He furrowed his brow, and his gray eyes creased at the corners as they took in my pathetic appearance. “Deadline?”
Nothing said deadline like bloodshot eyes, dark circles, and jeans I should’ve washed two weeks ago.
Yeah, okay, my mind taunted. Focus on the jeans so you don’t focus on the grease in your hair.
I shrugged. “Something like that.”
A sympathetic smile raised the corners of his lips. “When are you gonna learn?”
“I’d like to say soon, but I’d probably be lying.”
He chuckled softly and tapped the rim of my reading glasses. “These new?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“Red rims…” He crossed his arms and rested them on top of his belly. “I dig it.”
“Thanks.” I had a thing for buying an array of cheap reading glasses in every size, shape, and color. Well, it was also out of necessity. My eyes were shit, but I had a bit of a phobia about eyeballs. Consider it a ‘trigger” for me that stemmed from my older sister, Annie. She had the gross talent of being able to flip her top eyelids back so her eyeballs bugged out. And when we were kids, she had done it all the fucking time, often chasing me around the house making zombielike groaning noises.
Thanks to Annie, I had to go through life as a sufferer of Ommetaphobia.
Not only that, but my eyesight wasn’t that great. And because of my phobia of eyeballs, I couldn’t do the adult thing and see an optometrist. Nope. I had to self-medicate with reading glasses.
Basically, Annie had lived up to the whole big sister reputation and ruined my life. And Ommetaphobia wasn’t even the only phobia she’d caused. I also couldn’t stand to have a porcelain doll anywhere in my general vicinity, the number nine was some kind of satanic symbol, and don’t even think of asking me to water your lawn—but those were all different stories for another day.
Howard slapped the counter, startling me out of my childhood, and asked, “What’s your poison, Lola girl?”
“Toast with strawberry jelly and a fresh cup of joe, please.” I pulled my laptop out of my messenger bag and set it out on the counter.
“Coming right up!” Howard shouted jovially, and with a pep in his step, disappeared behind the swinging door that led to the kitchen.
It was safe to say Howard had gotten some good, good lovin’ from his wife Nina last night. He was normally a cheery kind of guy, but at this hour of the morning, he wasn’t usually one step and a smile away from breaking into a song and dance.
Way to go, Howard and Nina. You little sex freaks.
“I can’t believe he didn’t call last night,” a woman behind me said with a disappointed sigh, and my ears perked up like a dog who’d just heard his owner open up a bag of potato chips.
“When was the last time you talked to him?” her friend questioned as I continued to rudely eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Last week.”
My spidey-sex-column senses were rising.
Surreptitiously, I glanced over my shoulder and found three twenty-something girls dressed in sweats and comfy hoodies, sitting together in a booth and drinking coffee. One had the saddest face in the world, and the other two just looked concerned.
“Sorry I made you guys get out of bed this early, but I just don’t know what to do,” the sad one said.
“It’s okay,” her friend reassured. The other one didn’t look like being dragged out of bed pre-six a.m. was okay at all but schooled her face into something more sympathetic before either of her friends noticed.
“I mean, what do you think is going on?” the sad one questioned, her face somehow managing to look sadder. “I thought Jeremy and I had a really good thing going. I really liked him, and now, it’s like he’s become distant. He’s not answering phone calls. He’s not calling me. And don’t even get me started on my text messages. It’s like they don’t even exist to him.”
Jeremy sounds like an asshole.
“Why do I feel like this always happens? Is there something wrong with me?”
“Of course not, honey,” her other friend responded. “You’re beautiful and funny and super sweet. Any guy would be lucky to call you his girlfriend.”
“Ugh,” the sad one groaned. “I swear to God. I think I’m just going to quit dating. Men suck, and I hate feeling like this all the time.”
Those were words and frustrations probably every woman actively in the dating world had muttered more than once. Dating on its own was hard, and when a guy wasn’t up front with you about his intentions or didn’t have the balls to tell you he didn’t want to pursue anything further, it made it ten times harder than it needed to be.