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)
“No, you have a point,” I begrudgingly admit. “People sometimes make snap judgements they don’t mean. Some people scare easy and it doesn’t mean they won’t come around later. I probably should stop with the bee talk or whatever else I say or do and just play the game and see where it all goes.”
“You don’t have to play any game,” Laz says.
I laugh dryly. “I do. That’s what we’re doing right now, isn’t it? Might as well follow through. And you gave me your opinion and advice and I think you’re totally right, whether I agree with it or not, whether I find it sad or not. I think you’ve already hit the nail on the head. But now that I’ve learned lesson number one, why don’t you go on with the rest of the lessons.”
“This wasn’t supposed to be like a lesson, more like an…evaluation.”
“I know. And I flunked. But now that I know what I shouldn’t do, I’m at a loss for what I should do. So tonight, when we get to the comedy club, I want you to teach me.”
He stares at me blankly then turns his attention back to the road. “Teach you?”
“Yeah. The art of seduction.”
CHAPTER FIVE
LAZ
“BEHIND THE WHEEL”
Did Marina just ask me to teach her the art of seduction?
Because that’s exactly what it sounded like.
“Of course,” I tell her, hoping I sound casual, like this is something she asks me to do every day.
But it’s not. And considering what I know about Marina now, that she’s a virgin, this brings our relationship – our friendship – to a whole new playing field. I did mention the other day that being physical was completely on the table. That is until it came off the table and entirely into her court.
Now she wants me to teach her how to seduce men and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“When you say art of seduction,” I tell her as we pull onto the traffic of Sunset Blvd., “what do you mean exactly?”
She shrugs, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment, her eyes focused on the passing lights outside. I feel like when we left her house, went over the hill, and came down here to the city, she’s gone through a gamut of emotions, from vulnerable to defensive to pissed off and now…I don’t know what she is.
But I don’t want to take advantage of her right now when she’s like this. Over the years I’ve learned to recognize certain mental states of hers and sometimes they require extra consideration.
“I want to find the right guy, Laz. I want to stop screwing up. I know now what to stop talking about. What I don’t know is what to do instead.” She glances at me with big, heartbreaking eyes. “I want the guys to like me. To want me. I need help.”
Fuck me. I feel absolutely rotten now. She doesn’t have to change a thing. She shouldn’t have to. And yet that’s exactly what I’ve told her to do.
“I’m almost thirty,” she goes on. “I’m a virgin. I don’t want to be one anymore. I want to find a guy. I want to fall in love. I want a future with someone, maybe marriage and babies, maybe right now all I need is to have someone’s arms around me as I fall asleep. I want love. I feel it’s absence in my life, every day.”
You’re breaking my heart, sweet girl.
Her words are gutting me right now. Here in my car, Marina is opening up her soul to me in ways she hasn’t before and I’m…floored by it.
I want her to have all that. I want her to know that…fuck. I love her. I care for her. As a friend, though, and I know that’s not what she’s talking about.
I clear my throat. “Darling, you deserve all of that and more. And you will have that. I promise you, you will find love. You will find that man who will wrap his arms around you as you drift off to sleep. You will find everything you need.” I pause. “You’ll find your flower.”
She lets out a soft laugh, though sadness still lingers in her eyes. “God, it does sound stupid when you say it out loud.”
“I’ll try and think of something more poetic,” I tell her. “Wouldn’t be much of a poet if I couldn’t.”
“How has that been coming along?” she asks and I can tell she wants to change the subject. “I mean, I know better by now than to ask you how the writing is going but…”
I give her a wry smile. “Damn right you know better.”
“That bad, huh?”
I exhale through my nose, my grip on the wheel tightening slightly. “A writer’s block like nothing else. I’m just not inspired. I have zero urge to write. I’ve got nothing.”