Page 25 of Bad at Love
I swallow, my throat feeling thick. “Uh-huh,” I murmur.
“It’s true,” she says. “But on these dates, I just…god, I just start freaking out. And that’s why I’m single.”
“Explain what you mean by freaking out…”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll see.”
I mull that over. I can’t believe we’re doing this. And now with Marina’s confession, it’s putting things in a wholenew light. I’ve always been protective of her but now I just want to keep her to myself. I don’t want to give her my opinion on what she’s doing wrong, have her fix that, and then sleep with the first guy she gets past the third date with.
“I just want you to know, in case you don’t,” I tell her, “that any guy that has a problem with you not kissing them or putting out isn’t worth it. Believe me. The right guy will understand. The right guy knows what he has in his hands.”
She doesn’t look convinced. “You just acted all shocked when I said I wasn’t physical with them.”
“Because, for a moment, I wrongly assumed you were like every other woman.”
“Seriously?”
I grin. “I know. I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Way to make me feel normal.”
“I’m joking, Bumble. We can joke with each other. That doesn’t change. None of that changes, okay?”
“You don’t think I’m…weird?”
I’m trying not to smile. God, she looks so fucking sweet right now. “You’re an odd duck, Marina. So am I. That’s why we work so well together. But for this? No. I don’t think you’re weird.” I reach out and tap my finger on the notepad. “Back to the rules.”
“You still want to do this?”
I give her a look.
“I’m still unsure about the rules,” she says.
“Look, I’m putting the ball in your court. Or my balls in your court, if you will.” She rolls her eyes. “You control the ride. I won’t touch you, I won’t do anything. If you want to touch me, kiss me…that’s up to you.”
That seems to make her feel better. In a way I wish it wouldn’t, but as long as she’s comfortable.
“Okay. Thank you.”
“So, when is our date?”
“You’re in charge of the first one. You decide.”
“It’s Sunday now, so how about Tuesday night? I’ll pick you up at seven.”
She gives me a shy smile and laughs. “I’m already nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous. It’s me. Except it won’t be me. My name will be Carl. Carl McNaughty.”
“It will not,” she says, gathering up all the crap on the table and putting it back in her bag.
“You have to pick a name too. Think on it.”
“It’ll be better than Carl McNaughty, I’ll tell you that much,” she says, getting to her feet and slinging her bag over her shoulder.
“You’re leaving already?”
She gives me an apologetic shrug. “I promised Barbara I’d help her with dinner tonight. Which means I’m making her dinner.”
