“What was the last guy you dated like?” I ask, since I’m still curious about her. She still doesn’t make a whole lot of sense in a lot of ways. I like her responses, but they’re fucking weird. She seems smarter than Mia, but the same misfires seem to happen in her brain. It doesn’t feel the same, but it still feels nice. Mia fell into her feelings. Carly’s seem more focused, more intentional. I can’t decide if that’s more comforting, since she’s actually choosing it and not just following her heart around, or more suspicious, since why the hell would anyone choose to be like that?
She doesn’t seem excessively comfortable with my question. Funny, since she’s asked me about Mia so you’d think she’d be open to the same question back.
“I’m not entirely sure how to… The last guy I was entangled with, I wouldn’t say I was dating, but if you’re using the term loosely…” She pauses, as if debating. “He was older, mid-to-late thirties. Not a great guy in the general sense, but I liked him. He was kind of exciting, I guess. He got hung up on me; I got hung up on him. It was fun until it spun out of control. Then it was a disaster.”
“How’d it spin out of control?”
Carly grimaces. “I don’t want to say. You’ll judge me.”
I give her sort of a “come on” look before reminding her, “I told you I kidnapped someone.”
“Trust me, you’ll judge me. I’d rather not talk about it. He doesn’t matter. He was a mistake. I was young and stupid. He turned my head with things I couldn’t touch without him. I should’ve never involved myself with him. He’s not indicative of my type, if that’s what you’re after. I don’t even really have a type.”
“Everyone has a type.”
“I don’t,” she insists. “I’ve been with a variety of types. There’s something positive and something negative about every last one. It’s just a matter of what you focus on. Me, I focus on the good stuff and deal with the bad.” Probably because I’m so insistent about the type thing, she adds, “Why, what’s your type?”
“Irrationally accepting and hopelessly optimistic.”
Flashing me a grin, she holds out a hand. I don’t move to shake it, so she reaches for my hand and shakes it anyway. “Hi, I’m Irrationally Accepting and Hopelessly Optimistic, glad to make your acquaintance.”
I shake my head at her. “You’re a nerd.”
“Whatever, you like it,” she states, reaching for another handful of popcorn.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” I return, leaning in to nudge her a little.
She flashes me a smile, then bites down on her bottom lip and lowers her lashes demurely. Damn, that draws my attention to her mouth. Her lips are the stuff wet dreams are made of. There’s no chance any man with a pulse has ever looked at this girl and not promptly thought of blow jobs.
I guess I shouldn’t have looked at her lips for so long because she seems to get the wrong idea. Leaning away from me, she peels off the striped shirt she’s wearing.
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching her. Now she’s wearing a pair of thin leggings and an equally thin purple top. It’s little more than a bra, though it covers a little more of her torso. Still, she’s got a lot showing.
“It’s hot in here,” she explains, fluffing her hair. “Did I fuck up my bun?”
“Isn’t it supposed to be fucked up?”
“Well, sure, but adorably fucked up.”
I point at her. “That’s my type. Adorably fucked up.”
She rolls her eyes, smiling indulgently. “Boy, are you in luck.” She gives up on the bun and leans back into my side. Now I’m more thoroughly distracted though, with so much of her bare. Her toned abdomen is just right there, fully visible. The shirt is so thin, I can see her nipples. Why does she do shit like this and make it so hard not to fuck her?
“Do you have a lot of male friends?” I ask her.
“Nope.” She grabs more popcorn, eyes trained on the television.
“You don’t have a bunch of assholes back in Chicago, waiting around for you to come home?”
“You asked if I had male friends. I don’t. I didn’t say there were no men in Chicago who grew attached. I had this one admirer who sent me Victoria’s Secret gift cards once a month. On our anniversary, he said. Only we never dated. He was a customer I had a few times that I dropped because he was creepy. Still sent gift cards to my work every month until I left. Maybe he still sends them now,” she says, smiling. “Who knows?”
“He just sent you gift cards? Made no attempt to see the purchases?”
“Nope. Consequently, I have a lot of panties. Like, an embarrassing surplus of panties. I don’t even wear panties half the time, but at least I have them.”