“That’s a surprisingly accurate statement. Can I assume you remembered me too since you know I’m in the marketing department? I know it’s not because you picked through the trash for my card.”
My cheeks blush again. “Umm… let’s just say you’re way too upbeat tonotbe in marketing.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Of course you will.”
He laughs. “Anyway, I also remembered you from your eyes.”
Ugh. My eyes?I don’t like this conversation at all. I don’t like talking about me. I want it to stop. I say nothing, hoping he’ll take the hint. He doesn’t.
“You have the most beautiful pale blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re like glass.”
I fidget in my seat. I don’t like compliments. They make me uncomfortable.
Out of the corner of my eye I see him briefly turn his gaze from the road to me, as if to gauge my reaction. I turn my head away so he doesn’t notice the return of the flush in my cheeks.
“I’m not fucking with you,” he states sincerely. “I never say anything I don’t mean.”
“That might be the one and only thing we have in common,” I reply. “Except for when I think I have to be polite. Then I fudge a little.”
“There’s no need to worry about hurting my feelings. I’d rather have blunt force trauma then sugar-coated lies.”
Interesting. There seems to be some depth to him.
Traffic slows to a crawl. He turns to face me. I don’t like it so I stare out my window.
“I really don’t know anyone here. I hope you’ll consider at least trying to be my friend.”
I grumble under my breath. It must have been louder than I intended by how he laughs. He won’t give up easily. I’ve learned that much about him for sure.
“You don’t want to be friends with me, Elizabeth?”
I rotate my head to answer him and he’s not smiling for once. His blue eyes lock with mine and my breath hitches. His face is half lit by the nearest light pole and it makes him look mysterious and alluring. He’s actually hotter than I realized, especially with the way he’s staring at me like he sees into my soul. I turn my head away again and respond quickly and awkwardly. It’s my trademark, no-eye-contact shuffle. I’ve mastered it through years of nervous responses.
“No. I mean yes. I mean yeah, we can be friends. Except, I don’t really do friends. I mean I candothem. I justdon’tdo them. Not like actually ‘do’ them in a sexual way, but Idohave them. I have friends. Sort of. We just don’t talk. Which is how I prefer it. Or, how I prefer friends in general.”
I glance over at him and he’s grinning from ear to ear. I close my eyes and hope he’ll disappear. Or better yet, maybe I will.
“So that settles it. You’re my first official friend in L.A.”
I try my best to smile, but I’m certain it looks as forced as it feels.
“Is there any way we could be done with the talking thing now?” I ask. “I think I’ve said enough for one night.”
Traffic begins to move again, thank God. It’s the only way he stops staring at me. “We can absolutely be done talking. I think you did an amazing job at trying your best to seem interested in what I had to say.”
“You’re okay, mostly, I guess.”
“Something tells me that’s high praise coming from you.”
I almost respond, but I don’t want to get him talking again. The next few minutes are peacefully quiet and it gives me time to think how to make my exit without saying much. I point out my apartment building and he pulls into a spot in front of the door.
“Thank you for driving me,” I say as I leap out of the car. I rush to the entryway and fumble with my keys, trying to get inside as quickly as possible.
“Betsie, wait!” He shouts, jumping out of the car.
“Betsie?” I turn on my heel. He hasn’t called me Liz, like I asked him to, all day.Betsieis the last straw.
