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Thou does protest too much.
“I get it, Tink.”
“Are you always so into yourself?” Shetutswith her tongue, and then turns her back on me again, grabbing two cans of soda from the small bar fridge hidden beneath the kitchen countertop. She hands me one and I nod, grateful to have something to hold.
“Confidence is the sexiest trait of all. Isn’t that what they say?”
“Who’s they?”
“I dunno. People.” I crack the top of the soda and take a huge mouthful, letting the sweet goodness settle in my stomach. “And I’ll have you know, all my tats have meaning to me. I wouldn’t just go get random shit inked permanently on my skin unless it actually meant something. Come on, ask me about any of them and I’ll tell you the story behind it.”
“I’m already bored,” she says.
God, I fucking love her bratty remarks as much as I loathe them. She’s really easy to get riled up and I like that about her. It makes me want to do things to her, and have her do things to me. Oh god, the things I’d really like her to do to me make my eyes water and goose bumps break out across my skin.
Or maybe that’s got nothing to do with my depraved fantasies, and more to do with how her apartment is an igloo.
“Man, it’s fucking cold in here!” I whine, rubbing the towel over my chest.
“You can wait outside if –”
“I’m just saying, it’s cold. That’s all.” I hold in my groan, but only just. “You should really work on your hostess skills, Tink. You’re kinda making me feel unwelcome.” I nod my head toward a framed photograph that’s sitting on a fake mantel. “That’s cool,” I say.
It makes no sense for a mantel to be there, considering there’s no fireplace beneath it, and therefore it serves absolutely no purpose at all. But I guess at least it’s somewhere to keep her photographs.
“Where is that?” I take two steps and I’m on the other side of the room.
Seriously, that’s how small this place is.
“It’s at my parents’ property in Ohio,” she says, coming to stand beside me. She takes a quick sip of her soda. “They have a hundred acres of land, and the sun sets on the cornfields like that every evening in the summertime. I call it the golden hour. There’s nothing else quite like it, nothing else I’ve seen anyway. Last time I was home, I snapped that picture from the front porch right before I left for the airport.”
“You took this photograph?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you grow up in Ohio?”
Brinley stills, and then looks up at me. “Why are you asking me questions about my past?”
“Why not?”
“Oh, I don’t know…” she says. “Maybe because you could use anything I say against me.”
“How do you propose I use the fact that you’re from Ohio against you?” She doesn’t have a response to my question. “Maybe if we actually got to know one another, then maybe you’d understand how I came to write‘Three Two One.’ And maybe then you’ll realize it has nothing to do with you or your shitty love song.”
“Shitty?”
I swallow hard with instant regret. “I didn’t mean shitty. Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s a great song. I have respect for songwriters and you’re an amazing singer –”
“How do you know what kind of singer I am?”
“I don’t, I mean…”Shit.
Better I keep my mouth shut about seeing her perform at Leon’s last night, otherwise I’ll be digging myself out of an even bigger hole. I take another mouthful of soda, taking my time to swallow it down.
