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But I had to be in a certain mood, one that could ignore the display of death. I usually just told myself the lifeless boar staring down at me from his mahogany wood perch was actually enjoying the fact that I was relishing a sweet treat. Not the easiest accomplishment, but like I said, milk shakes and baked goods.
Plus, I was currently out of commission to skate…or bike…thanks to one embarrassing moment and a shooting pain right through the asshole. So I had to choose a coffeehouse within a reasonable walking distance. Four Barrels was only a few blocks from my place.
My roller skating melee outside of Gus’s had banged me up, and I was about ninety-nine percent certain it’d done it to the tune of a refractured tailbone. Nope, as much as I hated to admit it, this wasn’t my first go-round with a fractured ass thanks to an argument with a set of stairs a few years back.
Jesus, I mused. I think I might have a predisposition for injury.
If I wanted to keep on skating, I needed to find some padding for my ass. I had “butt padding” all typed into the search engine, but before I could push the “I’m feeling lucky” button, a new email notification flashed across my screen. Unable to deny my curiosity, I checked my inbox.
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
Roller Skates,
How are you feeling today?
I read your column.
Your perspective on the best oral sex techniques was…interesting.
Sincerely,
Reed
Jesus. I’d come to Four Barrels in hopes that I could find some peace and quiet where no one could bother me, and yet the one person who bothered me the most still found a way to squash those hopes.
I groaned again, and the chick in the blazer flashed a glare in my direction. I offered an apologetic smile while mentally thinking, Put some fucking earbuds in if you don’t want to hear any noise around you. You’re in a public place with people, lady. Noise is going to occur.
I winced as I adjusted in my seat in preparation to fire back a response.
Seriously, never fracture your tailbone.
It hurts like a motherfucker.
I had to keep this email short and sweet…well, short and sour. I was not going to be pulled into his mousetrap of crazy conversation. Because, that was the thing about crazy, it came in the form of a circle without any fucking exits.
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
I’m fine.
Stop calling me Roller Skates.
Perfect. I hit send and leaned back in my seat with a proud smile. But that smile only lasted for a few minutes.
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
Just fine? I have a feeling you’re probably in rough shape after that fall. I hope you managed to see a doctor and get checked out.
Oh, and the nickname isn’t going anywhere, Roller Skates. I like it too much to stop using it.
P.S. If you’re really opposed, I could shorten it to Skeets. The double ee is the sound you made when you were wiping out.
God, he was infuriating.
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
Like I said before, I’M FINE.
The nickname is ridiculous and offensive, and the substitution is even worse—which only proves that you are, in fact, an asshole.
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
Putting the word “fine” in shouty capitals is a bit ironic, don’t you think?
Just tell me you’re not badly injured. You might think I’m an asshole, but I do actually want to know that you’re okay.
And offensive? Please enlighten me on how the nickname Roller Skates is offensive. I am extremely curious to hear your thoughts on this.
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
In the spirit of being nice, I actually am fine. Just a little banged up, but thanks for asking.
And Roller Skates is offensive because you are cruelly reminding me of my little public display of clumsy.
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
That’s not why I chose the nickname. I only mentioned the substitution because you so vehemently opposed this one.
Goddammit. He did that on purpose. He wanted me to ask him why he chose the nickname. That’s why he said that. It’s baiting material.
Just don’t respond.
Don’t. Respond.
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
Why’d you choose it?
I was pathetic.
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
Because I like your roller skates. You’re fucking adorable in them.
How in the hell was I supposed to respond to that?
And, why did I like those last five words so much?
I really was pathetic.
But my response didn’t matter, because a minute later, he sent another email.
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
Before I write my column for the week, would you like to hear my thoughts on yours?
Oh, yeah, sure thing, buddy. That sounds absolutely lovely.
Like I wanted to hear his ridiculous point of view on why my column this week pissed him off and all of the reasons why he completely disagreed with it. It sounded about as enticing as a reenactment of my crash and burn outside the grocery store with him and Simone as witnesses.
Did he think I was some sort of masochist?
Thanks, but no thanks.
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
As amazing as that sounds, I’m going to have to pass. I have plans for the evening and need to start getting ready.
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
Big date? More research for your column with unsuspecting men?
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
More like dinner, drinks, and dancing with a few girlfriends.
Not that it’s any of your business.
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
Well, have fun, Roller Skates.
Try to stay on your feet.
Ugh. Roller Skates. He didn’t give up. I hated how much I admired his persistence.
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
Thanks. I hope you have a wonderful (read as horrible) night.
:)
Four hours later, I had successfully made some notes for next week’s column, taken a shower—which, when your life revolves around writing from home, is a big deal—and fixed my hair and makeup. I had forgone my normal uniform of tanks and jean shorts and settled for something a little more appropriate for a night on the town.
Mostly, I had on my favorite pair of sparkly Louboutins, which meant that the rest of my outfit didn’t fucking matter because yeah, Louboutins.
I only had one pair, and even though I had maxed out a credit card to purchase them, when I looked down at these pretty babies on my feet, I couldn’t have cared less about finances and credit scores. They were sparkly and shiny and worth the financial burden.
“I fucking love those shoes, Lola,” Abby called over the club music, staring down at my feet. “Seriously, how much did you pay for those?”
“Too much,” I responded and took a sip from my glass of wine.
Abby grinned.
“Let’s take a shot and then head up to the third floor and dance our asses off,” Jen exclaimed, and before I could offer a rebuttal to that plan, she was headed in the direction of the bar.
Abby cheered her approval, and I bit back my groan. I wasn’t opposed to dancing, but tonight, my ass was real fucking against it. That was the thing about injuring your tailbone, it took a good week before things like dancing and running and sitting felt normal again.
Five minutes later, Jen slid a shot in front of me and held hers up in the air. “What are we cheers-ing to tonight?”
“What about that guy Lola hates?” Abby tossed out with a smirk.
My eyes narrowed in her direction. “Why in the hell would we cheers to him?”
Abby just shrugged in response.
“How about…to us?” Jen asked and I nodded.
“That’s a better plan.”
“Okay…cheers to us…” Jen started, holding up her shot glass. “Two strong, independent women, and…eccentric Lola who never seems to stop surprising us.”
My shot glass paused on the way to my mouth. “Wait…what?”
“Cheers!”
Jen and Abby downed their shots, and I just sat there holding mine in my hand.
“Eccentric Lola who never seems to stop surprising us?”
Jen’s face turned sour for a brief moment, and then she finally responded once the shot’s aftertaste had left her mouth. “It was a compliment.”
I pointed my shot glass toward her. “It didn’t sound like a compliment. You called you and Abby strong, independent women. I’m strong. I’m independent.”
“No offense, sweetie, but you’re basically a teenager inside a beautiful grown woman’s body,” Jen explained, and I didn’t quite like that explanation. “You’re quirky. And peculiar. And those aren’t bad things. Those are good things. You never fucking take life for granted. You live in the moment, and I admire that about you.”
“I do, too,” Abby chimed in. “And…you give some kick-ass dating and relationship advice. Seriously, I want to be you when I grow up.”
“Well, according to Jen, you don’t even have to grow up to achieve that. I’m still an adolescent,” I muttered petulantly.
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
I flipped her off.
Jen laughed. “Ah, don’t be mad, Lola.”
“I am mad. You called me a teenager.”
“Last week, I saw you riding around on roller skates, sweetie. I mean…”
She had a point.
“Okay, so maybe I’m a little bit quirky.”
“And eccentric,” Jen added with a knowing smirk and I glared. “But you’re also really fucking fun, and you’re my favorite friend.”
