Page 40 of Suddenly Dating
“And I know you’re just really grateful because my apple pie kicks ass.”
He smiled. “It does.”
“Okay,” she said, and tossed the dishtowel across the kitchen to land near the sink. “I’m going to bed now.”
Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, unsure what to say.
Lola didn’t seem to need him to say anything. She started out of the kitchen but paused before she reached the hallway and glanced back. “Just out of curiosity, what were you thinking?”
“Just now?” he asked, confused.
“No—you said you knew the perfect end to this evening, and I asked if you were thinking what I was thinking, and you said yes. What wereyouthinking?”
He felt like an idiot now, a man with no game. “Ah... I was thinking we could watch the Met’s game.”
Lola’s eyes narrowed. “Huh,” she said, nodding a little as she looked him over. Probably assessing his sexual orientation.
“We still could,” he said clumsily, pointing to the television.
“You go ahead.” Her voice was full of that false politeness that women used when they were not happy. She disappeared into the hallway, and Harry shook his head, both confused and pissed at himself.
He turned on the Mets and fell into a slight funk, the result of having drunk too much wine and having played a moment so wrong. The game went extra innings, most of which Harry did not see, as he had fallen asleep on the couch. He wasn’t sure what time it was when he finally wandered off to bed, but he was very much aware that when he closed his eyes, his head was spinning with images of Lola.
She was dancing with a slice of apple pie.
Twelve
Usually, on the morning following an encounter with a member of the male species, Lola would call Casey and vent about her lack of finesse and understanding of men. But Lola wasn’t going to do that this morning because she didn’t need anyone agreeing that she was such an idiot.
Granted, she’d been a bit lit last night, but that didn’t excuse mishandling that moment in the kitchen as badly as she had. She’d made that bold move because she’d been taught by umpteen romantic movies that a highly charged moment ended with an electrifying kiss. Apparently, it was only in the movies, because while she was thinking of kissing him, he was thinking of baseball.
Baseball.
It had been a huge hand-to-forehead moment for Lola, and she either needed to up her game or forget it. She was pissed about it. Furious with herself, of course, for reading him all wrong, but also furious with Harry for being so damn handsome and charming and engaging that she could even think of kissing him. Oh yeah, he definitely bore a big chunk of responsibility for her blunder.
She’d been so annoyed and mortified with herself that she hadn’t slept very well. She was up at six o’clock, wiping down the kitchen, polishing silverware, and rubbing water spots off the glasses that had come out of the dishwasher. Lola didn’t like to clean, but when she did, she was awesome.
By eight-thirty, she’d showered and dressed, and slipped out of the house. Handsome Harry was still in bed. She wasn’t surprised—she’d heard the TV blaring until sometime after one.
In town, Lola parked and locked her bike just outside the Green Bean and entered the coffee shop.
Mallory was there, an empty plate and enormous coffee cup before her, her hair a giant, untamed ball of frizz this morning.
Lola took off her sunglasses and fell into a chair across from her.
“You look like you got whacked by a whack-a-mole mallet,” Mallory said.
“I did. What happened to your hair?”
“Huh?” Mallory put her hand to her head then said, “Oh yeah. I tried to give myself a perm, but I forgot what I was doing and left it on too long. I’m going to see Christa at the salon a little later. You have to meet her! She’s great, and she can fixanything. So why do you look like that?” Mallory asked, nodding at her.
Lola looked down at her shorts and T-shirt and red Keds. “Like what?”
“Not your clothes, silly. Your face.”
“My face?” Lola asked, pressing her fingertips to her cheeks.
“You know what I mean. It looks like you were up way too late.”
