I keep ticking things off.
“You’ve got a pencil you use for secret purposes I think relate to me. You dry clean on alternate Fridays. The projector in the boardroom strains your eyes and gives you headaches. You’re good at using silence to scare the shit out of people. It’s your go-to strategy in meetings. You sit there and stare with your laser-eyes until your opponent crumbles.”
He remains silent.
“Oh, and you’re secretly a decent human being.”
“You definitely know more about me than anyone else.” I can feel a tension in him. When I look at his face, he looks shaken. My stalking has scared the ever-loving shit out of him. Unfortunately, the next thing I say sounds deranged.
“I want to know what’s going on in your brain. I want to juice your head like a lemon.”
“Why do you even want to know anything about me? I thought I was going to be your one glorious bout of hate sex to cross off your list before you settle down with some Mr. Nice Guy.”
“I want to know what sort of person I’ll be using and objectifying. What’s your favorite food?”
“Vanilla ice cream. Eaten from your bowl, with your spoon. And strawberries.”
“Dream vacation destination.”
“Sky Diamond Strawberries.”
When I level a frustrated look at him, he relents, and points at the frame on his wall.
“That exact Tuscan villa.”
“I want to climb inside that painting. What would you do there?”
“Swim in a pool with a tile mosaic on the bottom.” He smiles at how much that image delights me.
“Does the pool have a fountain somewhere? Like a little lion spitting water?”
“Yes, it does. After the swim, I lie in the shade eating grapes and cheese. Then I’d have a big glass of wine and fall asleep with a book on my face.”
“Basically you’ve just described heaven. What happens then?”
“I forgot to mention that a beautiful girl swam in that pool with me and slept in that sun too. She’s starving. I’d better take her out for pasta. Carbohydrates and oil, covered in cheese.”
“I’m enjoying this food fantasy,” I manage. I want to be that girl so badly I could howl.
“We’d walk back to the villa in the dark, and I’d pull down the zip of her red dress. I’d feed her champagne and strawberries in bed to keep her strength up.”
“How are you coming up with this stuff.” I’m so enraptured I’m almost slurring. If this is what his holiday daydream is like, I wouldn’t survive his bedroom.
“Then I’d wake up and do it all again the next day. With her. For weeks.”
I stare at the painting and imagine standing with him under the glittering dark purple sky, the headlights of faraway cars illuminating the rows of poplar trees lining the road.
I have to say something. Anything. He’s looking at me, clearly entertained.
“Lucky bitch.”
He laughs out loud at that. I fire off my next quiz question.
“You’re shipwrecked onto an uninhabited island. What three things would you take with you?”
“A knife. A tarpaulin.” He thinks for a long time on the last item.
“And you. To annoy you,” he amends.