Page 16 of Girls Will Be Girls
It physically pains me. My stomach rolls every time like we’re hitting turbulence. My skin heats and feels clammy. He makes me feel sick, and I should really stay away. Keep my distance. Quarantine myself from him.
On the screen, Cameron Poe is all grimy and dirty, his shirt covered in oil and sweat, and as much as I try to push it away, I am once again picturing pouring something on Lou’s white shirt in the hopes of getting a peek below it.
“What next?”
My eyes shoot to his face, and I think I just got caught red-handed staring at his chest like it’s the secret map behind the Declaration of Independence.
I look at our screens, and the end credits are rolling in sync.
I notice Lou is holding one earbud out of his ear, so I copy him.
“My pick now?” Lou asks, not making any obvious signs that he saw me ogling him.
“Mmhm.” I nod. “Sure.”
He starts tapping on his screen to queue upThe Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent, so I copy him on mine. Once we’re synced up, I lean back and focus my eyes on the screen, keeping them to myself until Nick Cage is happily watching Paddington, my gum is stale, our plane lands, and a few rogue claps echo through the cabin.
I unbuckle myself and rise to grab my things out of the overheads.
“Here.” Lou slides my bags toward me.
Of course, he already got them. Of course, he has to be so freaking wonderful, like the perfect male specimen.
“Thanks.” I follow him off the plane.
We wander down the bridge in silence.
Step onto the moving walkways in silence,
Walk into the arrivals hall in silence.
We walk through the exit doors — still together but still in silence — when he stops in front of me.
“So.” He starts with a smile. “Now that we’re not stuck in a metal tube with no escape.” He says playfully. “And I don’t know what your situation is or if you’re at all interested, but I would really love to take you out.” He pauses. “On a date.”
I feel the sickness taking over me. I should’ve quarantined. My chest feels hot. The virus is spreading.
“You would?”
“Very much so.” He nods sincerely.
“But you live in D.C.”
He waves me off. “That’s just logistics.”
“But-”
He cuts me off. “You can say no, Louisa. I’m not gonna be offended.” He smiles that stupid, charming smile. “You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.”
“It’s not that,” I say, kind of exhausted from having to say no to something I would actually really like, because he chose the career that puts him in the automatic no-date category.
It feels kind of stupid now that the only reason I won’t say yes is because he’s a journalist. That I’m just scared he’ll judge my career. He might not, he might be some unicorn male journalist who won’t be stuck up and think what I do is nothing more thanfluff. Maybe he isn’t someseriousjournalist either. Maybe I’m being the stuck-up judgmental one, assuming he’s some judgey finance bro writer just because he’s a white man.
Ugh.
He’s just so pretty, I can’t think straight.
“I don’t know, okay?” I admit. “I just don’t know.”
