Page 104 of Lovebug
“You wasn’t what? I mean, youweren’twhat?” I stumble and immediately correct myself. I’ll be damned if I let this untrustworthy man make me tangle up my verb tenses. My grammar-loving father would be ashamed.
“Let’s start with what I think is the most important thing you said. I wasn’t going to tell you I’m married—”
“You weren’t!?” I screech, completely incensed.
“Because,” he stresses and essentially silences me. “I’m not.”
“You’re not married.” I test out the words.
“No. I am not.”
“Then why would Naomi say you were?”
“Because Iwasmarried, and Naomi likes to cause trouble? Who knows why that woman does what she does. I also wasn’t going to tell you I’myour boss. Because I’m not. Carol is your boss.”
“But you own the arboretum!” I protest.
“Technically, I suppose that’s true,” he says. “But can we ever really own nature? No. No we cannot. Nature ownsus. We just partner with it.”
There he goes again with that nebulous partner stuff.
“You’re an annoying person,” I huff.
“Fair assessment. But you know, for someone who’s supposedly so nice and sweet, you’re actually proving to be quite saucy and mean.”
“Gosh, I wonder why!” I feel my volume and pace ramping up. “I should be in a fantastic mood! After all, I engaged in oral pleasures with my surprise boss this afternoon who may or may not be married—”
“I assure you, I am not married,” he interjects.
“And will now most likely be fired from a job I adore because of it. Oh, and immediately after I learned he was my boss, the boss in question ran up the hill soaking wet to give a speech he knew he had to give but oh, conveniently forgot to mention to me. This was, of course, after offering me his wife’s power suit to wear, ensuring that I look like a complete, naïve idiot in front of Naomi Thornton who seems to know absolutely everything about everyone and has an insatiable desire to jump your bones and make my life hell.”
“Ex-wife’s power suit,” he corrects me again. “And oral pleasures, huh? Not that I’m opposed to that description, but what happened to funilingous? I liked that.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Come over, Mabel.” His voice rushes through the speaker just as my finger is about to press “End Call.”
I slowly bring the phone back up to my ear.
“What did you say?”
“To my place,” he rumbles. “Come over.”
“To your shack?” I ask, a bit in shock. Shock at the mention of his shack. Shack shock, if you will. Because we all know what happens when Baby pays a visit to Johnny Castle’s shack. Look at that, my Bad Girl mission is paying off. Suddenly, I can make pop culture references.
He laughs. “I wouldn’t call it ashack, per se, but… yes. Come over. Bring your hive so I can get it set up for you. I’ll cook you dinner, and I’ll explain anything and everything you want to know. I’ll—”
“See you in an hour!” I shout and promptly hang up on him.
And that’s how I end up standing outside Wally’s shack wearing high heels and lipstick and holding a potted plant, feeling incredibly awkward at seven o’clock on a Sunday. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have been so eager to accept his invitation. I probably should have “played it cool.” Or played “hard to get.” But I’m generally not in the mood to play at all right now. And I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to finally get to know what this guy is all about.
A video call springs up on my phone just as I’m about to knock. It’s Calliope. I pick up.
“I didn’t interrupt the sex, did I?!”
“Shhh, geez! No!” I whisper-shout and turn the volume way down on my speaker. “I am standing on his doorstep as we speak.” I look down at the wood slab I’m standing on. “Well, actually, it’s not really a doorstep. More of a doorstump? Huh. I wonder if he crafted this himself.”
“You don’t really think I called you to talk about the craftsmanship of his doorstump, do you?” Calliope gently scolds. “I’m more interested in hisotherstump. Yikes, ew, forget I said that. We don’t want him to have a stump. I know you don’t have a ton of experience, Mabel, but for the record? Stump is bad. Stump is very bad.”
