the dating pool.”
I should tell him some of my bad date stories. That would put things in perspective for him. The last guy I dated would only listen to heavy metal music—if I even attempted to change the station in his car, he would swat at me. There were other things I didn’t like about him, but that one stood out—I couldn’t imagine a life where my eternal soundtrack was heavy metal.
“So how about you?” he says. “How come you don’t have a more active social life? I mean, I have a good excuse, but you’re gorgeous.”
“I’m not gorgeous,” I mumble. I’m not. Really. Even in this fantastic dress, I’m not even close.
“Of course you are,” he says, as if debating the matter was ridiculous. He studies me for a second. “Oh shit, you’re not a lesbian, are you?”
“Luke!” Why does everyone keep saying that?
“Well, I just can’t figure it out,” he says.
Hmph. I don’t think it’s quite so much of a mystery. Honestly, I don’t see how more people aren’t single. It seems amazing that so many people could find someone else that they’re compatible with and attracted to. I blame desperation and possibly alcohol for the number of marriages out there.
Chapter 13
Luke gets a car to take us to the art gallery. I figure it’ll be some kind of sedan, so I’m shocked when an amazing black stretch limousine pulls up in Luke’s driveway. “Whoa,” I say.
“Sorry,” he says. “You kind of have to make a big appearance.”
I slide into the leather seats. I can’t believe I’m wearing a five-thousand-dollar dress and sitting in a limo. This feels like some kind of bizarre Twilight Zone episode where I switched lives with some rich woman. Any minute now, a talking doll is going to pop out and kill me.
“I never been in a limo before,” I say.
“Really?” Luke’s shocked. “What about prom night?”
“Prom night?” I snort. “I never went to a prom in my life.”
“Why not?”
“Never had a date.”
“You?” Luke raises his eyebrows. “Twelve fingers? Rosanna Banana? I don’t believe it.”
“Shut up.” I stick my tongue out at him and he laughs. And for a moment, I just feel really happy to be here with him. And even though he’s my boss, I wish he would lean forward and kiss me.
No, I don’t really think that. I have to stop thinking of him that way.
I never believed Boston to be any kind of Mecca of the arts, so I use that as an excuse to be apathetic. I visited the Fine Arts Museum only once rather reluctantly when some friends dragged me there. I’m not all that into art, to be honest. I don’t get art. I don’t mind looking at paintings, but I don’t get how people spend hours, years, or even lifetimes analyzing a piece of art. I mean, who gives a shit if Mona Lisa is smiling or not? It’s just a picture.
“You go to art galleries much?” Luke asks me, watching me from his seat within the limo. I’m belted into one side of the car and he’s on the other side. We’re about as far from one another as we can get while still being in the same vehicle.
“What do you think?”
“You don’t seem like much of a lover of the arts,” he says.
“Oh really?
He nods. “I bet when someone tells you they majored in art history, the first thing you think is: ‘What a waste.’” He pauses. “You’re the analytical type. Am I right?”
I snort. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Always know exactly what I’m thinking?”
Luke winks at me. “Didn’t you know? You’re an open book, Ellie.”
At that moment, the car idles in front of the gallery. Much like the boutique, it reeks of wealth. My stomach does flip-flops and I tell myself that my expensive dress will make me fit in. I start to unbuckle my seatbelt, but Luke shakes his head at me. “No. We’re going to the back entrance.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Stairs.”
“Oh,” I say. I hardly noticed there were about a dozen steps to the front entrance. When he’s sitting next to me in this limousine, he looks so much like the old Luke, I just forgot.
They’re expecting Luke, and someone is waiting for him to open the handicapped entrance in the back. It’s raining now and I get slightly wet as I race from the limo to the entrance. There’s a small carpet at the entrance and Luke lingers on it, going forward by a foot, then going backward by