Page 30 of Bad at Love
He doesn’t knock.
“Laz?”
No answer.
“Carl?”
No answer.
Finally, I pull the door back open.
It’s empty.
Please don’t tell me he’s going to jump out at me because I can’t handle jumpy scares like that.
But then he comes sauntering around the corner from the direction of the pool.
He does this double eyebrow waggle combined with a head nod. “You’re Marina, aren’t you?”
Oh my god. Are we role-playing already?
“Uh. Yeah. That’s me. And you must be Carl.” I pause. “Wait a minute, why do you get to be Carl and I have to be myself? I was supposed to have my own name, wasn’t I?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Laz sayssmoothly, looking over my shoulder and into the studio. “Nice place. Can I come in?”
I give him an odd look. Isthishow he is on a first date? He’s awfully pushy.
“No,” I tell him. “Let’s just get going.” I quickly reach back in and grab my purse before locking the door behind me. “Where are we going anyway?”
“You said on your Tinder profile that you love to laugh and you have secret aspirations to be a stand-up comic, so I thought The Comedy Store would be a great start.”
My Tinder profile doesn’t say that. But I’m also relieved, because that means he hasn’t found my actual profile, lest that come under judgement too. I may be using a photo from five years ago when I was twenty pounds lighter.
“Sounds great,” I tell him. Actually, it does sound like a lot of fun. Laz and I usually do the same old things out here, and in the Valley, we don’t venture over the hills as much as we should. So even if this whole experiment doesn’t go anywhere, and I still think it won’t, this is pushing us out of our comfort zones a bit. I guess even friendships can use a little spice every now and then.
Speaking of spice, Laz even smells different. Like cinnamon and something woodsy. It reminds me of fall in Ramona, when the weather finally cools down enough for me and my mother to slip on the sweaters and go apple picking.
I shake that memory out of my head and concentrate on Laz.
“You smell delicious,” I tell him.
He glances at me over his shoulder as we round the pool and head down the side of Barbara’s house. “Thank you. I never did get a hint of what you smell like.”
Suddenly he stops walking and I collide into his back. He turns around and leans in for a moment.
“Are you smelling me?” I ask, meeting his eyes, just inches from mine.
“Yes,” he says. “Is that weird?”
“Kind of,” I tell him.And I thought I was going to be the weird one here.
He nods and keeps walking, opening the gate and stepping through. I glance up at the window of the house briefly to see Barbara peering at me through the blinds. She doesn’t bother to hide, she just shakes her bony finger at me and I know she’s warning me to be careful. I may have mentioned my date to her the other night while we were watching Rebecca, and she may have told me it was all a horrible idea.
“So, what do I smell like anyway?” I ask him.
“Honey,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Occupational hazard, I suppose.”
