Page 58 of Girls Will Be Girls
“I am.” He laughs.
“Go sit down.” I point to the booth I was just in. “What do you want to drink?”
His lip tilts to the side. “Beer’s fine.”
I nod over to the booth again, gesturing for him to go.
I may be mad at him, but I can still be nice to him. He looks like he needs it.
I order another wine for me and Lou’s beer. As I place it in front of him on the table, he looks at my glass.
“You know, I’ve never seen you drink the same thing.”
“So?” I take a sip.
He shrugs. “Just curious what your usual drink order is.”
I place my glass down. “I have lots of usuals.”
He smiles. “What’s your desert island drink, though?”
“Water,” I smirk.
He shakes his head, taking a drink, but his eyes never leave mine. He continues just watching me, looking at me with that tilted smile. It’s like he’s torturing me with his beautiful face.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to guess?” I finally blurt out.
I clearly wouldn’t hold up very well under torture.
He can’t help but laugh, and I can’t tell if it makes me hate him or like him more.
“I want to apologize.” He starts.
“Uh-huh, I gathered that much.”
He smiles. “I’m sorry for ditching you in the hot tub that night.” He starts. “And I’m really sorry for disappearing the last couple of days. It wasn’t fair to you, and I should’ve just talked to you. I heard Otto’s name, and I kind of shut down.”
“Okay.” I nod. “Why?”
“It’s a long story, but the gist is that we don’t get along.”
I stare him down, waiting for him to go on.
“Otto is…” He clears his throat. “For lack of a better word, kind of my rival at work.”
“People have rivals?” I say.
He chuckles like he also knows how ridiculous he sounds.
He explains how they both work for big newspapers and both write about politics. He tells me how Otto is selfish and scheming and always tries to steal Lou’s stories and never fails to get his way. He tells me an eloquent analogy about how Otto’s the cockroach of journalism — because he always turns up again no matter what you do. Apparently, Otto being here is no coincidence, and he’s trying to sneak the exclusive Lou’s writing out from under him.
“That’s what I was confronting him about when you found us in front of the cafe.” He says. “I was asking him to leave it alone.”
“I take it he said no?” I ask.
“Gold star.” He smirks.
There’s a moment of tension-filled silence, both of us thinking of the same thing.
