Текст книги "Оллмп"

Автор книги: Меган Куин

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“I didn’t think you were interested in getting to know me on a personal level, given our relationship is strictly business.”

She groans. “God, you and your goddamn business. How about setting that business mindset to the side for a hot minute and getting to know me instead? Maybe it’ll make it easier to do these outings with you. To pretend, because it won’t feel as though I’m dry-humping a stranger in a pregnancy class.”

I consider what she’s asking of me, and it’s not much at all. But I do know I’ve put a wall up around her. If I get to know her more, I’m going to like her more. I can feel it. She’s the kind of girl who would easily capture my attention and keep me strung along. I’m not looking for that, to be captured, to start any sort of relationship. I don’t have the patience to focus on something like that, nor am I ready to give someone my time. I’m too selfish at the moment. Too focused on my career, on my goals.

But I need her.

Fuck do I need her.

I need her to help me secure this deal, and if that means switching gears and letting her get to know me better, then fuck, that’s what I’ll have to do.

“Fine,” I say. “Two questions during the day. Two questions at dinner. That should be sufficient.”

“Sufficient? You sound like Mary Poppins, all proper and shit.”

“Are you taking the deal?” I raise my brow.

“Are you saying these questions can happen every day?”

“Yes. Does that work?”

She shakes her head in amusement. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so formal, but I guess that will have to work. Who starts?”

I pat my mouth with my napkin. “You.”

“Right now?”

“Isn’t that what you want?” I ask as I try to hide my irritation.

“I mean, sure. I guess I wasn’t prepared for you to be so open.”

“I’m not a complete asshole, Lottie.”

Her lips quirk to the side, telling me she believes otherwise. “Okay, fine, I guess I’ll start with the questions.” Her eyes pin me. “Why is this deal with Dave so important to you that you’d go to such an extent to secure it?”

I should’ve known her questions weren’t going to be easy.

Shifting in my seat, I casually turn toward her and drape my arm over the back of my chair. “It’s pretty simple, actually. When I set my mind on something I want, I go after it, no matter the circumstances. Dave has three properties that would be extremely beneficial for our business. He’s not going to just sell them to make money, he wants to make sure they go to the right person. I want to be that person.”

“Just seems so . . . aggressive.”

“When you’re in commercial property development, you have to be aggressive. You can’t sleep on anything. You have to know what’s selling, where it’s selling, and the potential for the spot. Breaker, JP, and I always keep our eyes and ears open, while developing our existing properties to continue to make money for us. Dave’s properties would be a huge opportunity that I can’t just let slip by because he doesn’t know me as a person. That doesn’t sit well with me.”

She nods. “I can see how that might make sense. I wouldn’t go to the extent that you do, but I get it.”

The hostility in her voice has subsided and the pinch in her brow has loosened. I hate to admit it, but maybe this questions thing wasn’t a bad idea after all.

“Do you want me to ask a question now?”

She nods again. “Yeah, take a whack at it.”

Okay, if she’s going to come in hot with a hard question, so am I. “Why are you so ashamed of telling your mom and Jeff about being fired?”

“Should’ve expected that question, given what I asked you.” She sighs. “I grew up with Angela, the owner of Angeloop, the lifestyle blog. She’s giving Gwyneth Paltrow over at Goop a run for her money. We were on-again, off-again friends.”

“What’s that?” I ask. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re either friends or you’re not.”

Lottie shakes her head. “Not with Angela. She’d have a friend of the week, kind of like a flavor-of-the-week situation. She had no problem bouncing from friend to friend, and when she got tired of one, she’d move on to the next, and then they were her next best friend. Growing up in a rich city on a blue-collar income, Angela was exciting to me. I know it sounds ridiculous, but when you’re a kid, flashy things are fun. Angela had all the flashy things, and we had so much fun together. We’d roll into school in her BMW, spend weekends at her house having pool parties, and then one random day, I’d be dropped as the person she went to. It was torturous, toxic, and yet, I kept accepting her back because of the fun times we had together.”

“I see,” I say. “That’s the definition of toxic.”

“I know, and that’s what my mom said to me. My mom really hates Angela, actually. So, when I graduated from school with a master’s in business and Angela offered me a job at her growing start-up, my mom was extremely skeptical about me joining forces with someone who’s so hot and cold.”

“A natural feeling.”

“Yes, perhaps. Mom was so right. She once said something that hits me more now than it did at the time. ‘She’s treated you with disdain and relentless cruelty as a friend throughout your whole friendship, Lottie, so how do you think she believes she can treat you in business?’”

“The same way, right?”

“Yeah. But my options were slim. I could go work somewhere that had a hint of the field I wanted to be in, or I could work for Angela, grow a business, and take charge. She offered me a low starting salary and said after a year, if I helped grow the business, she’d give me the raise I deserved. I thought it was a solid situation. My mom, Jeff, and sister all said not to do it, that Angela couldn’t be trusted. But I did it anyway and I excelled. I grew that business to where it is now. I had a huge part in bringing Angela to the forefront of everyone’s eyes. And when the time came for my raise . . .”

“She fired you.” I shake my head. “I’m pretty ruthless when it comes to business, but there’s no way in hell I’d ever do something like that. I know a good employee when I see them, and instead of cutting them out, I make sure to develop them. They would do so much better under my wing, than with a competitor. My guess is Angela felt threatened by you and she wanted to get rid of you before everyone else in the company realized how valuable you were.”

“Probably.” She glances down at her linked hands. “Either way, I was too embarrassed to tell my mom and Jeff. I didn’t want to hear the I told you so’s, and that’s how I came to be sitting here, with you. Desperation to save face.”

“I understand the need to protect a reputation. I think it’s one of the reasons I’m being so aggressive in my approach with Dave. Everyone in the business knows I’m going after the properties, and everyone knows I get what I want, but Dave is giving me a run for my money, and that puts a blemish on my reputation.”

“You can’t win them all.”

“I do,” I tell her. “I always win.”

“Glad your perspective is forgiving.”

I let out a light chuckle. “What’s your second question?”

Tilting her head to the side, studying me, she asks, “You seem so stiff all the time, it’s hard for me to imagine you actually having fun, so I guess my question is, what do you like to do for fun?”

I rub my hand over my jaw. “When I get to take a second to breathe, I enjoy going to baseball games.”

“Let me guess—you sit in the cushioned seats.”

“I wouldn’t settle for anything less.”

“I know this is another question, but we’ll call it question 2a.”

“I’ll let it slide,” I answer.

“Do you have a favorite team?”

I shake my head. “Not really, actually, which seems odd. I like a few of the California teams here, I enjoy going to the different ballparks and seeing how they differ from others, and I follow my good friend from college. He’s retiring this year, on his farewell tour.”

“Ooo, question 2b, who’s your friend?”

I chuckle. “Penn Cutler. He pitches for the Chicago Bobbies, but we went to college together. He’s had a bumpy road in the majors, but he’s looking solid this last season.”

“I’m going to have to look him up. But . . . baseball, that’s it? That’s the only fun thing you like to do?”

“Nah, I like hanging with my brothers. Pool days. Simple games like ring toss, cornhole, going to the beach. I’m not a surfer, but the boys and I play football on the beach pretty often.” I shrug. “Just chilling when we get a chance.”

She blinks a few times and then chuckles as she shakes her head. “I never would’ve picked you as someone who’d play football on the beach. I figured you’re a man who likes to hang out in old smoke rooms, wearing a logoed smoking jacket, cigar in hand, talking about the stock market and how the Dow is fucking you over. You’re the kind of guy who goes to the opera and likes it. The kind of man who takes piano lessons in his spare time because he needs to be good at everything.”

“I learned to play when I was young.”

“Of course you did. But football on the beach, that’s a normal person’s activity. Next you’re going to tell me you enjoy going to concerts.”

“I do,” I say. “Has to be the right music, though. I’m not about to go to a Bruno Mars concert, but if let’s say Foreigner is in town, I’ll be sure to grab tickets.”

“Nope, no way, I don’t see that for you. I don’t see you at concerts. And if you do go to concerts, you’re probably the stiff guy, beer in hand, who doesn’t move, doesn’t sing, doesn’t crack a smile.”

“You’d be surprised.” She’s loosened me up with these questions, and I’m not really comfortable with that. I’m . . . cautious by nature, ruthless when necessary. But having two brothers as best friends, I’ve become reticent with others. And here’s Lottie, determined to know me more than I’m willing to give.

“Very interesting.” She has a smile on her face, an expression so genuine that I’m surprised this is all she needed. A conversation, something so simple. “Okay, your turn, ask your final question.”

Giving it some thought, I finally ask, “Dream concert to attend?”

“Dead or alive?”

“Both,” I answer.

“If I could resurrect Freddie Mercury, I’d pretty much give my soul to do so. To see him live, to watch him perform . . . God, it would be the ultimate dream. But to watch alive . . . hmm, right now . . . probably Fleetwood Mac.”

Surprised, I say, “I was not expecting that answer. From everything you’ve said, I would’ve thought you were going to say Foreigner.”

“I mean, they are on top of the list, but I’m obsessed with Stevie Nicks, and the new collabs she did with Miley Cyrus . . . ooo, so good. And they’re just chill music, you know? You can listen to them on a rainy day or when you’re at the beach. And ‘Dreams’ . . .” A smile crosses her face. “I think it would be the perfect make-out song. The tempo, the feel of it. It’s so good. Are you a fan of Fleetwood Mac?”

I nod. “I am. I’ll play them while working sometimes.”

She holds up her hand in surprise. “You listen to music while you’re working?”

“Every day.”

“Wow.” She pushes my shoulder. “See? This is what I needed. To see you act like a human.” She lets out a deep breath. “I feel better.” She picks up her spoon and digs back into her soup.

“You feel better? Just like that?”

“Yup. You should know, Huxley, I’m pretty easy.”

“Yeah . . . found that out last night.”

“And would you look at that—he jokes too. Amazing.”

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Fourteen

LOTTIE

I check my watch to see what time it is. A little past one. We ate lunch early today because Kelsey had a meeting with a potential client at one thirty. I’ve been working on the website for the past hour and a half and I need to take a breather.

Leaning back in the uncomfortable dining chair—we’re going to need an office space at some point, rather than Kelsey’s small studio apartment—I pick up my phone and open my text thread with Huxley.

Yesterday was a roller coaster. One minute I’m impressed with the man in how he kept his promise and set up another meeting for Kelsey, not to mention finding out how he cared for his employees, defying the negative image of him I had in my head. Next, he has me going to some creepy pregnancy class that put me far outside of my comfort zone. It didn’t help that he couldn’t just be fun in the moment. That was the worst part of it—if he’d been laughing with me through the awkward encounter, it would’ve been a moment to remember, but he was like a robot, and it made it that much worse. And then we ran into Angela.

God, could she be any worse of a human?

I despise her.

The nerve she had to say, let’s work something out, when she saw I was dating Huxley Cane—fake dating, I know, but still. She’s been showing her true colors lately. But what was even worse than running into her was the way Huxley reacted.

He was protective.

He defended me.

He took hold of the situation.

This man that I’d despised for the past week or so suddenly came through for me, without me even asking. I don’t think I’d ever been more confused.

He was just . . . there. Holding my hand, making sure I was all right.

But while we were in the car, he turned back into a robot.

Stiff set to his shoulders, tight grip on the steering wheel. He shut me out in the blink of an eye.

And I have no idea why.

Now, that robot persona carried over into dinner. I couldn’t take it anymore; I was fed up and almost walked out.

Like the mercurial man he is, he dipped and showed that generous personality again, the one I saw while we were at Chipotle.

And he offered me two questions a day and night, something I wasn’t expecting either. I’m not sure he thought I was serious about asking them, but I am. It’ll make things so much easier if I actually get to know this man. I’ll feel more comfortable and, like Kelsey said, maybe I can make things more believable between us.

I send him a text.

Lottie: What are you listening to right now?

When I see the dots appear next to his name, I’m surprised.

Huxley: “The Chain”—Fleetwood Mac. You put me in the mood yesterday. Been listening to them all day.

I smile to myself and text him back.

Lottie: Me too. Just got done singing my heart out to “Rhiannon.” My computer mouse was my microphone and I used the flashlight on my phone for mood lighting. Did you do the same?

Huxley: No.

Lottie: Baby steps, I guess. Go ahead, ask me one of your daytime questions.

Huxley: Is that what’s happening right now?

Lottie: Yes, you said I get two questions during the day, two at night. So . . . go ahead.

Huxley: Craziest thing you ever did in college?

Lottie: Throwback question. Okay, uh . . . well, I wasn’t really crazy in college. I know it seems as though I might have stories to tell, but I really don’t have many, just one claim to party fame.

Huxley: What is it?

Lottie: There was this bar we went to a lot, the Chicken Leg. It was a hole in the wall. They accepted any form of ID, and they had some of the best music ever played, and when I say best music, I think you know what I’m talking about. Old school rock. They had a lip-sync wet T-shirt contest one night. Prize was one thousand dollars.

Huxley: I think I see where this is going.

Lottie: I don’t have much to work with upstairs, but I wore the thinnest T-shirt I had, no bra, and when it was my turn to lip-sync “Don’t Stop Believin’,” I drenched my boobs in water and went for it. I was one thousand dollars richer that night.

Huxley: What did you do with the money?

Lottie: Paid for parking tickets I accumulated from being lazy and parking in the wrong parking spots at school.

Huxley: That’s an unfortunate way to spend it.

Lottie: It was going to bills either way.

Huxley: Did you work in college?

Lottie: Is that your second question?

Huxley: Yes.

Lottie: Then, yes. I was a waitress at a steak joint. I made good money, but the hours were long, the customers were brutal, and I took back at least one steak a week to the kitchen for being cooked too rare. But I served dinner to rich people and they paid well. It’s why I’m not drowning in debt. Well, that and you . . .

Huxley: Having only thirty thousand dollars in student debt after graduating just a year ago? That’s really good, actually.

Lottie: But when you have nothing, thirty thousand is a lot.

Huxley: I get it. What’s your second question?

Lottie: What’s your favorite board game to play?

Huxley: Don’t have one.

Lottie: That’s a boring answer. You have to have some sort of board game you enjoy.

Huxley: I don’t play board games.

Lottie: Card game?

Huxley: Uno?

Lottie: Is that a question or an answer?

Huxley: Answer. It’s the only thing I could think of. Breaker makes us play Uno Attack every once in a while. It’s fun.

Lottie: Ooooo, I love Uno Attack. When those cards spit out at you, it’s the devil’s work. Good answer, Huxley. I accept.

Huxley: Glad to hear it. Now, getting back to work.

Lottie: See you at dinner.

“Did you ask for this on purpose?” I ask when Reign leaves the room.

Huxley, who’s looking particularly handsome in a black button-up shirt, places his napkin on his lap before reaching for the homemade horseradish sauce. “You put me in the mood for steak. Hope you don’t have to send yours back.”

“Cheeky,” I say. He dumps some sauce on his steak and then hands me the dish. Our fingers glide over one another, and for some reason, the warm touch of his finger sends a bolt of lust up my arm and straight to my heart. Where the hell did that come from?

Clearing my throat, I say, “This looks good though. Fingerling potatoes and . . . what’s this green thing, again?” I ask.

“Broccolini.”

He’s answering in clipped, short responses, which only leads me to believe one thing—he needs to be warmed up again if I’m going to get him to engage like earlier. He seemed pretty open through texts, but in person, his guard is up. The good thing is I know it can be torn down with some coaxing.

“Broccolini looks like something from a Dr. Seuss book.”

“It’s good.”

“What’s this stuff on it?” I ask, seeing if he’ll expand on his comments.

“Mustard vinaigrette.” Huxley cuts into his steak.

Oh-kay . . .

I’m wracking my brain for what else I can ask, when he says, “I reached out to Dave today, like I promised. I asked to set up a meeting with him to go over business.”

Oh crap, I forgot he said he was going to do that, even after admitting he’d like more time to work the friendship angle. I feel guilty. I had a moment of weakness last night when I told him I was done. I was frustrated, and deservingly so, given the closed-off individual I’ve been interacting with. But that frustration morphed into something else last night—appreciation.

Appreciation for him loosening up and giving my idea a chance without a disgruntled look or thought.

“You didn’t have to call Dave,” I say. “I was just in a bad state of mind last night. I shouldn’t have told you that I was ready to be done.” I glance up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Business needs to be taken care of,” Huxley says rather coldly. “He’s going to try to make some time for me this week. When he does, I’ll be sure to tell him you’re busy and can’t meet up with Ellie.”

“Huxley, you don’t have to do that. I signed a contract. I can go out with Ellie.”

His eyes land on me and sternly he says, “It’s fine.”

It doesn’t feel fine.

But just like that, the conversation is over. Just when I thought he was starting to warm up to me, he turns into this taciturn man again. Not sure I’ll ever understand these mood swings or why he has them, probably because he won’t let me get close enough to figure out why he acts the way he does.

But I guess that’s “business” for you . . . right?

I’m so sick of that. Of that term. When did business become this impersonal? When my mom first owned her cleaning business, before being hired as a senior manager in her current position, she was never cold. She was warm, friendly. It was one of the reasons why her customers loved her so much, because she took great care of them, because she was, in fact . . . not indifferent. Although, to be fair, Mom’s business involved giving to her clients, whereas Huxley is in the business of acquisitions.

But that doesn’t explain why Huxley has the need to act like this.

Let’s see if I can loosen him up like I did last night.

“Question time—are you ready?”

His brow raises as he glances up at me. For a nanosecond, I think he’s going to deny me the satisfaction of cracking his exterior once again, but then his eyes return to his steak as he cuts into it. “Ready.”

Man, it is going to be hard to pull him out of his shell tonight. It has to be a good question, something that will get him talking.

Hmm . . .

Something to really get him talking.

Something that will appeal to him.

I got it.

“If you had a boat, where would you go?” A simple question with room to elaborate.

“I do have a boat. A yacht, if you care to be correct about the terminology.”

Oh, huh.

“You do?” I ask, feeling surprised. I mean, of course he’d have a yacht, he’s a billionaire who lives near the ocean. Why wouldn’t he have a yacht? That would be like . . . uh . . . like a knight without a horse. Sure, that works. Well, and a sword, of course.

“Yes, my brothers and I actually share it because we thought it would be stupid to all have yachts, especially since we don’t go out on it all that much.”

Common sense.

“Okay . . . so, if you could go anywhere on your yacht, where would you go?”

“Alaska.”

“Alaska?” I ask, feeling even more shocked with that answer. “Why Alaska? I thought you were going to say something like the Mediterranean, you know, because in my head that’s where all the rich people go.”

“Alaska, because it’s breathtaking up there. The cascading mountains capped in snow, the blue waters, the tall pines, and wildlife.” He nods. “I’d spend my time there, exploring.”

“Hold up, are you telling me you’re the kind of man who sheds the suit and puts on a pair of hiking boots?”

“Is that your second question?” he asks.

“Consider it 1a,” I say with a grin.

The smallest of smirks pulls at the left corner of his mouth before he says, “I do enjoy hiking.”

“That wasn’t on the list of things you like to do for fun.”

He shrugs. “Well, it’s one of the things I like to do. There are some decent trails around here, especially up in the hills. The boys and I try to get a few hikes in on the weekends during the month. We haven’t been in a bit because of life. But, yeah, I’d take the yacht to Alaska and go hiking, whale watching, camping.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Time,” he says. “Time is always the factor.”

“But you could retire right now, you have enough money for more than a lifetime, so why keep going?”

He cuts a piece of his steak and pierces it with his fork. When his dark eyes meet mine, I feel my breath catch in my chest. The intensity throws me for a loop. “We can’t just stop what we’re doing. A lot of people depend on us for a living. For their livelihood. Until I feel comfortable enough to find someone who could take care of the business while we were gone, I’ll work for the people who work for me.”

An outsider looking in, listening to Huxley and his clipped tones and short-worded answers, would think the man has no heart, but then he gives you an answer like that. He has all the money one person could ever need, he could jet off somewhere and be done with ever working again, but he sees that he owes people his time, because they’ve given him theirs.

That hits me harder than expected.

“That’s a very kind answer, Huxley. You’re making me think there’s a heart under that pressed shirt after all.”

“It’s there when it needs to be.” He takes a drink of his water and asks, “Best place you’ve ever gone on vacation?”

“Ooo, you’re going to be sadly disappointed. We didn’t really go on vacation growing up. My mom didn’t have the money, but when she did save enough on occasion, we used to have a fantastic day at Disneyland. Mom would spoil us. We’d get there early before the park opened, have all the food we ever wanted, ride the rides twice, sometimes three times, and then stay until the park closed. Some of my best memories are of going to Disneyland. The only vacation we’ve ever been on was when we went to the Redwood National Park. We went camping. We aren’t wilderness ladies, but it was fun. We attempted to cook food over a fire, lived off s’mores, and played cards the entire weekend, when we weren’t marveling at the trees. It was a lot of fun.”

“Sounds like it. I’ve always enjoyed camping.”

“Let me guess—with your brothers.”

He nods. “Yeah, we do everything together.”

“I’m sensing that. You know, I’ve never been formally introduced to them, but I’m guessing they know all about me.”

“They do.”

“Well, maybe Friday I can get a proper introduction.”

“I can arrange that.” He bites into his steak and I watch as his firm jaw moves up and down. Okay, for some reason, that seems sexy to me. Yup, I think I might be losing it. “Your turn to ask a question.”

“Right,” I say, turning back to my plate. “Uh . . . who’s your favorite brother?”

He chuckles. “Going there, huh?”

“Might as well. I need to be prepared when I do meet them.”

“If I had to pick, I would say I’m closer to JP. We’re closer in age, we got into more trouble together, and we worked more on building the business together. He’s also the one I’d probably go to if I needed someone to help bail me out of jail.”

“Jail? Why are you going to jail?”

“We did stupid shit growing up.”

“Like what?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “A question for another day. Your quota is up. And don’t try that 2a, 2b bullshit on me, you already used it.”

“Well, aren’t you a killjoy?”

“Just playing the game as it was laid out. My turn.” He lifts his glass of water and takes a sip. When he sets the glass down, he looks uncertain. “I’m not sure how to ask this without it sounding harsh, but what happened to your dad?”

“That’s not being harsh. He left my mom early on. He was a truck driver. Didn’t want to stay in one place. I never had a relationship with the man, but he always sent my mom child support. It’s why she was able to afford the house we live in. I remember hearing my mom talk to my grandma late one night when Dad first left. Mom was saying she didn’t feel right taking the money from him, but my grandma shot down those feelings very quickly. It was the first time I heard my grandma talk in such a strict tone. She said my mom didn’t have her babies on her own. That the money he sent wasn’t charity, it was his duty. And from then on, Mom accepted his checks every month. We sent him homemade cards on holidays and his birthdays, but that was the extent of it. Now, I honestly have no idea what he’s doing or where he is. And we’re okay with that because we have Jeff, and Jeff is all we need.”

Huxley is silent for a moment before he says, “I couldn’t imagine abandoning my family like that, but at least he had it in his heart to be there in some capacity.”

“He helped give us a home Mom wouldn’t otherwise have been able to afford. And it’s such a great home, full of memories.”

“I felt that when I was there. Very homey.” He plops another piece of steak in his mouth and then goes quiet.

He remains that way for the rest of the night. And, of course, being the person that I am, I recount our conversation in my head, trying to pinpoint the moment or the thing I said that shut him down so quickly.

If only I could ask . . .

“What are you doing?” Kelsey asks as I bring my feet up into my chair and prop my phone on my knees.

“Getting ready to ask Huxley some questions.”

“About what?”

“About him,” I answer. “It’s part of the deal so I don’t freak out about having to live and act with a robot. I get to ask him questions. Two during the day and two at night. He gets to do the same.”

“Wow, that seems very . . . calculated.”

“That’s Huxley for you. The man needs order.”

Kelsey studies me and then scoots her chair closer so she can reach out and poke me in the arm. “You like him, don’t you?”

“What?” I ask with a pinch in my brow. “Are you nuts? No, I don’t like him. He’s . . . he’s a sociopath. Not the type of guy I’d ever go for. But it’s nice getting to know him a little bit better, because having dinner with someone who either spends his time irritating me or being completely silent isn’t what I’d call fun. This makes the deal easier.”

“Uh-huh,” she says with a smile as she gets out of her chair. “I’m going to walk to the salad shop around the corner. Want me to grab you something?”

“Please.” I smile at her, not giving in to her disbelief. “Chopped salad, no tomatoes. Thanks, sis.”

With that grin of hers, she grabs her purse and heads out the door. When it clicks shut, I open up my text thread with Huxley and ask him the question I wanted to ask him last night. Maybe he’d be more receptive to answering over text, where he doesn’t have to look me in the face.

Lottie: What stupid shit did you do as a kid?

I smile to myself as the dots appear on the thread.

Huxley: I knew that was coming.

Lottie: So, then you might have a good answer for me, right?

Huxley: Depends on what good is.

He’s so much more playful through text. Makes me wonder—does he feel as though he doesn’t have to maintain his façade when texting, like he does when we’re in person? Most likely he feels as though he can be more himself. Hide behind the comfort of his phone like a protective shield.

Lottie: Stop avoiding. Tell me all the naughty things you’ve done.

Huxley: You want naughty?

Lottie: Not that kind of naughty . . . well . . . huh, now I’m curious. Are you a naughty man?

Huxley: Are those your two questions for the day?

Lottie: You drive a hard bargain, but I kind of want them answered, so, yes, those are my two questions. I’d like the jail-time question answered first.

Huxley: For the record, we never went to jail, because we were never caught. But we were bored assholes and would fuck with our neighbors, stealing stupid shit from lawns and putting it in other people’s yards. So, Mr. Galstone on the corner would end up with Mrs. Dreerie’s potted plants, but we would alter them somehow, like spray-painting the planters. Stupid shit, but it got the neighbors talking, arguing. It was entertaining.

Lottie: You little assholes. Man, that would drive Jeff nuts if something like that happened to him. He’s very protective of his yard. He wishes he’d be acknowledged by The Flats yard committee, but we’re one street off from being considered. Jeff believes he deserves recognition. We all do.