Ethan speaks up. “I’m Ethan. Who areyou?” he asks, his eyes narrowed to slits.
I flash him a broad smile and take off my glasses.
“Karl Sommer!” Megan screams and jumps where she stands. “Oh my god, it’s Karl Sommer fromIndustrial November!” She rushes to my side and takes my hand in hers to shake it. “I am such a huge fan,” she gushes, gripping our handshake too long.
I pry my hand away from her and wink. “Shh, do you mind keeping it down? No one knows I’m here. And no one knows about Lola and me yet.”
Ethan’s mouth falls open, and Megan pretends to wince, then whispers, “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” But she keeps grinning where she stands, utterly unaware of Lola or Ethan’s presence any longer.
“What the fuck, Lola?” Ethan asks after a moment of being dumbstruck.
“Like you said,” Lola says. “Long-distance is hard, and I didn’t want to tell you over the phone—”Good girl, Iggy,I think proudly. She’s with the program now. “That’s why I was so insistent about seeing you over fall break. I wanted to break things off, amicably—if possible.”
“So you’re withhim, now?” he asks, throwing me a nasty glare, and I grin wider at him.
“Sorry, mate. You leave a girl this beautiful alone that long? You can’t expect she’ll be waiting forever.” I turn to look down at Lola, and I lift her chin toward me with my index finger. I smile at her, and her eyes grow wide. I give her a moment to pull her attention again to her asshole ex-boyfriend, but she doesn’t. Instead, her eyes fix on my lips and even though every cell in my body pushes me to kiss her, I can’t. I don’t want our first kiss to be here, in a grocery store, in front of her fucking ex-boyfriend. And I definitely don’t want it to be to prove a point.
Our first kiss will be real, I decide. When she’s moved on from this jerk, and when she’s ready for it.
Instead, I kiss her temple again, my eyes closed, savoring the tender moment. When I open my eyes, she’s smiling up at me with doting eyes. Is she pretending for Ethan? Or is this moment real? I don’t know.
But what I do know for sure is that one day I will taste Dolores Beltran’s lips, or my name isn’t Karl Sommer.
8
LOLA
Karl insisted he drive us back to his house when we left the grocery store, thinking I’d be too upset to drive safely. And he’s done nothing but complain about my car since he got in.
When he tried pulling the backrest down, it horrified him that it couldn’t move. The seat broke last year, and it’s been propped up with the plank of lumber I tied to the back with rope ever since. Karl’s horror-stricken face is so comical; I burst into laughter.
“This car is a death trap,” he says, but he drives anyway. “I have to say, I thought you’d be more upset than you are.”
I run my hands through my hair. “Yeah . . . to be honest, me too. I think I’m more resigned than heartbroken. If I’m honest with myself, I’ve known for a while this was coming.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Karl says.
“Though . . . I think I’m still in shock. When it wears down, I don’t know how I’ll feel. It was a lot of years, Ethan and me.”
Karl nods and says nothing more.
We get to the house, and he helps me take the groceries in. I instruct him to take a seat and wait for his breakfast while I put them away.
But my mind wanders back to Ethan and Megan as I work.
Of course, Megan is perfect. Leggy, blonde, with shiny, straight hair, and she’s tall—almost as tall as Ethan. She was so polished and put together in her baby blue miniskirt and white blouse. But the damned curse has struck again. This little run-in happened after I’d already been hard at work cleaning for three hours this morning, wearing my worst jeans and my old, ratty, and rippedGuns N’ Rosest-shirt. I felt smaller than a grain of sand standing in front of the beautiful couple. No wonder he picked her over me. Because what man in his right mind would choose a gloomy, down-on-her-luck, homely girl when he could have a California dream babe instead?
I don’t notice when Karl stands to guide me to a seat. He says something, but I’m not listening. “What?” I ask.
“Sit down. I’ll put these away.”
I shake my head. “No, Karl. It’s my job. Really, I’m okay to work.”
He glares at me, but he’s smiling, so I know it isn’t a serious glare. “You just stowed the milk in the pantry, Lola.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I think my mind is still back there.”
He smiles. “I know.”