“I’ll let you know.” It’s an empty promise.
I excuse myself like the polite little Connecticut socialite I portray myself to be.
I place March’s shake in front of him, then sit. My butt isn’t in the seat one second before he’s giving me ‘that look’.
“What?”
“Another suitor vying for your attention?”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
“I think the saying is wrong.” March removes the bloody towel from his face. “Redheads have more fun.”
“Oh, dear God, shut up.”
“Seriously, is there not a man on this earth who doesn’t want to fuck you?”
“Yes,” I snap. “And he’s sitting across from me.”
“Nope, not true.” March shakes his head as he sucks on his straw. “I totally wanted to fuck you when we first met.”
“Oh yeah, what changed?”
“You started talking.”
“Should I be insulted by that comment?”
He shrugs with two cheek-fulls of shake. “Maybe only half. And after we went into business together, all bets were off. I don’t shit where I eat.”
“I tried to live by that rule, too. Look where it got me.” I stir the thick, brown liquid in my plastic cup.
“You put up a good fight,” March placates me.
I lift my eyes to him. He’s smirking, the small gap in his front teeth visible.
“This isn’t funny.”
“You’re right, it’s not. It’s diabolical. Your new lover wants you to assassinate your old lover.” He’s rolling in this.
“Please stop saying lover.
“Lover, lover, lover, lover.”
“Do I have to hit you again?” I threaten.
“No.” March slinks back and covers his swollen nose. “You’re so lucky I don’t have a date tonight.”
“I didn’t mean it . . . not entirely.” I only feel half guilty.
“You totally meant it.”
“You dropped your guard,” I argue.
“Yup, and see what happens when you drop your guard? You get popped in the nose.” The statement isn’t a funny one. It has an underlying meaning.
I pause. Thinning my eyes at March. “Are you trying to get all psychological on me?”
“Me? Never. I’m not that smart.”
