Page 2 of Building Romance
“Dick pic?” I ask with a smirk.
He glances up at me and rolls his eyes. “Nope,” he says as he sips his coffee.
“Gonna share with the class?” I ask.
“Nope,” he replies.
“You are exasperating,” I groan while wiping down my marble counter.
“I know, but that’s why you love me. Also, you’re grumpy. You need to get laid,” he says with a laugh as he gets up and places his glass in a bin for dirty dishes. I glare at him, but I can’t even be mad because he’s right. “Toodeloo. I’m off for a mani. These nails are ragged as fuck,” he states with a wave.
“You home for dinner?” I call out as he opens the door.
“Yeah.” He pauses. “Chinese?”
I tilt my head as I contemplate our food options. “Yeah. Golden Palace?” I suggest.
“Exactly. The usual?” he asks.
I nod.
“Oh, can you look again for my grandmother’s saltshaker?” I ask. Last week, my grandmother’s saltshaker that she got at the 1964 World’s Fair in New York went missing. I don’t know if it’s because the salt and pepper shakers are shaped like telephones or that they are historic or because they remind me of cooking in her kitchen with her, but I love them. And I’m heartbroken to be missing one. I don’t know why, but I always use that stupid saltshaker and I feel like it’s my good luck charm.
“Yeah. I’ll look again,” he says giving me an encouraging smile. He’s already scoured the kitchen for it. As much as he drives me nuts, he’s a good guy.
He waves as he exits the café and heads down the street to the nail salon. He loves getting his nails done. The man always has them buffed, no polish. He actually got our giant, former-football-player neighbor, Hutch, to go with him a few months ago after a year of nagging. Now, the two have mani-pedi days once a month. I haven’t had time to go. I glance at my nails that desperately need shaping. I really ought to make time to take better care of myself. Hell, I need time for anything…like finding a guy. Drew is right. I need some dick.
I lie in my bed and stare at my phone, willing it to vibrate with an incoming message.
Nothing. Damn it. What the hell is Max doing? He always replies right away.
Last year, I started chatting with this man on a dating app where there are no photos. Drew suggested it. I’m always drawn to a certain type of man based on looks and it has never once worked out well. So, begrudgingly, I took his advice. Three days later, I started talking to a man named Max. We eventually decided we should just be friends after he admitted to hating my absolute favorite sports team and also scoffed at the fact that I love reading romance novels. I told him we were incompatible. He sent twelve laughing emojis…TWELVE. And then I rage ignored him for two days. But after he sent me an e-gift card to my favorite spa to an email I shared with him, I eventually forgave him and we’ve been talking nonstop since then. I still swear we are not compatible, but that hasn’t stopped us from being friends.
I grab my e-reader and try to distract myself with my latest read. It’s an enemies to lovers. There’s just something about the trope that I love. But I also think it’s completely unrealistic. Or I did, until my friend Gray ended up with his now girlfriend, Roxy. They both live here in my apartment building. Roxy owns a romance bookstore on the first floor of the building. And at first, they hated each other. But now, it’s like a flip switched and all that anger turned into off-the-charts passion. They actually make me a little sick with how sweet they are to each other. And then Kasen, my other friend, who happens to be a scary-looking ex-military guy who barely speaks, somehow landed a sweet and happy woman who is his exact opposite.
My phone vibrates on my nightstand and I toss the e-reader onto the bed and glance over to see a notification. Max has texted me.
Max: I thought your business was doing great. No?
I had told him I was worried about a competitor moving in near my café.
When Max and I started talking, we had decided to not discuss anything that would be too personal. No names of people we know. I honestly wonder if Max is his real name. I use my middle name, Eliza, on the app. No saying where we worked or what industry. Nothing that would make us easily identifiable. We just wanted to get to know each other without the desire to internet stalk.
For reasons that I really haven’t considered, we’ve kept up this weird charade where we talk about life but with no identifiers. So he knows I just bought a business and I have a store, but he has no idea that it’s a café. I know his family owns a business and he works for it. But I couldn’t tell you what he does or what the business is.
It’s the absolute strangest relationship I’ve ever had, yet, there’s something very liberating about it. I can complain about anything I want and there is zero judgment. I love Drew, but my bestie is a judgy-judgerkins.
Me: I mean, it is for now.
Max: Get the local community behind you. Locals have a way of making or breaking a business.
Me: Says the businessman.
I can’t help wondering what kind of business his family owns, but I sort of like daydreaming about it. In my mind, they own a local car mechanic shop or a flower shop or something. He did mention once that whatever the family owns has been in operation since his great-grandparents, which I think is pretty cool. I told him I hoped my store would be run by my great-grandchildren someday.
Max: You need to play offensive. I’ll send you a list of books you should read.
Me: (eye-rolling emoji)
