Home > Bad at Love(4)

Bad at Love(4)
Author: Karina Halle

Story of my life. I’m picky when it comes to guys, meaning it’s so damn rare that I feel a spark of any sort. Naturally, it has to happen with someone I can’t have, let alone a friend’s brother.

“There she is now,” Laz says, waving at someone near the door.

I crane my neck to look and see a pretty brunette waving shyly back at him. She’s definitely got a sweet face, but she’s by no means thin. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—I’m on a cleanse every other week to drop my freshman forty—but for some reason I expected a tall supermodel.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Laz says to Jane and then nods at Naomi and me. “It was nice meeting you guys. Come to the next show, you promise?”

Naomi makes a grumbling sound while I nod and say, “Sure” with another big stupid smile.

“Why are you nodding so violently?” Naomi asks me as he disappears into the crowd to meet his Vanessa.

“I’m not,” I say, willing my head to stop moving. I clear my throat and look at Jane. “So, is that why I should stay away from him? He’s a manwhore?”

“Actually no,” she says thoughtfully. “He’s not a manwhore. He’s a serial monogamist. He doesn’t date around, doesn’t sleep around. He’s just never single. He moves from one relationship to the next.”

“How long was he with this Shannon for?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. A month, maybe two. There was Sandra before that. Then it was Kristen. You get the idea. And that’s why the two of you would never work.”

“But you just said we’d get along well,” I point out.

“Yeah. Maybe as friends. But if you guys dated, knowing Laz, you’d be together for a few months at most, then you’d break up and it would be that awkward Ross and Rachel situation that Naomi and I would have to put up with. No, thank you.”

“Agreed,” Naomi says. “Now can we go home?”

I sigh and raise my beer. “Bottoms up.”

We finish our drinks, say goodbye to Jane, and then make our way over to the door. Along the way I catch Laz talking to Vanessa, listening to her yell in his ear about something.

His eyes meet mine.

He gives me a mega-watt smile I feel all the way to my toes.

I know this won’t be the last I’ll see of him.

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

Laz

 

 

“Happens All the Time”

 

 

It’s over.

We need to break up.

I think we should see other people.

It’s not you, it’s me.

The funny thing about that last line is that it’s the truth. It’s almost always me. It’s never the girl. To be honest, I’m pretty good at picking them.

They have to be pretty, or at least I need to be attracted to them, plus smart, interesting, and have a love or at least tolerance for the music I play.

They need to be independent.

They have to understand my process, a need to be alone and be creative.

They need to be sexually confident, or at least willing to experiment and have fun in bed. Sex is important.

And above all, they can’t get too serious about me. To borrow a phrase from Trooper, I’m here for a good time, not a long time.

I know that all seems like a tall order, but in Los Angeles there are a ton of girls who fit my criteria and with my Instagram account growing after going viral last year, they’re popping up everywhere, sliding into my DMs every day.

So, it’s not them. It’s me. Sometimes this happens at the one-month mark, often it’s three, but this time we just passed five months. It’s hard to predict and I don’t try. It’s not that I go into these relationships thinking it can’t progress into something serious, it’s just that it never does, and so now I expect that. Simone, of all my girlfriends, was the least clingy and most supportive of my artistic needs, and that’s probably why it lasted as long as it did.

But the sad fact is, today is the end of us.

As much as I really like Simone—she’s so easygoing and we have a great time together—I just don’t see it going anywhere. In fact, I know it won’t. She’s gorgeous and sweet and I know any normal guy would be lucky to have her by his side. But I’m not a normal guy and I just don’t love her. I like her and respect her, but the love thing isn’t happening. To keep it going would be unfair to both of us.

So, I’m standing outside the door to her apartment in Pasadena (secretly glad this will be the last time I’m stuck on the 134), running through all the things I have to say to her. I know I sound callous about the whole thing, but it’s honestly hard and something I don’t look forward to. I don’t want to hurt her, I don’t want to make her upset. I can only hope that somehow she knew this was coming, that I was putting out the signals, that it was inevitable.

Still, I’m nervous. I hate this. I take in a deep breath and steady myself before knocking on her door. The key to her apartment is in my pocket—she gave it to me a few weeks ago, the biggest commitment we’d made to each other yet—but I’m not about to use it for this.

Simone opens the door with a wide smile on her face. It’s the kind of smile that usually makes me smile in response but tonight I just can’t manage it.

“What’s wrong?” she says immediately. “Bad traffic?”

“It’s always bad traffic,” I tell her, stepping inside before I get cold feet.

She gently closes the door behind her and then folds her arms across her chest, her breasts popping out of her low-cut top. Simone has implants and they’re always on display. My friend Marina once asked if it bothered me that she walks around guys like that, but I said hey, if you’re going to pay to get that shit done, might as well get your money’s worth. I’m not a jealous guy.

“So, what is it?” she asks. There’s an edge to her voice.

I gesture to the couch. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“No,” she says firmly, chin raised. “I’d rather stand.”

Oh, she knows.

“Look,” I tell her, rubbing my hand at the back of my neck. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about for a while and I’m just going to come out and say it.” I glance at her warily. Her features have hardened into stone. She looks formidable. And that easygoing attitude is gone.

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