“Wait... Strength with Sven? Him?” Genesis asks. When Edwin nods, she slaps the table.
“Have you seen his Instagram? He has a ‘fans only’ page.”
Which could probably mean one thing:poor Matt’s penis was eclipsed by Sven’s most likely mammoth of a cannon.
I’m not particularly thrilled about being ignored this entire night, but the gossip about Matt and Christie has at least captured my interest for a second. Don’t know the people, but their adultery gossip is more entertaining than Edwin’s lackluster jokes.
Doesn’t seem like everyone is as keen on the Matt-and-Christie drama though. When I glance over at Kelsey, I spot her leaning on the table, her chin in her hand, looking wearier than ever. I’m trying not to let this girl get in my head again, but I actually feel bad for her, seeing her so bored.
Seems like there’s only one solution to this unconventional evening, one solution that will make this situation slightly more bearable...
* * *
“Why on earthwould you switch seats with Edwin?” Kelsey asks through clenched teeth. Not sure I’ve ever seen a woman so perfectly poised and ballistically heated at the same time.
Well... I thought this was going to be a good idea. Once again, I’m proven wrong.
“I switched with Edwin so at least we didn’t have to hear about the old UCLA days anymore,” I answer while leaning back in my chair and staring around the ballroom.
The presentation about the Children’s Hospital just ended, and for a second, I thought that was going to be our out, that once the lights turned back on, I would be able to sneak Genesis away and bring her attention back to me. Once the presentation was done, however, Edwin leaned across the table and started rambling on about the coffee shop they used to go to all the time.
Fucking boring shit.
I couldn’t sit through it anymore, so I switched seats with him, which he gladly jumped on. And now that I’m sitting next to Kelsey, I’m wondering if that was a good idea after all and if I shouldn’t have just stuck out the monotony of traveling down memory lane with Genesis and Edwin.
Didn’t anyone ever teach them ignoring their dates is just fucking rude?
But, no, now I’m stuck with a prickly, unappreciative woman who barely looks my way.
Here I was, trying to be a Good Samaritan, help a damsel in boiling distress and come to her rescue, maybe give her someone to talk to, but clearly, she’d rather stare off into the distance and listen to a reminiscing Edwin than talk to me.
If I were a better man, I’d sit in silence with her.
But I think at this point, we all know I’m not going to allow that attitude to slide.
Leaning in close to Kelsey, I whisper, “Do you actually like that guy?”
The chill, ice-queen façade around her warms—only slightly—as she shrugs and casually examines her nude, manicured nails. “I thought he was nice.”
“Is that what you’re looking for? Nice?”
“I’m not looking for an asshole, if that’s what you’re asking,” she says while giving me a once-over.
“Are you calling me an asshole?”
“If the shoe fits, JP.”
I lean in so only she can hear me when I say, “The shoe absolutely does not fit. If you actually got to know me, you’d see that I’m more than what you assume of me.”
“I don’t agree. You can’t seem to take anything seriously, which I think is obnoxious, you’re messy, something I abhor, and you see the glass as half empty, rather than half full.” She crosses one leg over the other and rests her hands on her lap.
Well, isn’t she just a fucking ball of fun?
“I see,” I answer. Not the definition of an asshole, but it would probably be asshole-ish for me to point that out.
She has me all wrong. Sure, my desk is messy, but that’s the way I fucking like it. And I might be obnoxious, but I can’t help the way I seek attention. It’s in my bones and I shouldn’t be chastised for that. And the glass half empty? That’s called being a realist.
I’m not going to parade around thinking the world is made up of puppy-and-kitty parties where fanciful Parisian desserts are served and romantic comedies blast on repeat as background music.
