“You already know it wouldn’t help. She’d probably be offended by your choice of non-Christmas words.”
“Non-Christmas words?” I almost choke on the words and the weed.
“Yeah,” he laughs, his face scrunching up around his nose. It’s adorable. “I accidentally swore at a friend’s house once. His grandmother was there cooking us dinner because we’d been out of town for Christmas. She heard me and I thought I was in for it, but all she said was‘well, that’s not a Christmas word’and moved on.”
Suddenly, he stops. Pie. The man has brought me to one of the best known pie chains in Los Angeles to help me get over my mother being a controlling, manipulative bitch. I was terrible to him last night, then reject him today. She insults him and embarrasses me. He brings me out for pie.
Maybe I’m wrong about him. What if I am his type of girl, after all? His baggage might go with mine.
It’s past nine on a Friday, with most of Los Angeles creating chaos at clubs and parties, but this place is packed. After we order, I pull out my phone, and James stops me before I can pay.
“James!”
“You can only pay for cheer-up pie when you’re cheering someone else up or if you’re alone. Those are the rules.”
“But you paid for breakfast.” That’s the only argument I can think of. It’s weak and sounds more like a whine than an argument against him buying.
He shrugs and says, “Sam paid for breakfast. I’ll dig through the couch for coins before I let you buy your own cheer-up food, Angel.”
We find an empty table outside as another couple leaves. The restaurant converted a few parking spots into a little patio area with tables, lighting, and a canvas tent covering. They’ve even put down fake grass and potted ferns to help you forget you’re basically sitting in the street. It’s cute, and I’m kicking myself for never having come up here before tonight.
“Thanks for, I dunno, not bailing after the whole mom thing.”
“I mean, I could have ditched you while you were crying, but then I’d have to come out for pie alone. Where’s the fun in that?”
“Fuck, I had just forgotten that I totally broke down in front of you like that.”
He breaks off a piece and holds the fork up to me, smirking. “This is one of my favorites, so I’m really curious what you think of it.”
“Sugary kid’s cereal is your favorite kind of pie?” I smirk, and he chuckles. I even see a slight pink rise in his cheeks. I wrap my lips around the fork, and the sweetness hits instantly. I’m looking into his eyes, and I know how wrong and sexual that must look, but I can’t hold back the moan as the flavor bursts in my mouth. I’m transported back to our living room in North Carolina on a Saturday morning. I can practically hear the cartoons playing.
“Holy shit,” I don’t even care that my mouth is still half full of sinful goodness, “that’s the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”
He tries hard to bite back the laugh. I can see him struggling and how his nose scrunches up as the laugh grows. “I’m sorry, I promise. I’m not laughing at you. Sometimes, I’m just a fucking stupid teenager trapped in a grown man’s body.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m laughing at myself! I know what I just said, and I mean it!” I’m so wrapped up in the moment that I can’t stop the inner dialog from coming out as I add, “Besides, that’s a pretty damn spectacular body to be trapped in.”
His face cycles through several shades of red as he runs his fingers along the side of his nose. It makes me want to compliment him more to see if he does it every time. It’s adorable, but a little sad. Someone like him should receive compliments often enough to know how to handle them.
“Oh yeah, there she is,” I laugh, reaching out for the other fork and holding it up for him this time. “Queen of saying embarrassing shit out loud! Okay, I want to try this, but I’m kind of scared. Sometimes, I’m too white for Mexican chocolate. I know that sounds dumb, but?—”
“I get it, but I won’t be the best judge for you. I was raised in Los Angeles, remember?” His voice drops as he leans forward, eyes locked on mine, and he winks. “I like things a little…spicy.”
My smile melts, and my heart skips as I watch him the way he had watched me. His full lips wrapping around the fork isn’t accidentally sexual—it’s blatant, and his eyes darken as they lock on mine. I have an urge to climb on the table and let this man have his way with me, but part of me is still hearing my mother’s voice screaming at me from earlier about being a whore.
I think, just maybe, I could be a slut for James Barton and those steely blue eyes and cheesy pickup lines.
“Why are you single?” I shrink away after the words escape. “Sorry, I didn’t… I mean…fuck.”I take a big bite of my pie while he watches me. I realize it’s far too hot for my taste too late, but I try to hide it.
“I, uhm, I don’t have much to bring to the table when it comes to relationships.” He holds my coffee up, tilting the straw toward me and I take a huge drink, trying to stop the fire in my mouth. “I’m shy, nervous. I don’t really like people. Most people in LA like the whole night life scene, but I’d rather stay in. I’m also a dick.”
“Dani told me you were nice.”
“No,Daniis nice. I’m a panicky, overthinking mess that constantly gets compared to that grouchy cat picture on the internet. I’m on medication that I consistently forget to take. I freelance because I’ve been rejected for every solid job I apply for, and our boss gave me the card for a shrink yesterday because I’m such a mess.”
“None of that describes the guy I’ve been hanging out with for the last couple of days. Hours. Whatever.”
“No? Because I’m pretty sure I’m making it all worse now.” He winces. “I just can’t help it. I’m sitting in front of a pie shop telling all of this to a beautiful woman I can’t get out of my mind.”
