Page 27 of The Other Side of Paradise
“It’s weird. That’s just… I dunno. Maybe straight people are broken. I don’t know why we’re like this. Anyway, I could use the practice, too, so are you going to take advantage of it or not?”
“There’s nothing totake advantageof. If I tried to flirt, I’d just embarrass us both.” She gestured to me. “I made a commentabout how you can see something ten feet away so your glasses must work.”
I felt myself light up into the most radiant smile I had since the fight with Dad earlier. “Oh, so that was you flirting with me?”
“Ugh—” She threw her hands up, turning away, face hot. “Yes, yes that’s what that was. I’ve been pining unrepentantly for you since the moment I laid eyes on you, desperately trying to get your attention. That’s what it is.”
I laughed. “Oh, the romantic flirt angle. I’m into it. Well, it landed you on a coffee date, so what are you going to do with it?”
“From the looks of things, embarrass myself.”
“C’mon, hit me with your best pickup line.”
She let out a long sigh before she settled in against the table with an exaggerated swagger, giving me a little eyebrow waggle. “Hey—look me in the eye.”
“Okay. Good start.” I did, and she smiled.
“Okay, great, you found them. I guess the glasses are working.”
I snorted, and I broke out laughing, sinking back against my seat, picking up my glass from before she got here and knocking back the last little bits of drink in the bottom. “All right, I’m sold,” I said. “Your place or mine?”
“Oh, duh. Both. We alternate.”
I shook my head, still laughing, and I said, my voice softer now, “Thanks.”
“For what, the worst pickup line experience in your life?”
“Trust me, even if you’d intended that as an actual pickup, I’ve definitely experienced worse. Men come up with the worst things sometimes.”
She scratched her head. “Okay, touché…”
“No, just… all of this. This is nice. Getting to do something other than yell at my family.” I smiled sweetly at her. “Now drink your damn drink already so I show you how to dress decently.”
“Uh-huh… and that’s your attempt at flirting?” she said, a smile dancing on her lips as she picked up the glass. She didn’t directly address the first part, and I was glad for it.
“Sure is,” I said. “Is it working?”
“Oh, yeah. You have no idea.” She shook her head, rolling her eyes with that smile and that blush still spilled out over her features, highlighting her dimples that I hadn’t really noticed before, but honestly, they were too cute. I was a sucker for some cute dimples.
Chapter 10
Allison
I had no fucking clue why I bought Stella flowers, but thank god she bought my stupid lie aboutoh, it’s a company thing.I only realized that I was out of my damn mind when I was at the checkout till at the little florist and gift shop at the edge of the resort, the transaction already halfway complete, and I couldn’t exactly back out then.
So I showed up and she pinned a flower in my hair and told me to flirt with her. And put something in my mouth and told me exactly what to do with it. Jesus Christ.
I’d just seen how much she’d been stressed out—flying high on adrenaline during the encounter in the lobby earlier, fighting with her grandparents, and then from the sounds of things in her texts, she’d totally crashed out. So my useless lesbian brain was likeoh, she probably wants flowers.
Anyway, she seemed to enjoy the flowers. She also seemed to enjoy taking what little grasp I had on my sanity and stomping it under her cute ankle boots and grinding it into dust. I had no clue what to make of the wholepractice flirting with mething other than that it was great, so long as it didn’t actually give me a heart attack, which it would.
But the important part was that she seemed to be feeling better. So even though I was going to combust and explode like a bulging lithium battery, at least I would have helped Stella Valerie Bell have a better day before I died, and what could be a more noble cause for my life?
Jesus, I was so far gone.
After we’d finished our drinks—well, after I’d finished my drink, trying not to blush every single time I used the straw—she took me out to for a window-shopping tour along the high street, pointing me to the boutiques and brand outlets, trying to scope out what I liked, before she led me into a place with sleek light-brown hardwood and clothes racks that probably cost more than the house I was staying in, and I was charmed by the designs—clean and sleek while still a little playful, feminine, stylish—until I saw the price tag on the shirt she held up to me, and I thought I’d throw up.
“Uh—” I managed with a nervous laugh. “This is really cute, yeah, I like this style. Um… do you know any, uh—cheaper places we can find a similar style? I’m kind of a, uh, a broke college student.”
