You want to talk about how Jake has a penis, my mind whispers. You want to talk about it badly.
Christ. There might be something seriously wrong with me.
“I can’t learn from watching YouTube.” Chloe continues to plead her case. “I’m not a visual learner, you know this. I need real-life, hands-on lessons.”
It might make me half crazy, but somehow, I find myself wading into the brink. Of all the things I’ve struggled with in my adult life, doing my makeup isn’t one of them. In fact, I’m kind of a dab hand.
“I could show you how to do some stuff with your makeup,” I offer, gently chiming into their conversation.
“Really?” Chloe squeals, turning around so fast I have to dip backward to avoid getting whacked by her long blond hair. To be fair, though, ever the phone-call voyeur, I was following a little too closely.
“Sure,” I say. “I taught myself, but I think I do an okay job—”
“Are you kidding?” she shrieks, completely ignoring the fact that she’s still on the phone with her father. “Your makeup always looks fire!”
“Fire?” I question.
“Oh yeah,” she confirms without actually explaining to me what she means in the first place. “You’re a low-key stunner.”
“That’s a good thing?”
“Bet,” she says confidently, confusing me even more.
Without pausing to help me wipe what I know must be a look of sheer stupidity off my face, she puts the phone back to her ear to talk to Jake. “You win. I don’t need lessons anymore. I’ll see you when I get back from the movies with Hailie.”
She doesn’t bat an eye, laughing into the receiver and then holding it out to me. I point at my chest—still confused—and she nods as she hands it to me.
“Um, hello?” I say tentatively as I put it to my ear. Chloe leaves the kitchen and goes right out the front door. And I’m left standing in their house by myself.
“You don’t have to teach her how to do makeup.” Jake’s voice is in my ear. “She can learn on the internet.”
I wave a hand—even though he can’t see it—as clarity finally comes back. “Oh, it’s no big deal. Sounds kind of fun, actually. I will have to take to the internet beforehand, though. I don’t know what any of these words mean. Do you?”
“Hardly.” His husky laugh bounces from the receiver. “Just tell her to use real English.”
“Are those words not English?” I ask with a grin.
“Sure as shit not the version I’m familiar with.”
I clear my throat and swirl my finger along the top of his marble countertops, trying to sound casual. “So, um, I hear you got held up with Rachel. I, um, thought she was about to leave.”
I don’t know if I achieve it or not, but it’s in my best self-interest not to analyze it too deeply.
There’s a smile in his voice as he answers me. “I thought so, too. But when she went over to her car and got in to start it, her battery was dead. She wasn’t sure what to do, but I had my cables, so I gave her a jump.”
“Ah,” I hum.
Does the woman not have AAA?
“Are you still there with her now?” I fish.
“Nope,” he says cheerfully. “I got her car running and took off. I should be home in about twenty minutes. Are you okay to wait for me?”
I try to sound important. “I guess I can. I have stuff to get done, but twenty minutes isn’t that big of a deal.”
“Too much stuff to get done to wait for me to stop and pick up the ingredients for hot fudge sundaes?”
I scoff. “Be serious. There’s always time for hot fudge sundaes, Jake.”
He laughs. “Okay, good. That’s what I thought. I’m in the parking lot of the supermarket. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Okay,” I agree, trying not to sound too excited.
Why is it that I’m so excited exactly?
This man has just spent the last three hours on a date with another woman. What is it that I think this is?
No. I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. I refuse to think about it now. It feels good. It’s necessary in order for my articles to make any sense at all, and that’s it. Period. The end.
Right?
Right.
“See you soon,” Jake says, effectively ending the call. I click the button on the handset to hang up and lay it down on the counter before looking around the kitchen.
I’m alone in his house.
What am I supposed to do now?
Awkwardly, I round the island and take a seat at one of the stools, my hands clasped in my lap. It feels weirdly like I shouldn’t even touch anything, but I know that’s a little overboard.
I mean, if he weren’t comfortable with me being in his house alone, he would have asked me to wait in my car, right?