“Oh, Jean-Pierre . . .”
“Not my name.”
She snaps in disappointment. “Still, sex after you broke up with her? Kind of skeezy, don’t you think?”
“Never said I made the best choices,” I say unapologetically.
“How long ago was this relationship?”
“Eh, like two, three years ago. I think she’s engaged now. At least that’s what I surmised when she ‘accidentally’ texted me a photo of her engagement ring. She said it was meant for someone else.”
“Oh, surrrrrre,” Kelsey says, dragging it out, which makes me smile. “That’s what they all say. She sent you that picture on purpose to try to make you jealous. Were you? Jealous, that is?”
“Not in the slightest. Honestly, it’s shitty to say, but I’d kind of forgotten about her until that text.”
“And since then, you’ve been a lone wolf?”
“Yeah, nothing wrong with that.”
“Not saying there is,” she says as the carousel slows. I pull out my wallet to pay for the ride—a ride I didn’t think I’d be going on—and grab a ten-dollar bill to pay for the both of us. “Just fascinating. I, on the other hand, am single because . . . well, apparently I’m unlovable.”
“You know for damn sure that’s not the truth,” I say as I hand the attendant our money and he opens the gate. “What do they always say . . . you just haven’t found the right person yet?”
“But do you truly believe that?” she asks as she hops up on the carousel and finds a blue horse. I take the yellow one next to her and straddle it, feeling like a complete idiot. I’m a grown man riding a yellow horse. This is incredibly off-brand for me.
“Sure,” I answer offhandedly, because I really don’t know what I believe when it comes to that kind of shit.
“That’s not very convincing.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say. You’re hot, so there’s instant attraction. In the work environment, you’re cool, professional, and obviously know sustainability issues front to back. Having spent more time with you recently, I’ve learned that you always want to get your way, in a . . . pestering, control-freak way, and I’m seeing more she-devil behavior that I’m not sure many people know is there. But there’s got to be someone out there who likes that kind of thing.” I shrug.
I like her, even when the she-devil comes out. Regardless, I’m drawn to her.
“Wow,” she says, smiling. “What a lovely picture you’ve painted of me.”
The bell rings and the carousel starts moving so she drops the conversation, pulls out her phone, and starts snapping pictures.
“What do you plan on doing with those pictures?” I ask her as the carousel picks up speed.
“Blackmail, of course.” She smirks and then takes a selfie of the both of us.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“JP, put it on.”
“If you think I’m wearing that, you’ve lost your goddamn mind. I’ve already ridden the carousel, taken those stupid boomerang things on a trolley, and pretended to hold Alcatraz in my hand. I draw the line at wearing a goddamn bib at dinner.”
“You’re being a snob.”
“Because I don’t want to wear a bib?”
“Precisely.” She gestures to the restaurant. “It’s part of the experience.”
An experience I didn’t want. She chose where we were going to eat and, of course, she picked the popular tourist attraction, the Crab House, which, granted, I heard has amazing food. But the vibe is not me. I don’t do plastic bibs.
“I’m good with missing out on the experience.”
“Joo-Joo Poo-Poo, put on the bib.”
“Is Joo-Joo Poo-Poo supposed to be a guess of my name?”
“Yes . . . is that not correct?”
“Not even close.”
“Damn, I would’ve absolutely snorted all over this table if it was.”
“Attractive.”
“Here we are,” our waitress says, setting down a giant—and I mean giant, baking sheet-sized—skillet of two cooked crabs and a plate of fries between us, along with melted butter in ramekins. “Enjoy.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of crab,” Kelsey says. “But I’ve worked up quite the appetite.” And before I can even consider picking up a fry, she snaps a leg off a crab and smiles at me.
Uhh . . .
The crunch, the ninja-like way she just did that, the satisfaction in her face . . . makes me think I should be scared for my life.