Page 11 of Girls Will Be Girls
“Well, stop it.”
“Go on.” He nods his head up toward me. “What do you want right now?”
I blow out a breath through my lips. “I want to go to the fancy lounge I’ve never been to before, and spend so long in their nicest shower that the people that work there need to come and check if I died. Then I want to eat and drink anything that’s free and looks delicious, including their best cocktails, and not care that it’s barely past breakfast.”
He grins at me and gestures widely. “Lead the way.”
3
THIRTY, FLIRTY, AND UNSURE
I never thoughta public shower that has seen so many people’s feet and butts could be so relaxing. I follow the current of the blistering hot tide, and it’s so blissful I almost forget about all the disgusting events of this morning.
Annoyingly, every part has started turning into a sitcom in my head. Like, I can find every moment funny now that I’m no longer covered in so many mystery liquids. My life has turned into that showKevin Can F… Himself, where I’m no longer seeing this morning through the grey-tinted lens, it’s all studio audience and laughter tracks.
I have to admit that if a friend told me this story I would laugh my ass off.
I’m replaying this morning over and over in my head from Lou’s perspective as the water continues to boil me alive, and with every rewind of the tape, my gut twists a little.
He may have poured my drink over me, but it was an accident. Everything I did wasn’t.
I’m pretty sure I literally growled at him at one point. I was so mean. I made him feel bad for laughing at an objectively pretty funny situation.
Feeling fresh and unbelievably guilty, I find Lou in the lounge sitting at a table that is so overflowing with drink choices it looks like he might need an intervention. I place my bags in the corner and sit down opposite him.
I’m completely prepared and desperate to apologize, but as soon as he sees me his face changes to an eye-crinkling smile. That smile is such a stupidly good smile it could make a girl forget the words to Shania Twain.
“Better?” He asks.
“So much.” I sigh contentedly.
“Good.” He gestures at the table. “I wasn’t sure what cocktails you like, so I ordered a selection.”
“A selection?” I laugh at the ludicrous number of drinks.
“Which one first?”
“Thank you,” I say. “And I don’t mind.”
He glares at me like a disappointed teacher, so I huff through my mouth and reach over to take the mojito.
“Happy?” I say.
“Very.” He smirks.
I take a sip. “You do realize if we drink all of this, they probably won’t let us on the plane.”
He leans back with a cosmo in hand. “We’re first class, baby. The rules don’t apply to us.” He sips.
I laugh, and it makes my guilt flutter into the forefront of my mind again.
“I just wanted to say sorry, for, well for being angry and rude to you.” I look up at him. “So, I’m sorry.”
“Not sure I deserve that apology.” He leans forward like he’s about to tell me a secret. “You do remember how I poured your own drink all over you, then laughed when a toddler puked on you?”
“Yes, but-” I try to protest.
“Mm, no.” He says.
