know if I never experienced the things I have.”
Pausing, she takes a moment somewhere in the depths of her mind she chooses not to share with me.
Fuck. Why won’t she share it with me?
Shaking her thoughts away, she brings her eyes back up and smirks. “Who knows, maybe you wouldn’t be the way you are if you’d been raised somewhere other than here.”
“The way I am?” Thirsty, I snatch the bottle of wine I set out earlier, crack the seal, and pour it into her glass. But the thought of fruity alcohol makes my stomach turn, so I set it down again and choose water instead. “You don’t think I should be who I am?”
“No, I mean… look at Franky, right?” She trades her fork for wine, bringing the glass to her smiling lips.God, it’s the olives. She hates them.“You and Franky have a lot in common. But the fact he spent his first ten years in New York means he has a different perspective on the world than you do. He still has his quirks, his favorite fork—” Teasing, she casts her eyes to the diamond patterns set out on each side of our plates, “—he still prefers his own company over large gatherings, and he’s quick to call someone out if he thinks they’re being unfair or not entirely truthful. But he also appreciates and celebrates people who aredifferentthan he is.”
Fuck my dinner, I sip my water and settle back in my chair. “Different?”
“Well, he, himself, is different from his peers. And he’s drawn to you—even over Tommy, despite his relationship with Alana—because he recognizes how you’re different from yours. Raised in a city where no one is the same, he spent his most formative years being accepted for exactly who he is, and he accepted others for their differences without question. His friend group included children with varying shades of skin. Girls. Kids with glasses or braces or a walking frame. One of his closest friends was a little girl with cerebral palsy, and not once in all the time I can recall did he wonder if she wasless than,or if she should be mocked. And yet…” She sets her wine glass down and meets my eyes. “I’mstared at in Plainview like I came from Barnham’s circus of freaks. On the outside, I look exactly like most others around here: I have the ‘right’ skin color, the ‘right’ weight range. I don’t walk differently, and nothing odd grows from my face. At first glance, Ifit. But the fact is, I wasn’t born or raised here.My peopledon’t come from here. And God forbid Inotbe sorry for it.”
She picks up her fork, scoffing. “If I was a less secure woman, I probably would’ve cried myself to sleep on the first night and started counting down the seconds until I canescape again.”
“You’re not counting down to escape?” A sliver of hope. A tiny speck of potential sparks somewhere in the back of my heart. “Despite them, you’re happy to be here?”
