What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [28]
Liam threaded his way through the worn wooden benches scattered about the ambling deck, scanning the faces of the few folks sitting outside. He was just about to go inside when he spotted her – off to the side, a woman with lazy blonde curls, reclined on a bench, propped casually back on her elbows, her back against the table top as she watched the musicians. She wore old blue jeans and a loose, red sweater with the sleeves pushed up.
He stopped. “Well, God damn.” His stomach felt as if it had suddenly been granted a vacation from gravity, and it took him a second to realize that he’d stopped mid-step and was staring at her. He willed himself to move forward.
“Lola?” He felt his throat tighten as he said the name, as if he needed to cough or choke or – he wasn’t sure what.
She tilted her head, looking at Liam out of the corner of her eye. Her lips were pursed and there was just a hint of a wry smile in her eyes. “Yeah?”
“I’m ... Liam,” he managed to choke out. His eyes watered.
She leaned forward, offering her hand and an easy smile. “Lola Ford,” she said.
He shook her hand, wondering what the heck was going on; why he was feeling so out of sorts. Sure, blind dates were supposed to be uncomfortable, but this wasn’t his first. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen his fair share of stressful situations before. Like the time he’d walked in to find a terrorist under a dog pile of prostitutes dressed in cheerleader uniforms – all of whom had turned out to be decidedly un-cheery when he’d had to shoot the guy. But the combination of the lights, the breeze, her full lips – it was all enough to make a shy, bald Buddhist reflect and maybe rethink his life. Liam’s head spun, and he suddenly felt like he’d dressed too warmly.
“You want to get a drink?” he said, trying to pull himself together.
She looked up at him, her pale blue eyes bright with intelligence. Her whole demeanor was cool and languid as she held up a bottle. “I’ll wait for you here.”
He found himself standing and staring again, unsure of what to do next. “Um, okay. I’ll be right back.” He trotted off toward the bar, feeling – he didn’t know quite what he was feeling. Renewed, or something.
A few minutes later he returned with his own beer and a fresh one for her. “Did you see this crap with Governor Whitford?” he asked. It was a terrible opener, but he’d just blurted it out. He scowled, angry at himself for being such a clod, and then for caring that he was being a clod.
Lola stared up at him for a second, a slight, ironic smile on her lips. “Yeah,” she said, nodding slowly. “I saw that.”
“Pisses me off,” he said.
Lola’s eyes narrowed. “Wh—?” She stared at him some more, her eyes shifting from sparkly to intense. “Why?” she asked. “What’s it to you?”
“Oh,” he said, sensing the shift in her attitude. He smiled and shrugged. “No reason. Just making conversation.” He looked away, feigning a sudden interest in a nearby bench.
Lola continued to stare. “Did someone put you up to this?”
“What?” He turned back from the riveting wooden seat. “Well... yeah. It’s a blind date. I mean, you must know Mrs. Lynd is …” He shrugged.
She sat forward. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then, I’m not sure what you’re—” he said, but then he stopped. She seemed pissed now. “No, no one put me up to anything.”
“I’ve got to go,” she said, and stood up.
“What? Where are you going? Wait a second!”
But she didn’t wait, and the first woman Liam had found even remotely attractive in ten years was gone.
Chapter 10. Death Star and Swanky Hotel with Goldfish, Go!
A shitload of cars was crammed into the street in front of an expensive hotel. Politicians and celebrities milled about, casting surreptitious glances at one another to gauge who looked the most important or fabulous, and headed toward the hotel’s dramatic entryway. Cameras flashed and sparkly dresses sparkled amid sounds of fake laughter and self-congratulatory bullshit, while a small army of young men in cheap-looking red jackets scrambled