I could barely understand her. Her voice was groggy with sleep, and from the look of it through the window, it was also being muffled by the pillow.
I know this seems creepy, but just go with it.
“Uh, hi,” I greeted, making my voice as nasal as I could by pinching my nose. The only problem with my technique was that I would need to remember to unpinch it every so often so I could breathe. “Is this Lola Sexton?”
I watched as she sat up slowly, the sheet pooling around her naked back, and surveyed the room for me. Obviously, I wasn’t there. I might have freaked out about the view—the unobstructed view of her sleek skin—if it weren’t for the fact that I had been the one to open the blinds this morning before leaving. Plans and all.
She’d told me about my new job only a few short days ago, and it’d taken a lot of work to pull this together, but I felt like it was important. For her and me, but really, for everyone else. I wasn’t much for show, but I wanted everyone to know one thing irrefutably—I didn’t ever want to make trouble for Lola; I wanted to make it with her. Forever.
“Yeah,” she said slowly, confused by my absence. “Who’s this?”
“This is Bobby Bunson,” I started, purposely choosing an androgynous name because I had no fucking clue if I sounded like a man or a woman. “With the San Fran Blotter.”
“The San Fran what?”
“The Blotter, honey. Anyhoo, we were hoping you’d be willing to do an interview on your thoughts on Reed Luca’s new article—”
She jumped out of bed—sadly on the other side so I couldn’t see anything—and cut me off as she did. “Sorry, Bobby. I’m not interested in any interviews.”
I smiled at her answer, and then smiled even deeper when I thought about how she’d react to what I had to say next.
“Oh, well. Shoot. That’s a shame. We were really hoping to have an answering piece to Reed’s interview, sort of like your col—”
“I’m sorry, what?” she nearly shrieked. I laughed as silently as possible and took a drag from the e-cigarette she’d gotten me in what I knew was a bold move to get me to quit. Palm reading, missing cigarettes, this new fancy, as she’d described it, e-cigarette—after a few months with me, she was becoming quite the little manipulator.
“Reed’s interview, dear. He’s supposed to meet us this morning. In about fifteen minutes or so, in fact.”
“Oh, he is, is he?” she seethed. I did my best not to break character as I watched her stomp around our room half naked, scooping clothes from the floor at random and pulling them onto her body in sharp, agitated movements.
“Well, yes, dear. We can do your interview in a couple of days, though, if you’re not available as soon…”
“Oh, I’m available,” she railed, turning to face the window and giving me the perfect view of her absolutely magnificent…face. Both fortunately and unfortunately, she’d managed to pull down a shirt by that time. “Where’s he meeting you?”
“We can conduct the interviews separately—”
“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary. You just tell me where to be, and I’ll be there. I have something to give that… I have something to give him anyway.”
“Muddy Waters Café, on Valencia.”
Her answering smile was pure evil; I fell in love all over again.
“I know just where it is. I’ll see you there, Bobby.”
I barely had to play a role to respond to that. “Can’t wait.”
Exactly fifteen minutes later, after quite a bit of hustling on both our parts, from a booth in the back corner, I watched Lola stomp into the Muddy Waters Café on a mission. Searching for the mystical Bobby, and me, of course, she scanned the tables with barely restrained impatience.
She wanted my head, and she wanted it on a platter. Now.
God, she is the best.
With a nod of my head, our previously agreed upon signal, Annie moved from her position by the kitchen and intercepted.
“Annie?” I read on Lola’s lips. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you wearing?” I heard Annie ask loud enough for me to hear. Lola looked down at herself subconsciously. Her outfit wasn’t matched, a mishmash of my oversized T-shirt and a short jean skirt of her own, but she looked nothing short of spectacular.
Lola opened her mouth to respond, but Annie cut her off again. “I like Reed, but wearing his clothes is taking it a little far. Even for you.” Man, she was a pro at avoiding the subject.
Meanwhile, I scooted out of the booth and ushered the rest of the crew—her family, mine, Brandon, Joe, Jen, and Abby out of the kitchen. The actual employees let out a huge sigh of relief. I’d had our friends and relatives packed in there like a clown car.