A Fake Marriage ( Jenlisa ) (Gip )

Part 8

J

Damn you, Lalisa Manoban.

I just couldn't stop staring at Kai's teeth. When I wasn't busy pointing out affordable well-designed Swedish lighting fixtures and armchairs that would look good in his living room, I was riveted by his incisors and canines.

Were they indeed disproportionately small for his mouth?

Yes.

Did it make him less attractive?

No.

Did it make me think of Lisa instead of him?

Fuck you, Lisa.

"Is there something in my teeth?" Kai had smiling eyes as he parted his lips, the tip of his tongue barely protruding.

"Oh—no—I wasn't looking at your teeth!"

"Oh," he said quietly, biting his lower lip.

So now he thought I was staring at his lips and that I wanted to kiss him.

Did I want to kiss him?

I didn't not want to kiss him.

Did I want to kiss Lisa more, though?

Fuck you, Lisa.

I managed to get my very slow head back in the game. The game of the day was decorating Kai's apartment—not kissing him. He got me an Ikea hot dog and soft serve ice cream to eat in the car on the way back. I helped him set things up in his living room. He was even more flirtatious, now that he had seen how possessive Lisa was of me, it seemed.

Why are they so weird?

I did like that Lisa was acting a bit jealous about Kai, though. A little. No, a lot. It felt really good. But it didn't mean anything. It was just Lisa being a best girl friend and roommate. Making out with her didn't really mean anything either, it was just the margaritas being margaritas. Things got confusing sometimes, but by that Sunday afternoon, I did understand this.

I also understood that Kai wasn't even remotely jealous when a couple of guys asked me my opinion about a rug while staring at my boobs, that he didn't care at all that I was hungover, and that when he slammed on the brakes when we were on the 134 freeway, he was too busy swearing at the car in front of us to stick his arm out in front of me. All this was perfectly fine for a potential starter boyfriend.

So why couldn't I stop comparing his biceps to Lisa's while helping him put together a Billy bookcase? Why couldn't I stop talking about Lisa to Kai? Why couldn't I stop thinking about how amazing it felt to have Lisa's hands on my hips when I should have been engrossed in arranging little potted plants and pillar candles on top of her neatly-stacked script piles?

When Kai dropped me off at home, we said we'd see each other tomorrow at work, and he leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. He looked at me like he was about to go in for more, but his phone rang, and he had to answer it because it was one of the producers of our film. He thanked me again for the day, said he owed me dinner, then turned his attention to the work call before I was out of the car. It was a relief. I did not want to have to compare kisses. Yet.

Lisa was in her bedroom, in the office nook, listening to Mozart's 40th symphony and typing like a maniac on her laptop.

I realized that I had forgotten to text her that Kai would drive me home, but she was so absorbed in her work that it probably didn't matter.

"I'm back," I said, from the hallway.

"Oh hey," she said, while typing.

I knew better than to try to further the conversation while she was in work-mode. When she listened to Mozart, she meant business.