Page 20 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
“Big family, no money,” he said. “We ate anything we could.”
Marlowe paused with her taco halfway to her mouth.
“Didn’t you say you were fourteen when you started that Disney show?”
“Yeah, and I’ll admit I’ve grown used to having nice things, but when I was a kid, we barely got by. My mom was a factory foreman. My dad worked the fields. The paychecks didn’t go far with eight kids.” He peeked into her second taco and extracted the rest of her spinach as though sharing food with her was most natural thing in the world. It was weird but sort of fine. “And just so we’re clear, I only have one mansion.”
“Only one? However do you manage?” She rolled her eyes but he took her teasing in stride, with a self-effacing chuckle that was admittedly quite charming.
Finding her taco painfully flavorless, Marlowe tore open a plastic packet of hot sauce. The contents burst forth, splattering both her plate and his. She braced herself for a tirade, or at least asardonic demand for a towel, but to her surprise, he didn’t even flinch. He just worked the closest drops into his tacos while she mopped up the rest. It was so bizarrely familiar, easy, like they were two old friends with established routines.
“Was I at least right about the butler with the British accent?” she asked.
“Now you’re confusing me with Batman.”
“If you were Batman, you definitely would’ve had more pressing demands on your time today.” As she wadded up sauce-stained napkins that looked like they came from a triage unit, she pictured Angus in a Batman mask. The image formed easily. With his ridiculously square jaw, strong features, and a chin dimple that’d be more pronounced if he shaved, he’d look a lot like the comic-book character. Maybe one day he’d play the role. His girlfriend might even play his love interest, if every other superhero hadn’t already rescued her by then.
Marlowe got up to fetch more napkins, skeptical she’d make it through lunch without another mishap. She proved this prediction accurate when she licked her sticky fingers and hit a lurking glob of hot sauce. Tongue on fire, she grabbed her drink but the straw was busted, forcing her to wrench off the plastic lid and take a gulp directly from the cup. The ice cubes chose that moment to free themselves from one another and fall against her cheeks, bringing with them a wave of cold citrus soda pop. Coughing and sputtering, she made swift use of her second stack of napkins and went to fetch a third. Angus watched the entire scene play out with a dry smile tugging at his lips.
“I’m not usually this clumsy,” she said as she finally settled in to eat.
His smile lingered. “Do I make you nervous?”
“I think you make me unlucky. It’s a gift. Hone it.” She managed a bite, pleased the tortilla held and she didn’t further embarrass herself. When she looked up, Angus was watching her again in that way he had, too long and too direct. “What?”
“I don’t believe in luck.”
She searched his face for signs he wasn’t implying what she thought he was implying, but there he sat, with his chin up and his eyes narrowed, as if he justknew.
“Trust me,” she said. “I’m not hoping you’ll sign my boob.”
“You know I never offer, right? It’s something women request.”
“Then it’s lucky you know how to write on a curved surface.” She slapped a palm against her forehead. “Wait. Sorry. Forgot. You don’t believe in luck.”
He sat back and folded his arms, all hint of his smile gone now.
“What’s your problem with me?” he asked.
“Nothing. I just…” She flapped a hand at him. “It’s the whole ‘you know you want me’ vibe. I get it. You’re used to that kind of attention. You’ve come to expect it.”
“You don’t know what I expect.”
“Really? Try me.” She set down her food and mirrored his position, crossed arms, haughty chin tilt, and all.
He leaned forward, arms still folded, eyes locked on hers.
“How about a simple thank-you after I buy a girl lunch or send her flowers? How about being treated as a person, not as an idea? How about someone getting to know me without assuming she already knows every detail about my life?That’swhat I expect.” He raised a brow, otherwise unmoving. She opened her mouth to fire back a reply but she had no defense. He was right about all of it. Sure, they’d interacted a few times, but she didn’t know him, and she shouldn’t assume she did. He seemed to sense her thinkingas his expression softened and his shoulders relaxed. “Also, while we’re at it, and in case there’s any confusion about the issue, I’m not hoping you’ll sign my boob, either.”
For a long moment she simply stared at him. Then she burst into a laugh.
“Thank god,” she said through her sputters. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful. I loved them.” She looked down at the wreckage on her plate. “And thank you for the absolute worst taco I’ve tried since moving to L.A.”
He met her laughter with a smile, one that looked sincere and not manufactured for a perfect photo op. Despite her intense desire to avoid being one more girl swooning over his full lips and perfect teeth, it really was one hell of a smile.
“Truce?” he asked.
“Truce,” she agreed.
