Page 36 of Love and Loathing

Her eyes went wide. “How’d you know?”

“I paid attention.”

“Uh …” Was she supposed to respond to that?

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Why are you here, Alex?”

“I’m here because … you’re here.”

She furrowed her brow. “Okay, but why—”

“I love you,” he blurted.

She pushed back in her chair.

“Have done, I’m pretty sure, since the night I met you.”

“Wait, what?” He couldn’t possibly be talking about her. They barely got along. Thoughtlessly, she glanced over her shoulder, like maybe he was talking to someone standing behind her.

He scooted his chair closer. “You know what people see when they look at me? A celebrity. And they kiss up and fawn over and trip all over themselves … for me, or at least who they think I am. I hate it. But you, you just saw an irritated guy telling you to take your picture, offering you kisses to hurry it on up, and go. And you dealt with me how you would’ve anyone. You threw water in my face.” He chuckled. “Ice cubes went down the back of my shirt, by the way. Not fun.”

She stood, making her chair teeter, and she grabbed the arm to stabilize it. Her mind still hadn’t gotten past theI love you.

He stood and came around to face her, taking her hands in his. He just kept talking. She wished he’d stop. Her brain was stuttering. “I’ve never met anyone like you, and I know that probably sounds like a line to you, but I mean that with all sincerity. Because that’s what you always are with me. Sincere. And I love you for that.”

She gulped. There was that word again. She looked for an escape. What. Was. Happening?

“And I love you because you won’t put up with my crap, or anyone’s. I love how passionate you are about your work and your town. Your loyalty to your family. And I love you for your wit.” He made eye contact. “And because of the way you look at me with those gorgeous green eyes.”

“Holy Moses in a basket!” She stepped back, hit the chair, and started to go down. He reached out for her, and she grabbed his shoulders, yanking him down with her—in one last flailing attempt to save them, she grabbed the table, only succeeding to bring the tablecloth down with them. They went backwards over the chair, knocking it down under their tangled legs. The tablecloth fluttered off the table, covering them.

He landed hard on her chest. He pushed up, trapping her between his forearms and tenting the tablecloth over his head. He looked her up and down. “Are you all right?” He touched the side of her face.

She shoved at his chest. “Get. Off. Of. Me!”

He rolled to the side, wrapping them more in the tablecloth. She pushed and shoved at the fabric until she finally got out from under it. He escaped the cloth at almost the same time. She went to stand, but her foot was caught in the open back of the chair, sending her down on him for a second time.

He caught her and chuckled. “How do we always get in these weird situations?”

She pushed away from him, managed to get her foot free, then stood, kicking the tablecloth off her feet as she stepped out of the disaster. He laughed. By the time she was truly free, he was in hysterics.

“I’m glad you think this is funny,” she said. “Meanwhile, I’m going to be a mass of bruises by Monday.”

He stood with ease, getting caught on absolutely nothing. So unfair! He reached for her, but she darted out of his grasp toward the living room, catching her foot on the tablecloth one last time and tripping forward. She shot a glare at it.

“You love me?” She backed away from him.

His smile fell a little. “Yes.”

“But you’re cranky and often rude. And dismissive of people who just want your autograph.”

He shrugged. “I’m moody. I know. I’m … working on it.”

“You love me and thought that now—after having sold my town out—would be a good time to tell me that?”

He shrugged his head from side to side. “I can see your point. My timing could’ve been better, but in my defense, I’ve been trying to talk to you for two weeks. Every time I’ve come by, you haven’t been here.”

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