Page 103 of The Mating Game
“Come on,” he says with a sort of wizard-like move that has me turning on my heel at the gentle urging of his hands on my hips. “Put me to work.”
“So explain tome what we’re doing here again.”
Hunter’s stained towel continues to swipe back and forth across the wooden counter where the computer and other things have been cleared away for the moment, and his lips press together in a line.
“It’s like…a cheat varnish. A refresher. It’s supposed to restore the old finish so you don’t have to sand and stain again.”
“Do you always keep cheat varnish on hand?”
“For emergencies,” I tell him. I can see the way his brow wrinkles in concentration from across the room, his lips turning down in a frown as I say with a chuckle, “Just focus on your counter.”
“Sure thing, boss,” he grunts. “It seems to be working, at least.”
“It’ll do in a pinch,” I say. “We’ll make sure to do it properly after this whole thing pans out.”
He makes a quiethmphsound that I don’t miss. “You meanif.”
“Don’t be such a downer,” I chide from the staircase where I’m working on the banister. “Positive thoughts manifest positive outcomes.”
“Did you just think that up?”
“No, someone wrote it on a wheatgrass smoothie I got from a café once.”
Hunter makes a less-than-pleasant sound, and when I peek over at him he looks positively disgusted. “Wheatgrass?”
“Yeah, it was about as good as it sounds.” I laugh. “My friend Ada was on this health kick, and for like two seconds I let her take me along.” I stick out my tongue. “No thank you. It would take a hell of a lot more than positive thoughts to get me to drink that stuff again.”
Hunter shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously likeCalifornians. One of these days I’m going to have to take him back there simply for the comedic value of seeing him so out of his comfort zone.
There’s a bit of quiet that settles as we both continue working our way through the main room, approaching this project with a divide-and-conquer attitude as we try to focus on the rooms that will most likely be included in Nate’s article.
“So, besides practicing your camping seduction tactics and streaking across football fields,” I say good-humoredly to break up the silence. “What else did baby Hunter like?”
“I don’t know…” Hunter seems to have to really dig hard for an answer to this question, his expression one of puzzled concentration. “I liked music, I guess. I mean, I still do, but I always likedlistening to my dad’s old records. I still have them up in my room, actually.”
“No Taylor Swift, I imagine,” I say with a sigh.
He sighs, feigning actual regret. “Unfortunately, no.”
“Damn. You totally look like a Swiftie too.”
“Right. I realize how misleading that must be.”
I shake my head, holding a closed hand near my head and opening it as I pull it away to mimic an explosion. “So hit me with your favorite song.”
“I don’t have a favorite song.”
“Everyonehas a favorite song.”
“Then what’s yours?”
“ ‘Summer Girls’ by LFO,” I tell him without missing a beat.
“I don’t even know what that is.”
My hand stills, and I stomp down the stairs to give him an incredulous look. “Excuse me? Everyone knows that song.”
“Ido not know that song.”
