Page 75 of Bad at Love
“What are you doing, Laz?”
“What?” I glance at Brent, hoping to glean some information off him as to what I’m doing but he’s still staring at her with quiet intensity.
“Don’t play dumb,” she says and points her copy of the book at me until the corner of the spine is jabbing me in the chest. “You know what you’re doing.”
“I’m enjoying my book launch?”
“You’re playing with her feelings.”
“What?” I exclaim, a little too loud. Some people look over. Luckily not Jane and Marina who are at the bar and chatting to Abigail.
“Don’t play games.”
I show my palm to her in surrender. “Naomi, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not playing withanyone’sfeelings, nor am I playing any games. Not yet, anyway, I did pack a deck of Cards Against Humanity for later.”
She presses her lips together, eyes narrow. “I know the likes of you.”
I flinch. “You do not,” I say sharply. “You don’t know a bloody thing about me.”
“I’ve seen your type,” she says.
“And I’ve seen yours.”
Her eyes flare up like my words have invoked the bowels of Hell. Maybe they have. Both Brent and I take an instinctive step backward.
“And what’s my type?” she asks, challenging me to slip up.
But I won’t.
“Someone who took a chance on love, who never deserved to get screwed over and who did get screwed over. Proving that sometimes even the best intentions and the purest hearts can get fucked over by love.”
She blinks at me and I can tell she wants to say something but doesn’t have the words because I’ve hit the nail on the head.
I go on. Pressing my luck, maybe. “And so now you think all guys are the devil.”
“Not all guys,” she says quickly. “Just guys who play games. I’ve been through all that, pure heart and whatnot,and now I know what to look for.”
“You’re talking about me and Marina, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes.”
“You know we’re just friends, right?”
“No,” she says. “You aren’t. She told me about your dating game.”
“So?”
“So. I told her it was a mistake.”
“Why? We’re both bad at love. Why not fix it?”
“Because she’s notbadat it. She just hasn’t found the right guy yet.”
“And who would the right guy be?”
“Are we talking about the blonde with the big rack?” Brent suddenly says.
We both look at him, look at each other, ignore him.
