But regardless of Kim’s imaginative interpretation, Nate’s never hinted he was interested in me. His “display,” as Kim labels it, is just him being comfortable in his home.
Besides, even if he really were interested, I’m not doing anything with Nate Sterling except my job. Date a boss? Oh, no. Been there, done that, and basically had to flee my hometown because of it. I’ve learned my lesson.
“Look, when I left Dillington, I made a plan.” I tick the points off on my fingers. “One: go to L.A. Two: get a job. Three: find the love of my life. Four: live happily ever after.
“I’ve done the first two, so I’m halfway home. Just need to finish up the last couple.” And I have to remind myself that no matter how much my hormones wish it were so, Nate is not the love of my life who I can have a “happily ever after” with. The man was born to a staggering fortune and dates models, socialites and other celebrities, most of whom look like they should be models, too. I’m just Evie Parker. Nothing special.
“All that ‘love of one’s life’ stuff is overrated,” Kim says.
“Your friend Hilary has it.”
“Yeah, but she wasn’t looking for it. He came knocking.” She looks at the ceiling. “It’s very Zen. The more you pursue it, the further away it gets. Like a rainbow.”
“Maybe mine will come knocking, too.”
“Why? Did your date go well last night?”
I make a face. “If you call shit-tastic fantastic. He wanted to go to a steakhouse, but I told him no because I didn’t feel like lingering over multiple courses, which are sort of inevitable at places like that. So we had Mexican instead. Casual, right? If we’d hit it off, we could’ve gone for drinks or something afterward, you know?”
She nods, all wise in how things ought to progress, even though she’s single, just like me.
“He’s a klepto. Napkins, salt and pepper shakers, knives. Even some chips.”
“No way.”
“Oh yeah. They aaall went into his knapsack.”
“Oh my God. Really? Did the waiter see him?”
“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. I was too embarrassed to look around much. I just wanted to die.”
“If anybody should die, it’s him, not you.”
That’s a great point. I deserve to live. I don’t steal restaurant utensils. “Anyway, that wasn’t even the worst part.”
Kim leans forward.
“He forgot his freakin’ wallet at home! I mean, he said it sheepishly, but it’s not like I’m stupid.” My blood boils, thinking about the credit card bill I’m going to get for the month. I didn’t budget for that particular dinner. “I should’ve known.”
“So if you’d gone to a steakhouse…”
“Yup. The asshole had five drinks.” And wanted more, but I stopped him, saying he needed to drive.
“Wow.”
“He told me to send him an invoice and he’ll cut me a check.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Why? So I can get charged a twenty-five-dollar bad-check fee?”
Kim shakes her head. “I’m so sorry. I can’t decide if I should laugh or cry for you.”
“Just laugh. That’s what I did when I came home.”
“Girl, you have the worst luck.”
“I know, but what can you do?” I shrug, trying to brush it off. The fact that in the ten months I’ve been in L.A. I’ve met more losers than I can count is simply beyond my control. I could probably write an encyclopedia on bad dates, just based on my own experiences. But I have to go through this pain to find the love of my life, so I’m dealing with it. Mostly.