Page 24 of How to Get Lucky
Her question echoes in my head while I replay every euphoric moment of that performance. Then in a low, strangled voice, I say, “Nirvana.”
She moves to the lip of the stage. “What? I didn’t hear you.”
As the haze lifts and the buzzing in my body slows, I’m answering so many questions at once.
What do I think of that passionate, ethereal, seductive dance?
How do I feel spending time with this incredible goddess?
What kind of music should they dance to?
“Nirvana,” I repeat. “That dance should start with Nirvana.”
12
Note to self: should have had the ice cream after London danced for me, not before.
Maybe I can find a bucket of ice in this theater.
Or possibly a cold shower. I’ll pop in, cool off, and no one will be any the wiser that I’m on fucking fire.
When London hops off the stage, her purse over her shoulder, she grabs my arm, grinning wildly. “Nirvana is brilliant. Is there any chance I can convince you to spend another hour with me and discuss all things grunge rock, you evil genius who’s not evil but still a genius?”
Humor. Teasing. Yes, that’ll work almost as well as buckets of ice water. “I don’t need to be at the radio station for my show till eight, and since it’s only four, I could possibly be convinced. But it might require more food at this point,” I say, since food will also help distract me from the way she cranked the dial to high on my lust for her.
She lowers her voice to a clandestine whisper. “Word on the street is you can be bribed with a nominal amount of tacos. And I just happen to know a guy.”
“A taco dealer? In LA? You’ve got your ears to the ground,” I say, playing along with her.
“Work with me, Teddy.”
“I thought that was what we were doing. But you don’t have to skimp. A full order works too.” We head up the aisle toward the exit.
“Then you shall get a full order,” she says, reaching into her purse for her glasses.
“How well can you see without those?” I ask.
She bumps into a chair then laughs. “Just kidding. I can see fine without them, but better with them.”
“Good thing you have them, then.”
Once outside we grab some carne asada at a truck down the street, and even though it’s my second round of tacos today, I do indeed love them that much. We devour our food as we walk and talk, discussing music and dance and friends we depend on.
She tells me about her Woman Power Trio, as she calls them. “Olive bartends in Venice and is obsessed with sexy audiobooks. She’s my age but married already. She’s bold, brash, and the one person I can call at any hour of the day with a crisis.” She stops to take a bite of her taco, and a dab of sauce mars her lip. But before the temptation to wipe it away becomes too strong, she takes care of it for me—with that tongue. That sweet pink tongue.
“Then there’s Emery. She’s a whip-smart junior TV producer who’s been burned by love but keeps on trying. An attitude that has served her well in business too, since she’s the fiercest, most determined person I know. She’d give me a kidney, and I’d do the same for her.”
“That’s pretty much the highest compliment you can give anyone,” I say, then I tell her about Sam, and how the guy has come through for me every time I’ve needed him, even when I didn’t know I needed anyone.
Soon, time starts to unwind, the clock ticking closer to evening as we near the market.
Closer to the time when this feels inevitably more like a date. Exactly what it can’t be.
I check the time on my phone, wishing the hour wasn’t mocking me. But there it is—close to five. A reminder that we’re sliding into a dangerous time zone, where night makes it easier to slip up. “I have my radio show tonight. I should go,” I say with obvious reluctance.
“Same. But thanks for spending so much time with me,” she says as we near a subway entrance. An idea hits me—because why end this yet?—and I gesture to it. “Do you want to Uber together, or take the train?”
Her brown eyes twinkle with mischief, like public transportation is the height of fun. “Confession: I’ve never taken the train in LA.”
My eyes go wide. My jaw drops. “You’re a train virgin?”
She gives me a coquettish grin. “I am. Want to deflower me?”
I’m both turned on and amused. I drop an arm around her shoulders. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of flirty and goofy at the same time? Also, this is a friendly limb,” I say, nodding to the arm I have wrapped around her. “I’m just stating that for the record.”
