Page 61 of Girls Will Be Girls
“Yeah?”
“And I don’t want to blur lines with you, Louisa. ” There’s a rasp in his voice when he says my name, and I swear I feel itvibrate against my skin. “Us in the hot tub seems like an easy way to do that.”
“So what does that mean?”
“It means I like you, and I want to date you.” He continues plainly, making my breath stumble, hearing it so directly. “I’m usually pretty good at staying in control, but I’m finding it hard to with you. The last few nights have taken a lot of willpower.” He leans closer again. “But I wanted to take it slow, make it clear what I want. And to be clear: I wantyou.”
His eyes dip to my lips, and I almost climb over the table to straddle him.
My cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and that fire is spreading deep.
“What are you gonna do about it then?” My voice comes out quiet.
He smirks. “Let me take you on a date and you’ll find out.”
“And this definitely isn’t a date?” I almost sound out of breath, which is mortifying.
“Definitely not a date.”
“And it’s going to take whatever you consider a real date to step over that line?”
“Mm, it is.” He hums. “I want to take our time, not be rushed by work, or having to fake an engagement.”
His lips hitch up on one side at that, drawing my attention there and forcing out any thoughts that aren’t kissing that smile out of my mind.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He sounds like he’s holding back excitement.
I nod. “Next time you ask me, I’ll say yes.”
He smiles so wide the corners of his eyes wrinkle up. “Then it’s a date.”
11
IF ELLE WOODS CAN JUDGE A TIGHTY-WHITEY CONTEST FOR LAMBDA KAPPA PI, THEN I TOO CAN HANDLE ANYTHING
I didn’t organizeany activity for this morning, giving myself a relaxed start to concentrate on writing — in theory.
It’s not my fault the chaste kiss Lou gave me on the cheek when he dropped me back at my lodge last night ignited tiny flames everywhere, including my feet, apparently, because why else am I unable to sit still?
I came out to the backyard an hour ago, but I do not have an hour’s worth of writing done. I keep staring over at Lou’s dark lodge. He could still be sleeping, but based on what little knowledge I have of him, he’s probably been out for hours already.
I’m tempted to Google him again. Well actually, I’m tempted to Google Otto now that I know his last name. Lou may not have a big online presence, but something tells me his blonde, bleached brother does.
But every time I start to, I feel guilty and stop. Typing in‘Ott’is as far as I’ve gotten.
Blame the journalist in me. I am unbelievably curious about his family dynamic. I need to know more, but I don’t want to go behind his back to find out, but I also don’t want to just ask him outright why his family seems… well, like they seem.
I’m not exactly the poster child for a close and functional relationship with my own family, but this is a different level.
Is it a big red flag that I kind of like that his family relationships seem more fucked up than mine?
If my parents knew I’d faked an engagement to help a guy I have a crush on exact pretty jealous revenge on his brother — even if it was unknowingly — they would no doubt lecture me on needing to find a suitable husband who isn’t so childish. Although I can imagine the sting would lessen for them if I told them Lou worked for the Washington Post. I think that might keep me in the will on the condition that we marry. Like a Regency woman covering up a sex scandal.
I can picture my father’s face now. I bet the headshake of disappointment would be unendingly drawn out and torturous.
In my fantasies, I’d counter his disapproval with a rant about how there’s no wonder I can’t find a nice husband when I’ve never seen an example of one. He would then shake with rage and demand I never disrespect him like that, to which I would laugh and tell him how I don’t respect him. I’ve never seen what would happen if I did talk back to him, so I can only dream up what his response would be. No doubt something cruel about how I wasted my potential, the opportunities he’s given me, or maybe he’d try to blame Mom for it. They love blaming each other for their disappointing kids.
