Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
"No, in reality. You two are always giving each other shit," Val says. "Patrick is hilarious. And he has this girlfriend who's totally your type."
"What's my type?" he asks, confused.
Right. We're supposed to convince him Val is into him.
She stays off-topic. "Wait, did Tricky and his girlfriend make up?"
I should push back to flirting, but for some reason, I can't bring myself to do it. "I didn't tell you?"
She shakes her head.
"She came into Inked Love to talk to him," I say.
"Really?" she asks.
"Yeah. Forgave him in front of all of us," I say.
"You didn't ruin the moment?" she asks.
"I tried, but her love was too powerful," I say.
She laughs and gives her roommate a quick rundown of Patrick and Imogen's situation. Luna referred Imogen to the shop for a new tattoo (they’re both on the swim team at UCLA), where Imogen met Patrick. She invited him to her place for a one-night thing, which turned into a friends-with-benefits thing, which blew up when she realized Patrick was reading her online journal (I'm not supposed to know that, but I got it out of Luna).
He was reading it first, before he met her (long story), but then kept doing it.
Messed up.
But totally understandable.
If I had that sort of insight into Val's head? That would be hard to resist.
Archie takes in the story with mild interest. "You find that romantic?"
"Val doesn't find anything romantic," I say. "Besides Sabrina."
Confusion spreads over his face.
"The Audrey Hepburn film," I say.
"I'm familiar with it." He looks to Val. "I didn't know you liked it."
How is that even possible? She has a poster in her bedroom at home. She talks about the movie all the time. She talks about Billy Wilder movies all the time.
"It never came up," she says.
"You're not watching it three times a week?" I ask.
"No. Only once this semester," she says. "With Zelda."
Okay. Maybe she doesn't need the fantasy of a European makeover when she's living it. Or maybe she's trying to let go of old things. Whatever it is, I don't like it.
But it's not my place to comment. I'm here to help her get laid. I need to use this info.
She watched with his ex, Zelda. The three of them were close.
Maybe he was picturing threesomes. Or waiting for his ex to leave to put the moves on Val.
Archie stays on topic. "Did she like it?" he asks.
"Not really." She turns to me with a knowing look. "Zelda has dark tastes. She likes movies about murder and sadness. She was in one of my German cinema classes. We did our homework in the living room. Archie would come by and say, 'I wish I was a film major,' and we'd tease him back, because he'd never join. Not even for Casablanca," she says. "Obviously, we weren't watching that for the German cinema class. More for fun."
She wants to sleep with someone who doesn't like Casablanca?
I mean, sure, that's a silly reason to pick a partner, and Casablanca might as well be called Mansplaining: The Movie, but this is Val. She lives and breathes classic cinema.
"He will occasionally watch some film noir," she says. "But that's it."
"So you're more into the movies where everyone is out for themselves?" I ask.
"A reflection of the world." He nods.
Maybe.
And maybe Val believes that's how she sees the world. But she isn't watching The Maltese Falcon on repeat. She isn't replaying Double Indemnity or Strangers on a Train or even erotic thrillers from the nineties.
She re-watches Sabrina and Casablanca (sure, duty ultimately triumphs over love, but the main character does the right thing) and Bringing up Baby.
She believes in love.
She believes in people.
And this guy?
Well, I guess this is what she wants. A guy who's looking for something easy.
And I'm fine with that.
Really.
Chapter Thirteen
DARE
To his credit, Archie doesn't go full dick-measuring contest over who can carry the heavier bags.
We help Val into the tiny elevator (common in Europe, apparently) with the two biggest bags, then we take the rest up the stairs.
No conversation, all grunting. Even though we have to hike four flights, we beat her there (European elevators are slow). I step aside, allow him to help her out of the tiny metal box, open the door for her, help her inside.
The place is gorgeous—a small kitchenette and a den with a TV, a low couch, and a coffee table—but it only has a few touches of Val.
Some of her mom's DVDs next to the TV, a few old books stacked nearby, cacti lining the window (which looks out to a courtyard, where, just like in the movies, people hang their laundry on their balconies).
The rest of the room is sparse. Bare white walls, beige couch, grey pillows, camel rug. There's no color, no life, no excitement.
Exactly what I expect from a guy like Archie.