Page 37 of Bad at Love
“You think that’s a lot?”
“Compared to my big fat zero, yeah. You think that’slow?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s low per se…but I’m not into one-night stands and a lot of guys are. So if that were the case…”
“Stop,” she says, showing me her palm. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Why not? We’re just friends.”
“Well you definitely would not talk about your number on a date.”
“Maybe not the first date…”
“You mean to tell me you’ve had thirty-two girlfriends?” She looks off and starts counting on her fingers. “And you’re thirty, so, what, in the last ten years at least you’ve had three point two girlfriends a year?”
“See, that’s really not much. Anyway, I have had a couple of quick shags, back when I was in Berlin, drunken mistakes, that sort of shit. Let’s call them the point twos. But yeah, I guess that’s what it equals out to be.”
She shakes her head, looks away.
“Hey,” I tell her, leaning across the table to catch her eye. “What is this? You’re mad?”
“I’m not mad,” she says.
“You aren’t looking at me.”
She gives me the death glare. “Do I always have to be looking at you?”
“Yeah, why not? I’m handsome as fuck.”
She snorts. Again, adorable. “You’re also modest.”
“Exceedingly so. Look, I told you my number and I know yours and that’s that. This is a no judgement zone.”
“Who said I was judging?”
“Oh I can tell. Your face gets all squidgy.”
“Squidgy?” she repeats, scrunching her nose.
“See, like that.”
“Why are we talking about this again?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” Every time I try and get us back on the right track, we just fall into our friendship again.
But before this conversation—or another inappropriate one—can continue, the food comes, filet mignon for me, roast chicken for her, and we’re thankfully distracted. We eat, have another drink, then the opening comic comes out, followed by Norm McDonald.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen him live and even though he’s just as abrasive and controversial as before, I find myself spending most of the show watching Marina. Just the way her eyes light up, the sound of her laugh as it shoots across the room. She has a really distinctive laugh, infectious and full of joy, the kind of joy that seems…pure. And when you’re the one who causes those eyes to sparkle and laughter to spill out of her lips, there’s no feeling like it.
Not that Norm would care or notice. Everyone in the club is laughing their heads off, including myself. When the show is finally over and we’re walking down Sunset back to the car, my ribs are hurting from laughing so hard.
“I’ll have to remember that chickpea joke,” Marina says between giggles as we stroll beside each other. “I don’t know if I have the deadpan delivery, but I can practice.”
“Might I suggest saving that joke for the third date?”
She grins at me. “No promises.” Then she turns to the passing traffic and opens her arms at the cars. “I love you LA!” she yells at no one in particular. Someone honks.
I grab her arm and pull her along the sidewalk. “What was that for?”
