So much careful control in one little email.
I would love to discuss your opinions further.
On the surface, it was benign. But underneath all of that, I sensed something else—a bomb waiting to explode. There was so much subtle power packed in her seemingly simple words, and I wasn’t even sure how I could tell. Normally, I needed a face-to-face encounter to read a person’s intentions, but something about what I knew about Lola from her column and the careful way she’d arranged her words when emailing me spoke to violence I wasn’t sure I’d ever witnessed.
Limb amputation, genital mutilation, and a healthy hock in order to leave a loogie behind on the tattered body.
Would meeting up with the woman behind the words lead to anything other than some kind of police involvement? Though, really, I kind of miss them…
No, no. I was supposed to be reformed.
But even the converted could find themselves in trouble when they least expected it. An impulsive video on YouTube that led to millions of views was proof of that. My inbox was now cluttered with interview requests from various media sources, as well as hate mail from angered Sex Says fans who didn’t appreciate my candid view regarding their favorite dating and relationship column.
I stared at the blinking cursor on the screen where I’d opened a return email and volleyed.
Red wire, blue wire, red wire, blue wire…
Goddamn, I couldn’t help myself.
Fuck it. I’ll cut both of them.
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
Subject: Re: I saw your video…
Greetings Lola,
I’m beyond interested to hear what “Sex” has to say about my perspective. I’m sure you’re fairly busy sticking your nose in all sorts of business, but I’m a busy guy myself—so it’ll have to be tonight. Bitters, Bock & Rye, 8 p.m.
Reed Luca
I couldn’t wipe the smile off of my face as I pushed send, picturing her head damn near exploding as the challenge and insult in my words made impact. I obviously didn’t actually think she was a nosy, no-good busybody—at least, not in the malicious sense. But I had a feeling accusing her of being one would really get her goat, and fuck, I loved to incite reactions.
Other people go sailing or hiking or maybe take a kayak out in the Bay—I mess with people. Swear to God, it gives me all the adrenaline rush I need.
Conscious of the hour—and the stink of hours of manual labor seeping from my pores—I jumped up from the chair and headed for the shower, shucking my clothes as I went.
Years of people watching aided my attempts to construct a prototype of my new foe in my head as I turned on the water and waited for it to heat up. What kinds of expressions did she frequent, and how would she react to the sight of me? Would she seem stuffy and aloof, or would she confront me head on with open terms and little regard for consequence?
The variances in human nature fascinated me, and the more time I spent in this ever-changing world, the fewer outside of the box reactions I received. I wasn’t sure if it was the “we know what’s best for you” movement or a desperate need to succeed, but people very rarely surprised me by deviating from society’s carefully crafted rules—women, especially.
Women often worried about the impression they would leave or being too aggressive in the eyes of a man. They led with kind words and veiled insults rather than coming out and saying exactly what they wanted to say, and they sheltered the things they needed out of fear of being too needy.
I wouldn’t really describe it as bad—as I tend to believe everything in the world has a scale of balance and normalcy, no matter the circumstance—but I would describe it as unifying the herd. Fewer people saw options other than college or a nine-to-five, and fewer people strove for what they really wanted out of life. They worked hard for money, but unfortunately, hadn’t made even half the same progress toward fulfillment.
Steam rose from the flowing water as I stepped inside.
“Ow, fuck!” I shouted as it scalded me. “You might want to pay attention, Reed,” I scolded myself.
I hadn’t been this distracted by a woman in a while—as it really took something more than a hello and a bat of eyelashes to get my attention—and I hadn’t even met her.
We’d exchanged one email, but responding to her column so pointedly felt extremely personal. And I was getting the impression she felt the same way. Someone else might have let it go. But not her. She’d reached out nearly immediately.
Lathered and rinsed, I stepped out and rubbed a towel haphazardly over my body until only dampness remained, and I secured it around my waist. I moved back to the desk under the living room window at what I have to admit was a jog and woke up the screen on my computer to see if she’d responded.
Frankly, I hadn’t left her much time, sending the email at six for a meeting at eight, but if she were as connected to technology as my sister, she’d have read the email as soon as it arrived.
Sure enough, a new, freshly unopened email sat patiently waiting at the top of my email box. Well, actually, I wasn’t sure if an email with the subject “Hey, Dickface!” could be patient, but I’d given it the benefit of the doubt.
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
Subject: Hey, Dickface!
Hello Reed,
If you want it to be tonight, I’m ready to rumble. Bitters, Bock & Rye, 8 p.m. I’ll be the one in the unicorn T-shirt, but I’m pretty sure I’ll recognize you by the huge dick on your face.
Sincerely,
Lola Sexton
P.S. I’m hungry, and it isn’t for perspective. Bring your wallet.
I clicked reply with a huge fucking smile on my face and started to type.
To: Lola Sexton
From: Reed Luca
Subject: Re: Hey, Dickface!
Greetings Lola,
There are so many underlying gems for me to enjoy in that email, but I’ll save the real enjoyment for our tête-à-tête in person. Bitters, Bock & Rye, 8 p.m.—it’s a date.
Reed Luca
I didn’t even click out of the screen before another email popped up.
To: Reed Luca
From: Lola Sexton
Subject: It’s a date…
In your dreams. But, hey, whatever makes you feel better about paying.
Sincerely,
Lola Sexton
If she was even half the person she was in email, in person, I had a feeling I’d be dreaming about her plenty.
At eight fifteen, I started to wonder if Lola was going to show up. It wasn’t like she was hours late, but maybe her idea of the ultimate revenge was to arrange a meeting with me only to stand me up.
I wasn’t sure if that was the case, but I was sure that if it were, I would be disappointed. She might have been thinking off with his head when it came to me, but after our little war of emails, I felt decidedly on the other end of the scale.
Unable to sit in my apartment and wait any longer, I’d gotten here at seven thirty and pulled up a spot at the bar to drink a beer. This place had some of the best variety in the city, nearly fifteen beers on tap and even more to offer in ambiance.
It wasn’t too far from my place, but I wasn’t sure what kind of a hike it was for her.
It hadn’t bothered me at first, obviously, but the more I sat there, the worse I felt.
She was a woman, it wasn’t daylight anymore, and while San Francisco had many wonderful things to offer, it also had some not so nice ones.
It really wouldn’t sit well with me if I was the reason she ended up in a situation.
For the first time ever, I found myself kind of wishing I had a cell phone. Not that I have her number…
Turning to the door once more, my drumming fingers stopped midbeat. Lola.
I knew, with absolute certainty, the woman walking in the door was her.
Simple action—a woman walking into a bar—but it was crazy how much more remarkable it felt. It didn’t just feel like she was walking into Bitters, Bock & Rye—it felt like she was walking into my life.
An oversized T-shirt that had the words I’m a unicorn written across her left breast was the first thing I noticed, but it definitely wasn’t the last. Her cutoff shorts were short enough that the tips of the pockets stuck out below the hem, and the collar of the T-shirt hung off her shoulder to reveal one hot pink bra strap. Her hair was up and messy, shielding the side of her face as she turned back to laugh at what someone outside the door had said. Forest green, patent leather boots came up past her ankles, and a thick leather watch seemed to take up half the length of her arm.
But what I couldn’t stop seeing no matter how hard I tried was how much she looked at ease with it all. She was what she was—take it or leave it.
Her eyes scanned the line of the bar, starting with the end opposite of me and moved in calculated inspection.
One thing was blindingly obvious: she knew what I looked like, had more than noticed in the video. I could tell by the way she slowed down on the guys who resembled me and sped right across those who could be dismissed easily.
Her shoulders were back and confident, and the way she held her face said she was preparing for war.
But I wasn’t the kind of guy to wait for an opponent to strike.
Picking up my beer, I moved around the room to circle behind her and watched as I did. She was still looking for me, growing a little more agitated by the second, but I took my time. Studying everything about her and cataloging it for future reference—I had a feeling I was going to need every advantage I could get.
With the soft lighting of the restaurant igniting the hints of auburn and gold in her dark and wavy hair, she moved her lithe body with an effortless yet underlying playful saunter. The soft step of her boots against the tile worked with the rhythm of the indie rock music that played in the background, her eyes continuing to scan the room with determination. But of course, with me strategically behind her, she came up empty. Her nose scrunched up in this adorable little way to telegraph her frustration.
The more I watched her, the more I realized Lola embodied understated beauty.
It takes natural talent to look good when you’re pissed, and as the minutes ticked by, that part of her appearance wasn’t going to get any better.
Still, even knowing that, I took my time, categorizing expressions as they popped up.
Frustrated fury.
Helpless hopelessness.
Indignation with a side of I’ll fucking kill Reed Luca.
Each of them played across her mouth and projected from her eyes flawlessly. I doubted she even wore makeup, and beyond that, she showed no outward signs of aesthetic awareness. This girl was all about simplicity and doing what made her feel comfortable in her own skin. But she probably didn’t realize that it was those things that had everyone around her drawn in like smoke to a fan. Bachelors number three, four, and seven at the bar were damn near fixated on her every breath. She wasn’t just a pretty face; it was something intangible and rare that lit her big eyes and softened her features. And when she smiled and laughed, everyone around her couldn’t help but smile along too, even if it was just on the inside.
Hell, I was too.
I couldn’t help it.
Without actually speaking to her, I was already fascinated.
Ready, I walked directly to her and pulled her attention around with a gentle tap on her bare shoulder. Her skin actually hummed it was so warm.
Like a top released from its launcher’s hold, she spun on the spot and locked her eyes on mine.
Unfortunately, her demeanor didn’t pack nearly the same heat as her shoulder, her smile transitioning to something far more severe as recognition set in.
She didn’t like me. She quite possibly hated my very existence.
“Do you always make snap judgments, or is that something you do special for me?” I asked bluntly.
I didn’t even bother with names or pleasantries. We both knew what this was, and we both knew exactly who the other was.
She narrowed her eyes, but when her jaw finally finished flexing, the rest of her relaxed too. “All the time,” she admitted, surprising me.
I wasn’t used to being surprised by people. They usually gave a first impression and stuck to it with their second. But not Lola Sexton. She seemed to morph before my eyes, from closed off and judgmental to open and honest and self-aware.
All people are more than one thing, not some robotic version of themselves that fits into one tiny box, but by and large, they hide it better. They protect the soft heart under their hard edges and use the lash of their tongue to disguise vulnerability. They trust everyone in the hopes that everyone will trust them, and they wear their heart on their sleeve in an attempt to make others be more open.
Lola didn’t hide her distaste for me under sweet smiles, but she also didn’t dismiss my assertion because of her dislike. She’d approached this moment separately from our early virtual encounters, open to possibility and persuasion, but equally ready to provide her own opinion.
All of that together drew me in like a hug.
“Interesting. Why is that?” I asked, eager to delve deeper into the things that made her tick.
She shrugged as if answering were easy. “Because if I’m judging someone, they’ve given me a reason to come to that conclusion.”
“Things aren’t always what they seem, though, are they?” I pushed.
“Definitely not. And I’m open to changing my mind about those things and facing the consequences of whatever I’ve missed because of my first impression.”
I raised my eyebrows and smirked.
Her eyes narrowed on the minute movement. “But some people are what they seem, and by assessing them from the start, I save myself a whole hell of a lot of trouble.”
She bit her lip and twirled her hair, all while she bounced from one foot to the other, something I couldn’t distinguish tucked safely under her arm. She actually emanated energy like a pint-sized generator—so much so, it seeped into my pores without my permission.
“Want to sit down?” I offered and she smiled.
“I never did like to eat standing up.”