I blow right past him and quip, “If you’re trying to get me to call you Dad, you’re gonna be sorely disappointed.”
Unbidden, a memory from the movieThe Other Guyspops into my head when Mark Wahlberg’s character yells, “I am a peacock. You got to let me fly.”
Iconic.
Unlike in the movie, I won’t be yelling that across a police station. And Iprobablywon’t kick over a water cooler.
Unless Andrews starts badgering me about my brother again. Then all bets are off.
There she is.
And she already looks happy to see me.Nice. Tonight’s plan is already off and running.
Out of nowhere, Morgan Freeman’s voice pops into my head, taking on the role of my life’s narrator.In actuality, Lila was not happy to see him. And our hero’s plan was stalling at the gates.
Well, that’s new.
Shaking off the temporary bout of insanity, I swagger toward Lila’s car as she closes the door. “What brings a lovely lady like you to a place like this?”
Her mahogany eyes sparkle with the irritation I’ve come to expect when she sees me. It’s oddly comforting. “Where’s the opt-out button for this interaction?”
She schleps a giant bag of black sunflower seeds over her shoulder and storms toward her apartment, effectively dismissing me.
Huh. I’m starting to suspect she’s not happy to see me.
Maybe Morgan Freeman was right.
“Let me carry that for you,” I offer as I fall in step with her.
She tightens her grip on the bag of seeds and glares at me. “I can manage just fine on my own. Now tell me why you’re here and how quickly you’re leaving.”
I raise my hands in anI-give-upgesture, letting her carry the load on her own. “I was hoping I could take you out for a drink. Or dinner.” I shrug, adding, “Since you’re off early tonight.”
Her feet stop suddenly, halting her in her tracks. With an eerie slowness, she cricks her head to stare me down. She blinks and blinks again, her mouth moving wordlessly.
I’ve rendered her speechless.
Plastering on what I hope is a charming smile, I add some heat to my tone. “Lila, I’m asking you out. On a date.”
Then I give her the smolder, turned up to maximum. She’ll be putty in my hands momentarily.
The crinkle on her nose would be precious if she didn’t seem disgusted by the mere idea of going out with me. My gut sinks an inch like I swallowed a tiny pebble.
Her head slants, and her nose scrunch intensifies, as if she smells something foul. And I hate how adorable it looks on her. “In what alternate reality, on what timeline, and in what universe do you think I’devergo out on a date with you? Are you unwell? I mean, come on. You probably sleep with socks on and have a room in your house dedicated to Nickelback.”
Ouch, two times.
My smolder is no longer effective on Lila Kent. Duly noted.
That’s fine, though. I won’t take it personally.
After all, this is merely a job. So her rejection doesn’t hurt one bit, and it’s just another hurdle I can easily overcome with a tweak to my strategy. All I have to do is charm her with more than my looks. Can do.
Apparently, my new mental narrator has more to say about my current predicament, and he chimes in uninvited.
But it does hurt. And the odds of him being charming are nil. In other words, our friend Reed is screwed.
Seriously, Morgan Freeman. Get out of my head.
