Page 29 of Love, Academically
The film was terrible, but the sofa was comfortable, and he was full after the fish and chips and really didn’t want to move. Besides, the least she could do was let him sit in her warm, cosy house, which was filled to the brim with fabric scraps, an old typewriter with half the keys missing and balls and balls and balls of wool. Why someone would need so much wool, he did not know. It wasn’t just that though, it was the haphazard stacks of books everywhere, the overflowing bookshelves, the open paperbacks face down on every surface. How many books was she actually reading? Some piles were so precarious that they were likely to collapse and crush whatever happened to be underneath them at any moment.
At least the kitchen was clean and tidy.
The living room, however, was lived in. Full of Lila Cartwright.
By the time Richard Gere courageously abandoned his attempt to break the obstacle course record, Rhys was completely done withAn Officer and a Gentleman.
“Is there something else we could watch?” he asked.
“You wound me, Rhys! Wound me!” Lila threw dramatic armacross her eyes. “Here.” She tossed the remote control on his lap. “You choose. Not the news.”
He looked at the remote control in his hand, the power she so easily relinquished to him. She had wanted to watch this film and he was a guest. Jason had probably been all over their TV choices, forcing her to watch fucking douchey stuff likeMan Versus MachineorHow It’s Made.
“No, it’s fine. I’m actually getting into it,” he said, putting the remote control between them.
That knowing smile again from her.
“You’re lying, but I appreciate it. Thank you.”
How did she know he was lying? Was it so completely out of character that he would like this ridiculous storyline and the stilted acting? Or did he have a tell?
“It’s getting late. I should go,” he said, making no attempt to move.
“After the film, though.” She bumped him with her shoulder, teasing. “Because you’re into it and desperately need to know how it ends, yeah?”
He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the little tug on his lips. The two-seater sofa suddenly seemed a lot smaller than it did five minutes ago.
“Besides,” she continued, “I’ve told you way too much about me, you’ve seen me cry and you’re in my house. It’s your turn.”
What could she possibly want to know about him? He was particular, he was Welsh, he liked the news, and he liked everything in its place. But she knew all of that already.
Lila’s expectant blue eyes stared back at him.
“Fine. What do you want to know?”
She clapped her hands like an excited child and shuffled on the sofa to face him better, adjusting her ankle on the ottoman.
“What do I want to know? Hmm.” Her eyes lit up as she settled on a question. “Okay, raspberry ripple or caramel swirl?”
“What?” He blinked. “Uh, raspberry ripple, I guess.”
“Correct!” she beamed.
“Why are you asking me about ice cream?”
Was there some kind of ice cream social etiquette that he’d missed?
“Do you want to talk about your family and why you’ve hidden your real name from everyone at work?” Lila asked, tilting her head accusingly. He scowled and clenched his fists. “Did you always want to be a historian?”
That was all too entwined with his family, and Rhys hadn’t mentally prepared himself to explain everything just yet. It was just all so difficult, so stressful, sonotwhat he wanted to be talking about in the comfort of Lila Cartwright’s sofa.
“Um…” he started.
“Okay, an easier one, although I thought that one was easy enough,” she said under her breath. “Kickboxing. Tell me about kickboxing.”
Rhys looked up at her apologetically.
“I will tell you about my family before we go for dinner. I just wasn’t prepared for it to be today.”
