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“So, it’s safe to assume you’re not a fan of my video.”
“Uh. Yeah.” A baffled laugh escaped my lips. “I’d say that’s a pretty fucking safe assumption.”
“It appears that it irritated you.”
Appears that it irritated me? I’d love to know the person who could watch a video like that, about their column, and not be irritated.
I ignored his fondness for stating the obvious and asked the one thing I wanted to know. “Why’d you post it?”
He shrugged. “I had an opinion, and I had the urge to speak my opinion.”
“Do you make a point to give in to all of your urges, no matter how fucking ludicrous they are?”
His lips quirked up, and soft lines appeared at the corners of his cheeks. “Are we still talking about the video? Or have we veered off toward a different kind of topic?”
“First of all, if you’re insinuating that I was just asking you about sexual urges, you can stop right there,” I scoffed and held up a determined hand. “I do not currently, nor will I ever, want to know about your sexual urges.”
“I never said anything about sex,” he answered with ease, leaning back in his chair and running his fingers against the scruff covering his jaw. “But it’s interesting that you brought it up. Do you do that often with people you’ve just met?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Can anyone have a conversation with you and actually enjoy it? I mean, seriously? I’m honestly curious here.”
“Most people would describe me as pleasant, intelligent, easy to talk to.” He ticked off his supposed attributes with that irritatingly comfortable smile of his. “And my mother often tells me that I’m a very good boy and she wishes I’d call her more often.”
“Your mom doesn’t count,” I refuted. “Everyone’s mom thinks they’re the best. That’s what moms do.”
“She also thinks I’m too old for my brand of bullshit, as she calls it.”
“Your mother is brilliant.”
He laughed, but I got back to the topic at hand. “And I’d love to meet these other people you speak of.” Lightning from the Almighty practically struck me down with a case for the opposite. “Or, wait…maybe I wouldn’t. I should stay far, far away from anyone who finds you enjoyable.”
He quirked an amused brow in my direction. “And why’s that?”
I huffed at yet another question as an answer, but for some irritating reason, I found myself perpetuating his game by responding.
“Because they’re either one bad day away from having a psychotic breakdown, or they are already locked away in a padded room and are suffering from a psychotic breakdown.”
“Do you have a dislike for people with mental illnesses?”
“What the hell?” I snapped. How fucking dare he? “Do you always twist people’s words around like that?”
“I wasn’t twisting anything,” he said, and his tone lacked the normal, defensive tone you’d expect from a question like mine. But obviously, a case was being constructed in support of one thing: Reed Luca and the word normal weren’t peanut butter and jelly. The idea of customary and this guy went together like anchovies on a birthday cake.
“I was only asking a question based off of what you said,” he answered without hesitation or doubt. “And if my ears heard you correctly, you mentioned staying far away from someone suffering a psychotic breakdown.”
“First of all, buddy,” I started and held up a pointed finger, “anyone who is not trained in the medical field to provide care to someone suffering a psychotic episode would stay away from someone who was, in fact, suffering a psychotic episode. That is not because they have a dislike for people diagnosed with mental illnesses, but because they are literally following the normal, human train of thought that, maybe, it isn’t the best time to hang out with someone, when said someone is in a psychopathic state of mind.”
He nodded, not the least bit offended by my little tirade. “That’s understandable.”
“What?” The question flew out of my mouth without thought.
“I said that’s understandable. I can understand where you’re coming from.”
“I fucking heard you the first time,” I retorted. “My What was because you don’t make any sense. Having a conversation with you is like being on a goddamn merry-go-round. We’re up, we’re down, and while it seems like you’re having the time of your life, I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
“I don’t—”
I held up my hand. “Just stop right there. I can’t handle any more of whatever you’re about to say.”
Seriously. I had reached a breaking point with this guy. He was infuriating. He was sexy as hell, and I could actually melt into the insanely blue hues of his eyes, but he was off his fucking rocker.
He ignored me. “Lola, I’m not an average kind of guy. I look at things differently than most.”
“That’s an understatement,” I muttered.
“And, if I have an opinion, I speak it. If I have a question, I ask it. That’s just how I am. I also don’t waste my time worrying about what anyone else thinks of me.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, I heard that loud and clear when I watched your little video.”
“You know…” he said and glanced down at my bike helmet. “Besides your reaction to the video, I don’t think we’re all that different. There are definitely some aspects of your personality that follow my mind-set.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean, my reaction to the video?”
“Well, your frustrated and angry reaction stems from the fact that you’re worried about what people think of you and your column at this point.”
Was he psychoanalyzing me now?
This guy.
No, seriously…who the fuck was this guy?
I smacked my hands against the table in frustration, and our water glasses shook. “Because you put me on blast and did your damnedest to ruin the reputation I have built of giving solid dating and relationship advice.”
“Do you think you give solid dating and relationship advice?”
“I wouldn’t write a column if I thought I gave horrible advice!”
“Are you sure about that?” he continued, his insanely calm, laid-back voice only amplifying my irritation.
“What?”
“Don’t you think, if you were one hundred percent certain that your advice was the best dating and relationship advice out there, you wouldn’t care about what some guy said on a YouTube video?”
“Wow,” I muttered, and my gaze moved away from the maddening man across from me and out toward the window. “I honestly don’t even know how to respond to you right now.”
“Look, Lola. I’m not trying to be a dick,” he said, and I really wanted to call bullshit on that. “I think you’re an intelligent woman. My intentions aren’t malicious. The video. My questions. None of it stems from a mean place. I’m just not that kind of guy.”
My gaze met his again, and I wondered if actual smoke was steaming out of my retinas. “Are you sure about that?”
“I’m one hundred percent sure about that.”
“Then, what in the hell are you trying to do here?” I asked in exasperation.
“Make you think. Give you a different perspective.”
“Listen, buddy—” I pointed a finger in his direction “—I’m not in the market for a life coach. I just want you to stop making YouTube videos where you read me the riot act on my column. If your intentions aren’t malicious, is it so freaking hard for you to at least give me that?”
He smiled. “You’re asking me to never make another YouTube video about your column.”
“Duh.”
“What if I have nice things to say?”
“No videos.” I shook my head. “Just…no more videos.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “No more YouTube videos.”
“Thank you,” I responded, and it was an actual, genuine thank you. Which made zero sense. I shouldn’t be thanking him for any-fucking-thing.
Our eyes met and he grinned, and I immediately felt at ease.
God, I hated that.
Why, oh, why, would fate make this guy the recipe for my ultimate comfort food?
I gave fate the finger while he sat back, his good mood never fading.
I also hated how much I liked that grin. My pockets were bottomless pits of hate around this guy.
“Your meals should be ready in about five minutes,” the waitress updated as she set the mac n’ cheese and fried pickles on the table. “Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked, and I knew I had to move this along. I’d eat the apps, but no way in hell was I sitting through an entire dinner with Reed.
“Actually,” I blurted out. “Do you mind putting my meals in a to-go box? I have somewhere I have to be and won’t have time to eat.”
Obviously, I wasn’t going to waste all of the delicious Southern cuisine. I might’ve had the sudden, irrational urge to sprint away from the table, but I wasn’t a crazy person.
“Sure thing. I’ll box it up and have it ready for you at the bar.” She nodded and left the table.
