Page 8 of Six Years
Only ever when I’m here, which is rarely. But instead of giving him an actual answer, I shrug.
He plays soccer. Or played. Whichever it is. I know because his first thought went to soccer, like mine always immediately drifts over to ice hockey. It’s a huge giveaway.
Okay, his initial guess was American Football, but that’s such a basic answer. He just wanted to see if I’d react.
“Maybe like an indoor thing. Handball or something.”
“You can get abrasions from falling on a gym floor.” I know because I got tons back in high school during P.E. It’s kind of embarrassing, I admit. It got so bad that I stopped showing up. IfailedP.E. in ninth grade.Me, a guy wholovesworking out.
“Right.” He nods, now tapping his fingers on the wooden counter. Three times. “It’s not lacrosse, I don’t think.” Maybe I should be offended by this. “Your face is too handsome for a baseball player.”
I almost let a confusedwhatleave my mouth. However, I know he’s just playing, trying to see whether my eyes would twitch with anger or disgust, or if I’d eventually stop him.
Joke’s on Luan though, he can talk all he wants because I am a patient guy with a lot of self-restraint. Also, his voice isn’t allthatannoying, so I’m okay with listening to him talk.
He snaps his fingers. “I know, you’re secretly a make-up artist.”
“Or a tattoo artist,” the bartender adds. Can he stop talking? Luan’s voice I can handle, but the bartender, whatever his name was, I can’t.
Luan narrows his eyes at me, humming. “Nah. I think our beloved Grey Davis here would rather feel the pain than be the one to hurt others.”
Is he painting me out to have some weird kink? That I love pain or something? I think he is, but that’s okay because I don’t care what he thinks I do in my free time. It’s certainly not having others inflict pain on me, or me inflicting pain on others, but if he’d like to think that, sure.
“He looks pretty brutal to me.”
“No, now turn back to your drink-making. I don’t like your input in this conversation,” Luan says, waving the bartender off three whole times. “I’d like to flirt with Grey Davis without you making it weird.”
Flirt with me.
When Luan turns back to look at me, even though I still don’t look back at him, he finally mentions another sport. “Ice hockey. I believe you’re an ice hockey player. It’s all protection and I don’t know what else, but it seems safe.”
“Not safe.” Is any sport ever really safe? “But yes, I play hockey.” He got there slower than I thought he would.
He taps himself on the back as if to congratulate himself for guessing correctly on what felt like the twentieth try. “Around here?” he tries again.
“No. I’m from New York.” Which isn’t true. I amfromMalibu, but I nowlivein New York. And I sure as hell don’t plan on coming back here unless I have to.
“So, what are you doing here then?” He asked that before.
“Vacation,” I lie again. If anything, this trip is more torture than relaxation.
“And how’s that going for you?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” I note, staring at the drink in my hands.
“And I plan on getting answers to each and every single one of them.”
Determined, I like that. “It’s going great.”
“Your face says otherwise.” He pokes my cheek with his finger. I flinch at the contact, then swat his hand away. And he just laughs at that, like getting rejected from physical touch is the most hilarious thing in the world. “So, what’s it about your last name?”
He tries to poke me again, but I swat his hand away once more, this time before his finger could even come in touch with my cheek.
Ignoring his question, I say, “Don’t touch my face.”
“Ouch.” He shakes out his hand, the one I never touched. He smiles again when I look at him, and I have absolutely no idea why. Or how. “Grey Davis, not Li, but you’re related. You’re Ji-Hoon Li’s son. So why don’t you have his last name?”
My family’s quite known around here. It’s a curse, honestly. My mother doesn’t work, she lives off of my dad’s money because he asked her to. She can’t say no. And my dad? He owns a toy company. Not like sex toys, thank god. Just toys and clothing for kids. And other essentials. I used to think he was Santa Claus, but he is not. Obviously.
