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I glanced down at my bare legs and Converse-clad feet and huffed out a breath of frustration.
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
I do work from home. I just figured the Journal would want to babysit your ridiculous ass for the first few months. You’re a bit of a loose cannon.
And what are you trying to say, Reed? You got a problem with girls who wear Converse and Doc Martens?
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
I was merely saying that I thought my new friend Lola was the type of woman who didn’t let social expectations pressure her into wearing shoes that hurt her delicate little feet.
My new friend Lola?
Not only was Reed Luca an asshole, he was seriously deranged. We were about as far away from the term friends as two people could get. I legitimately hated him.
“Friends? Pfffffft. We are not friends,” I reiterated to myself.
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
First of all, stilettos don’t hurt my feet.
Secondly, you might think you know everything, but I can tell you with absolute certainty you don’t know anything about me.
Thirdly, stop talking about my feet.
And finally, WE AREN’T FRIENDS.
Boom. Suck on that, asshole.
I hit send and smiled proudly to myself.
He could take his idea of friendship and shove it straight up his ass. I sure as hell didn’t want a friend who created viral YouTube videos to ruin my career, and now, agreed to write a column for a rival newspaper that’s sole purpose was to contradict everything I told my readers.
Reed Fucking Luca wasn’t my friend.
He was my enemy.
A really, really hot enemy, I thought to myself and then sighed in frustration.
I refused to think that way. I refused to think about his stupid blue eyes or sexy smirk or the way his natural confidence was like a homing device for my vagina.
He was competition.
And he was going the fuck down.
My cheeks started to ache as I smiled for the fiftieth time in a twenty-minute period.
I hadn’t enjoyed myself this much in a long time, as evidenced by the out of practice muscles of my face, and I didn’t think the cause had ever been a woman.
Sure, I’d enjoyed quick bouts of lust and superficial interest, but I’d never made it beyond the surface layer of a woman’s personality without becoming disenchanted.
For some reason, this was different. Lola was different.
And in some backward way, the fact that she was so upset about my having a column validated my qualification in my mind.
If she’s that passionate over my opinion, there has to be some substance to it, right?
When Rhonda had first made the offer, I’d honestly been stupefied. An outlet responsible for reporting something as substantial as the news wanted me to be an employee? Surely, someone had gotten their wires crossed.
I didn’t know much of anything about relationships—I’d honestly never been in a serious one. All I had in my arsenal was power of perception and a whole lot of tributary connections to people with relationships, and I’d told Rhonda as much.
Interestingly enough, she’d been even more thrilled.
Perhaps she thought she’d be able to mold me into what she wanted more easily since I had no formal background in the subject or the trade of writing, but I wasn’t worried about that.
Because not only did she not know who she was dealing with, she also didn’t realize the reason I was so amenable, shapeable even today, was because she’d played into giving me exactly what I wanted.
Lola Sexton.
I smiled as I clicked the button at the bottom of her email to reply once again.
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
Subject: Friends
Sorry, LoLo, but I refute your assertion that we aren’t friends. We’re the best of, and it’s only going to get better. After all, I need to know you better than anyone, right? How else am I going to write all of my columns?
Sitting back, I cracked my knuckles before crossing my hands together behind my head. If she was this fun all the time, I was going to have to figure out a way to see her more often.
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
Subject: Enemies
We wouldn’t be friends if we were the last two people left in San Francisco. I’d find one side of a hill and you’d find a way to argue that the other side was better, and that wouldn’t get either one of us to the top.
Just face the facts: Not everyone likes you.
I laughed at her words that were meant to wound and pounded my fingers across the keys.
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
Subject: Compromise
What’s that thing people always say? About compromise being good? Fuck if I can remember because I think it’s garbage.
We’re friends—whether you like it or not.
A response popped up before I could even relax.
Jesus. How many words does she type per minute?
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
Subject: Frenemies
They say it nurtures a relationship.
Since I’m completely against nurturing any relationship with you, you don’t have to worry. We won’t be friends; we won’t be frenemies…we’re ENEMIES.
We’d see about that. I pulled up one final pane to reply and worked on something I knew would really set her on kill. If I was going to write the best first column I could, I was going to need a good jumping-off point. Wasn’t I?
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
Subject: Lovers
Nurtures a relationship, huh? Maybe compromise isn’t so bad, after all. And do you know why I think that, LoLo?
Because I think you and I have a long way to go, and it doesn’t end in friends. I think you and I are headed to a place way at the top of that hill you think we can’t climb, and I think we’re going to get there at the same time.
And as far as climax goes, isn’t it always better to finish together?
Talk to you soon.
Love,
Reed
My chest rose and fell a little faster as I waited for her reply. Time ticked so slowly that I smoked two cigarettes, three, and then lost count. When nothing appeared after a pack’s worth of pining, real disappointment set in.
God, what is that awful ache in my chest?
Maybe Miss Sexton wasn’t going to play my games and be a part of my story. Maybe she had a tipping point, and I’d just pushed her to it. Maybe she really was turned off by a liar and troublemaker.
Maybe she really was my enemy.
I scratched at my throat as I worked through coming to terms with having to forfeit this one. I played by my own rules, but you can’t play with someone if they won’t enter the game.
Shoving up and out of my chair, I climbed to my feet and swung my jacket off its resting place on the back. I had to get out and do something that gave me the fulfillment I wouldn’t get out of this. I had to see and experience, and there was one best place for that—Dolores Park.
Just as I turned to go, my screen lit up as a new email settled at the very top.
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
Subject: What you think
You know what, Reed? You think what you want. Because it’s already my job to think differently than you do. You want me to hate you? Keep spewing your poisonous fallacies. Today and every day forward are opposite day for you and me.
You want me? That means I don’t want you.
Good day, sir.
Sincerely,
Lola Sexton (NOT LOLO)
I shut the screen to my laptop and picked up my jacket again as I headed for the door, but this time, I did it with a smile on my face.
Lola Sexton was fun, and even better news, she thought I was too—she just didn’t realize it yet.
She was antagonistic and opinionated and completely off her rocker.
And now, I had her right where I wanted her.
Reed Luca—the fucker—had officially gotten inside of my head.
He’d mindfucked me, and it wasn’t good ole missionary. This was dirty, ass play, doggy-style kind of mindfucking.
I had a column—that I hadn’t even started—to finish in the next twenty-four hours, and my brain seemed to be spending most of its power on flipping off that bastard whose name I’d rather not speak, much less think.
But my column was first priority—my only priority—and that was exactly what I was going to do.
I wasn’t going to think about…him. Not his column, or his trashy, instigator-style emails, or the way his hair laid so easily back from his face.
Nope. Nuh-uh. Screw that guy, and his little dog too.
The midafternoon sun filtered through the sheer, white curtains of the large loft windows in my apartment, highlighting the golden hue of Louie’s little fins, and I instantly softened slightly.
Shit. I hope he doesn’t really have a dog.
I rested my elbows on the counter and stared through the glass of Louie’s aquarium.
With my head in my hands, I sighed, and his eyes met mine, seemingly understanding that I needed to vent. “I need to focus, Louie. I need to focus on dating…and relationships…and basically, anything and everything related to vaginas and penises in a state of cohabitation,” I told him.
He swished his tail around a few times and proceeded to give me his typical yet outwardly sarcastic fish bubble response, Blup. Blup. Blup.
I rolled my eyes. “Well, besides one particular penis and the owner of said penis. I’m not going to think about him. No fucking way. That dude and his package are getting pushed far, far away, preferably to a place that is very similar to the fiery pits of hell.”
Blup. Blup, Louie retorted and then swam away to his favorite neon castle.
