Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
I give him an odd look. Is this how he is on a first date? He’s awfully pushy.
“No,” I tell him. “Let’s just get going.” I quickly reach back in and grab my purse before locking the door behind me. “Where are we going anyway?”
“You said on your Tinder profile that you love to laugh and you have secret aspirations to be a stand-up comic, so I thought The Comedy Store would be a great start.”
My Tinder profile doesn’t say that. But I’m also relieved, because that means he hasn’t found my actual profile, lest that come under judgement too. I may be using a photo from five years ago when I was twenty pounds lighter.
“Sounds great,” I tell him. Actually, it does sound like a lot of fun. Laz and I usually do the same old things out here, and in the Valley, we don’t venture over the hills as much as we should. So even if this whole experiment doesn’t go anywhere, and I still think it won’t, this is pushing us out of our comfort zones a bit. I guess even friendships can use a little spice every now and then.
Speaking of spice, Laz even smells different. Like cinnamon and something woodsy. It reminds me of fall in Ramona, when the weather finally cools down enough for me and my mother to slip on the sweaters and go apple picking.
I shake that memory out of my head and concentrate on Laz.
“You smell delicious,” I tell him.
He glances at me over his shoulder as we round the pool and head down the side of Barbara’s house. “Thank you. I never did get a hint of what you smell like.”
Suddenly he stops walking and I collide into his back. He turns around and leans in for a moment.
“Are you smelling me?” I ask, meeting his eyes, just inches from mine.
“Yes,” he says. “Is that weird?”
“Kind of,” I tell him. And I thought I was going to be the weird one here.
He nods and keeps walking, opening the gate and stepping through. I glance up at the window of the house briefly to see Barbara peering at me through the blinds. She doesn’t bother to hide, she just shakes her bony finger at me and I know she’s warning me to be careful. I may have mentioned my date to her the other night while we were watching Rebecca, and she may have told me it was all a horrible idea.
“So, what do I smell like anyway?” I ask him.
“Honey,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Occupational hazard, I suppose.”
He shrugs. “I’ve always loved it.”
“Wait a minute,” I tell him as we approach his car. “You’re not supposed to know what I do.”
He opens the door for me. “It says so on your Tinder profile.”
“I wouldn’t put that on my Tinder profile.”
“Yes, it’s right below the part where you talk about your inspirations of being a comic,” he says, his eyes begging me to play along.
This is dumb, I want to say but I bite my tongue for once and take in a deep breath, trying to get in the game.
“Oh that’s right,” I say and then thank him as I get in the passenger seat and he shuts the door after me, like the perfect gentleman he usually is with me.
Laz is a pretty clean guy, but even so, I can tell he tidied up in his car. It smells like his spicy scent. I have to wonder if Laz has always smelled so good and this is the first time I’m really noticing it.
“Nice car,” I comment. “I didn’t know you were a car guy.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about Carl McNaughty,” he says, starting the engine.
“Are you Irish? McNaughty sounds Irish.”
“Yeah, completely,” he says, faking an extremely believable Irish accent. “I come from a long line of McNaughtys just outside of Cork.”
I lean my head back against the seat. “I’d love to go to Ireland one day,” I say dreamily.
“Why don’t you?” he asks with such concern that I’m not sure if it’s Laz asking or Carl.
I shrug. “I don’t have the money really. Or the time. Every extra buck I get I’m putting it into my business. I don’t take days off. And that’s okay, because I’m young, ish, and I know that this is the time I need to burn the midnight oil. This is the time to work my ass off, to try and establish myself. Work hard while I can because who knows what the future brings.”
A beat passes in the air as we cruise down the street and turn onto Coldwater Canyon. “I feel the same way,” he says. “What’s worse is that no one takes what I do seriously, so when I’m working all the time, they just don’t see it as work.”