Hate to Love You(65)

Ana Lucia thought misery was enjoyable—an oxymoron if ever I heard one. She read books and watched films specifically for their misery factor. Crying her heart out made her feel better about her own life, she said, and we should all get sad deliberately because it’s an emotion we don’t pay enough attention to.

I told her she was pretty sad herself but that didn’t go down too well.

Ah, my date had finally arrived. Marcia crossed the street and walked toward me. Her hair was back to her natural shade and she’d had it cut into a sleek bob. She was dressed “elegant butch” as she called it, in a tailored shirt and trousers that accentuated her female form but somehow made her look masculine. There was a spring in her step and her eyes were sparkling as they used to, giving me a surge of happiness. She looked behind me and her smile faded.

“Vanessa isn’t the dumpy midget we decided,” she said. “Don’t turn around.”

I turned around.

James was escorting a sultry Latina in red. He was in a stylish black leather jacket and dark trousers, looking so handsome he should have received an on-the-spot fine. It’s not fair for the rest of us if people like him and Vanessa are allowed to walk around making everybody else feel inadequate.

James was oozing charm, talking to Vanessa as she preceded him into the theatre. And he was smiling, damn it!

I sighed. “How pathetic am I? No boyfriend and no hot date.”

Marcia was indignant. “What the hell am I?”#p#分页标题#e#

“You’re my equally pathetic friend except you’re scary and bitter.”

She grabbed my hand and kissed it. “Don’t forget lesbian.”

I rolled my eyes. “You are not gay, Marcia. If you were, I’d be telling you to find some pussy because you seriously need to sweat out some issues. You’re scared of men and you think women won’t hurt you. But you’re wrong—we’re all bitches.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, deepening her voice. “Well tonight you’re my bitch. James is not going to flaunt his floozy while you slum it with a single mum.”

“Whatever, as long as we avoid him. The theatre is small, so let’s stay outside until—Hey!”

That bone structure I mentioned comes paired with wrestlerlike strength. She’d grabbed my hand and was pulling me into the theatre.

“You’re not getting apple crumble tomorrow,” I hissed at her back.

Once inside, I zoned in on James immediately.

Marcia jabbed me with her elbow. “Stop drooling. You’re on a hot date, remember?”

I squeezed her hand so hard she cursed. My whole body felt tight and stretched, as if I needed only a flick to snap out of control. Oh crap, this was bad. I thought I’d subdued the jealous savage squatting where my mind used to be years ago, but it seemed she was out of Prozac.

I wanted to yank James away from his gorgeous companion. They weren’t even touching but it didn’t matter, the irrational desire to stake my claim was powerful. My hand clenched into a fist but I didn’t know who I wanted to hit—him or myself for wanting him. Her, definitely.

“We’re going over,” Marcia said, giving me no choice.

James barely looked at me. As we approached his eyes were on Marcia, making me feel invisible. My hot lesbian date planted a little kiss on my knuckles before she let go and extended her hand to James. Marcia enjoyed herself immensely, pumping his hand up and down in an exaggerated take on the masculine handshake. In full flirtation mode she kissed the brunette’s cheek and complimented her outfit. Then it was my turn.

“Nice to meet you, Vanessa,” I said.

I wanted to have a concrete reason to hate her but when I looked into her eyes I could see her kindness and gentle nature. Damn, she really was beautiful inside and out, not damaged and scarred like I was.

I sucked both lips into my mouth and then let go, realising how geriatric it must have made me look.

Marcia pulled me close and planted a smacker on my lips. “Shall we go in, baby cheeks? I’ll hold you if you cry.”

Baby cheeks? She wasn’t getting any lasagne either.

James didn’t take his eyes off Marcia. “Don’t let us keep you.”

I couldn’t get to my seat fast enough. The hole James burned through my back as we walked away felt as if it could tunnel straight through me. I forced my thoughts away from him while Marcia told me what Les Miserables was about. Call me uncultured but I’d never been to the theatre before. The bloody tickets were expensive, and besides, I preferred to spend what little money I had salsa dancing. In Spain I ate late and danced until early; in London I ate early and danced until late.