“So glad you two could make it.”
They lead us through the house, and when we reach the door, Ellie gives Lottie a hug and Dave offers me another handshake. It’s all so domestic, so . . . suburban. And it makes me feel claustrophobic. My throat closes up on me, and while Lottie gives them another goodbye, I just nod and walk to my car to open the door for her. My hand falls to her back as she gets in, and then I shut the door once she’s settled.
I round the hood and then get in. Dave and Ellie stand at the door, connected at the hip as they smile at us. If that is what having a fiancée involves—that domesticity, docility—I’m so glad there will never be anything like that between me and Lottie. Never be anything like that, period.
I start the car and offer one more wave before I round the circular driveway and head down the gravel path, finally able to let out a deep breath.
So does Lottie, but she slouches in her seat and says, “I feel as if I can finally unclench.” A smirk pulls at my lips. “That was . . . unreal, that entire experience. I felt as though I transported into another body and that body controlled my every word and action. Because if I would’ve been in my own body, I would’ve snatched Ellie’s shortcake right out of her hand after giving her a knee to the head to make sure she doesn’t take it back. That shit was good. Really good. I felt feral eating it. And the fact that Ellie said she’d share the recipe with me? No, I don’t want the recipe, I want someone to make it for me.”
“I’m glad you didn’t knee her in the face for more.”
“She was eating it so slow. I swear they were doing some sort of sexual game in front of us.”
“They were not performing a sexual game in front of us,” I say, debunking that thought quickly.
“Are you sure about that? Were you paying attention? Because you really felt like a robot back there. She was totally licking the spoon sexually and then glancing at him. I saw him shift in his seat a few times. Bet you anything they’ve already stripped out of their clothes and are fucking against the entryway door right now. Although, Dave doesn’t seem like the type that fucks against the door.” She considers this and then adds, “But it’s actually usually the silent ones who are total freaks in bed.” She turns toward me. “You’re silent—are you a freak in bed?”
“Not something you need to worry about,” I answer.
“God,” she groans in frustration. “Thanks for the evasive answer. I’ll draw my own conclusions then, and I’m guessing you have a teeny weenie and don’t know how to use it.”
I grip the steering wheel more tightly. “How about we don’t talk?”
I need to sulk, stew silently on the drive. Because here I was, going to a business meeting, thinking I’m about to score a deal, and not once did we speak about business; instead, we spoke about the different variations of the color cream, the impact a simple rug in a dining room can have, and the different ways to serve avocado toast. Christ.
“Oh, I struck a chord. You do have a teeny weenie. That’s probably why you’re single and spend so much time in the office, why you didn’t have a catalogue of girls to ask to help you out, but had to find a random girl on the streets. This is all making so much sense.”
“Lottie, enough.”
But she doesn’t stop.
“You realize you can catch more flies with honey, right? You can adjust your attitude. We’re partners in this endeavor, after all. How would you like it if I took you along to a function of mine and spoke to you the way you speak to me?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I think back to the way Dave seemed so comfortable. So . . . in his place. Not that he’s awkward at meetings, but he doesn’t seem comfortable, ever. Almost uneasy, untrusting. But sitting in his backyard, with Ellie right next to him, he let down his guard.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t take kindly to such an attitude. You should really speak to others the way you want to be spoken to. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for. And while you’re at it, treat others the way you want to be—”
“Can you just shup up for a goddamn second?” I ask, my mind racing, trying to put together the pieces.
“Excuse me?” she asks, folding her arms. “Would you care to rephrase that? Because unless you want me to march back to their house and flash them a negative pregnancy test, I’d change your attitude.”
“You’re in contract.”