Page 9 of Meeting Mr. Adorkable
“Why not? Honestly,” she huffed, “don’t be so British!”
How can I not be, when that’s exactly what I am?But why not ask? Arlo was drop dead gorgeous. Tall, well built and with eyes like the trees back at Danebury, when fall, which was really autumn, crept in to steal away the summer. And older. He did a quick calculation. About ten years older than Bibi, which made him, what? Forty-three? Forty-four? He swallowed hard. There were too many red flags for him to take Bibi’s advice. Not that Arlo would be interested in him. But even if he were, he wasn’t interested in Arlo. Not one bit. Not at all. Not really.
CHAPTEREIGHT
At 4:00pm, Bibi let Lucian leave for the day. With a wave, he ducked out of the door, glad to be in the warm sunshine. It was too nice a day to go straight home, and he headed instead to CC’s, hands down the best coffee shop in town.
He took a seat outside and, sipping his coffee, caught up with messages from the few friends who made the effort to keep in touch, before he scrolled through his social media. Coming to a sudden stop, his hand tightened on his cell as with the other he clunked his coffee down, forming an unnoticed puddle on the tabletop.
The Shit Formally Known as Miles stared out at him, his good looks as undeniable as his shallow, duplicitous, lying character.
As usual, Miles looked perfect. His stubble was just the right length, and his hair was just bed headed enough to not look like he’d tumbled out of an actual bed, which wasn’t in reality half as attractive and always came with sour sleep breath. With his arm slung around the shoulders of a younger man, Miles grinned out at him as, behind them, a tropical sun dipped into the ocean.
“You bastard,” Lucian breathed. Not at Miles, even though that was what he was, but at the man who was with him and laughing into the camera, causing his spirits to drop and spill out over the sidewalk. The man whom Lucian had always believed to be his friend, but had turned out to be anything but, now clung onto Miles like the leech he was. HashtagLoveOfMyLife, HashtagMyMan…
HashtagFuckOff.
He powered down his phone and shoved it into his pocket. They were welcome to each other; they deserved each other; one of them would soon shaft the other and not in the good way.HashtagYouBastard, HashtagYouCheatingSlimeball…
Lucian sucked in a deep breath and tipped back his head, the sun’s rays warm and comforting.
Think positive thoughts, happy thoughts, focus on what makes you feel good as you banish the negativity… He snorted, almost hearing his mum’s voice. She was always urging him and his siblings, Eddie and Bella, to get in touch with their inner, happier selves. It’s because she’s Californian, Eddie would grumble darkly, while Bella would simply roll her eyes. It wasn’t very British, but as his skin tingled under the afternoon sun, and as the noises faded all around him, as he focused on what made him feel good, maybe, just maybe, there was something in it as his muscles relaxed and the tension drained away… Hope I don’t dribble… Happy thoughts, think about what made him feel good…
Lucian gasped as hazel eyes, sandy, silver streaked hair, and a wonky smile filled his head.
Arlo McDonald was a very happy thought indeed.
Lucian jerked upright, Bibi’s words ringing in his ears… Ask him out on a date… No. Yes. No. No. He’d been told in more ways than one that the best way to get over a man was to get under another, after his relationship with Miles had imploded, but he’d cringed away from taking that road. Who’d want him under them, anyway? Miles had made it very plain that he was sub par… Sub par. The word dug into his skin and crawled beneath it, like a tick. Arlo McDonald certainly wouldn’t call him that. Arlo McDonald, who for a few brief minutes had been his happy place, his positive thought, the man he absolutely would not be asking out on a date.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
“What?” Lucian jumped, pulled out of his meandering thoughts by the unknown voice. Before he could answer, a large guy with huge buck teeth pulled off his jacket and threw it over the back of the spare chair and sat down at the small table for two.
“Er, yes. Be my guest, but I was, erm, just about to go.”
The guy pointedly stared at Lucian’s coffee, the cup half full and still steaming.
“I’m Kurt.”
Yes, I rather think you are.
“You’re the guy from that flower store.”
It was a statement, not a question, and Lucian wasn’t sure if he was required to answer, but he needed to say something in response, if only to be polite.
“Yes. I’m Bibi’s senior florist.” Her only florist.
Kurt shrugged. “Never saw the point in bunches of flowers. They die, and then if you don’t chuck ‘em out, they stink.”
“The dead have a funny habit of doing that. Or so I’m told.” Lucian grabbed his coffee and took a swig, but the still-hot liquid burned his throat and brought tears to his eyes.
“You’re not from around these parts.” Kurt leaned in, all heavy stares and huge rabbit teeth, reminding him of Cashew just before he took another bite out of his flesh.
Lucian was sure the right to perfect teeth was enshrined in the constitution, as he’d certainly seen some impressive dentistry since he’d arrived in Collier’s Creek, but Kurt clearly had a rebellious streak.
“Erm, no. I’m—”
“Australian.” Kurt said it with such conviction, Lucian didn’t wish to disabuse him.
