Page 70 of Lucky Shot
“You’re avoiding the use of the notion of love. Use it so I can put it into context. I understand the meaning and expectations. I know I’m not exactly equipped to feel or express it, but I understand.”
“That’s just it,” I say. “How do you show someone you love them? If you could name anything at all, what is the one gesture that you’d ask for that would show you how much someone loves you? What’s the thing that you could do thatin your eyesis the epitome of showing someone your love?”
“Examples?” he asks.
“There are a few common ones. Touch.” I hold up our linked hands. “Lots of people use this as a way to truly express how much they love someone. Not just holding hands, but cuddling. Hugging.”
The look he gives me makes me laugh.
“There’s words of affirmation. Saying supportive, sweet, and otherwise caring things to your partner.” Not quite the same level of horror, but it’s still up there. I chuckle. “Acts of service?” I add. “Doing nice things for your partner—love notes in their lunch. Bringing home flowers or chocolates or cards. Taking them to their favorite place.”
Loren nods as he looks around. “What’s your love language?”
“Probably…” I bite my lip. “Uh… I think words of affirmation. But like, not based on my looks. Or my career. You know? Something that’s truly just me.”
“You’re a very good friend,” he says.
I smirk. “Something like that, yeah.”
“You don’t want to be told you’re pretty.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not that. But when people say I’m pretty, they mean superficially. I get that it’s kind of the same thing, but when a partner tells me I’m pretty, even though he might be referring to my appearance, there’s… well, I imagine that there will be something deeper behind it. Does that make sense?”
“Does your boyfriend say those things to you?” he asks.
“He’s not my boyfriend, but… he does.” My heart flutters at the memories so much that I think I might have palpitations.
“And it makes you feel good?”
I nod. “I just… I show him things—not necessarily physical but… like, mentally? Is that the right word? Characteristically? I don’t know, but I show him things that the world doesn’t see. That most everyone in my life doesn’t see. Even before he saw any pictures of me—and he hasn’t seen my face—he’s always called me his Pretty Boy. But now… it’s like… there’s an entire rainbow of meaning behind it. Maybe I’m making that up. Wishful thinking and all that.”
“I don’t think you are.”
Looking at him, Loren studies me with that same seemingly blank expression he always wears.
“I think you’re used to the superficial praise you’ve received your whole life. You’d recognize it, even in a text message.”
I bow my head. “Yeah. I usually do.”
“Then yes, I think you’re right. I don’t think that’s my love language.”
“Knowing your own is beneficial. But the key to a healthy relationship is also being able to identify your partner’s and speaking their love language too. Like you tried with me.”
“Can’t I just ask what their love language is?” Loren asks.
“You can, but sometimes people say one thing when they really mean another. I was torn between affirmation and physical touch. But I think physical touch is a craving more than my actual love language because I’m touch starved. I think I’m moving into my second virginity.”
Loren snorts.
“I think mine might be acts of service,” he says, “but not in the weird cutesy way you mentioned.”
“How do you mean?”
He looks at me, studying me for a long time. “I don’t think we should delve into that part of my life, Noah. I’d rather keep you blind to that side of me.”
Once again, chills race through my body, making all the little hairs stand on end. I’m reminded of the asshole in college. I glance at Loren. “What did you do to him?” I ask quietly.
Loren doesn’t have to ask who I’m referring to. I know he knows. He knowsI knowhe knows. “Taught him a lesson.”
