Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

Don’t drop the food. Don’t drop the food. Don’t drop the food.

I made it. I didn’t drop the food, but I definitely set it down a little harder than I meant to. I pull in a deep breath and blow it out through my mouth before I pull out a chair and motion for Charlie to sit.

She’s slack-jawed, eyeing me suspiciously, but when I point to the chair, she snaps her lips shut and walks over. “I’m not calling you that.” She sits with a huff, and I push her chair in, laughing quietly, but inside, I really want to, I don’t know… scream? Dance? Jump up and down? Call my best friend and tell him the hottest girl in the world just asked me to be her friend with benefits or relationship teacher or whatever the fuck this is? I don’t even care because I’m the guy.

I’m the fucking guy.

I sit across from her and motion for Charlie to serve herself first. She doesn’t fight me on it, thank God. I also notice she puts everything on her plate, so I guess this means she has no aversions to any of these foods. Good to know.

I’ll have to save my thoughts for whatever the fuck is going on with this British dickwad, Robert, later. What kind of guy makes a deal to end up with a woman—not just any woman, Charlie—but then proceeds to fuck around for years? And why would she agree to this?

“So, we’re not going to make this weird, right? Because it’s just research. I need to experience book boyfriend things firsthand and you happen to be somewhat of an expert, it seems. And this should get me well ready for whoever I end up married to.” She takes a bite of zucchini, eyes widening as she hums. “Wow, this is good,” she mumbles with a hand over her mouth.

“Thanks. And uh, no, we’re not going to make this weird. But what do you mean I’m somewhat of an expert?” I love making her explain herself when she’s accidentally complimenting me.

“Good. And I mean because you read romance, you know what I’m talking about when I say things like meet cute. You know what a door lean is, and you likely understand the importance of gray sweatpants.” Her eyes fix on mine when she says sweatpants, and I laugh because, yeah, I do know all about the lean and the sweatpants, even if I don’t get what the hype is. “And you’re experienced. Physically. With women. I won’t have to pull a Monica and draw you a diagram to explain where number seven is, will I? You’ll know how to find my clit?” I nearly choke on my chicken and proceed to gulp down most of my glass of water.

“Jesus, Chuck. Can you wait until I’m finished swallowing before you?—”

She laughs. Head thrown back, hand to the chest, lets out a little snort, laughs. Fuck me, I am not prepared for this. All the breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh, Charlie’s skin flushes, and she wipes at her eye before settling down. Goddamn, this woman. This woman. She might just ruin me, and I might be willing to beg her to do exactly that.

“Whew. Thanks for the laugh, Machado.” She lets out one more chuckle before shaking her head and taking another bite of food. I make the decision to eat my dinner without saying another word. I don’t trust myself not to say something stupid, or worse, do something incredibly impulsive like lay her on this table and show her just how well I could find her?—

Nope. Do not go there, man. Eat your food and settle the fuck down.

“Can we agree on something, though?” There’s just one thing I can’t leave alone. She nods as she chews a bite of chicken. “Can we agree not to talk about this guy in London when we’re together?”

She swallows, taking her time. “Robert? Oh. Yeah. Of course. I just, I didn’t want to hide the whole truth from you.”

“I appreciate that.”

Without bringing our arrangement up again, we eat, talking briefly about her characters, who sound oddly familiar, but that’s probably just because I’ve been reading a lot of romance lately. Charlie loves the dessert, like I knew she should, and when we’re finished, we take everything back inside, moving easily around one another until a loud meow comes from the other side of the kitchen.

“Hey, Pumpkin!” I approach her, and she starts walking in the opposite direction, so I beeline for her food dish and pretend like I was just gonna do that instead of trying to pick her up. How fucking embarrassing that my cat won’t even let me touch her.

Charlie gasps. “This is your cat! Oh, she’s so cute.” She crouches and starts making kissing noises. “Come here, sweet girl. It’s all right.”

“Yeah, good luck. She hates—” My traitorous cat walks over to Charlie and rubs her body all over her leg, purring. The little fucker purrs. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that sound come from her. “What the fuck?” They look up at me, and I swear to fuck, they both shrug at the same time. After a few seconds, Pumpkin walks away from Charlie and struts to her food bowl, not even sparing me a glance.

“Your cat’s name is Pumpkin?” Charlie narrows her eyes at me, hands on her hips.

“Uh… yeah. Well, her hair is orange, like…” Like yours, I want to say. Because the whole reason I got this cat over others was because of the color of her fur. And her eyes.

“Like a pumpkin. Right. Like my hair, too.” She lifts a few stands of her hair as if I’m not keenly aware of the similarities between her and my cat. “Female orange tabby cats are rare, you know?” A small smile plays on Charlie’s lips. I don’t know how she knows this fact, but I appreciate that she does. “I had to research cats for a book once.” Of course she did.

“Yeah, and she has blue eyes, which is also pretty rare. She’s kind of unique. Exceptional, even.” Charlie’s eyes remain glued to my cat, who is sitting in front of her food bowl, happily eating and ignoring us.

“Hmm. Cool.” She straightens, looking around the kitchen. “Well, looks like we’re all cleaned up here. I should get home. I’ll see you Tuesday, though, right?” I nod, unable to force any words out. “Great. Thanks for dinner. And for, you know, agreeing to help me.” She smiles at me. It’s a small, friendly smile, and it hits me that weeks ago, I hadn’t seen her smile more than once or twice, and never at me, and now, I get to see her smile and hear her laugh. I get her unfiltered thoughts and her friendship, and soon, I’ll get her kisses and her body.

When my dick twitches, I jolt up. “Yeah, no problem.” We walk to the front door, and she gathers her purse, sliding her shoes on. She opens the front door and waves on her way out. “Later, gata.”

The Brazilian nickname slips out so easily. The one I’ve only used once before.

26/

by myself. with my hand.

rafael