Page 84 of Johnny

“Good thinking,” I say. “I would never have thought to do that.”

“Right,” he says, as we leave the cabaña and walk down the little path towards the main hotel.

“Look, Megan. I don’t need you to pump up my ego or fill my head with shit like that. I actually don’t

care for the whole damsel-in-distress routine you’ve got going here—”

“What?”

“—I like a girl who knows who she is. You know, has confidence and shit—”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“—so you don’t have to pretend you need me, OK? Everyone knows how to make a fucking dinner

reservation. It’s not rocket science. No pun intended.”

“I’m not a rocket scientist, so no pun made.”

“Right. That’s what I mean. You know you’re smart, I know you’re smart. So just stop.”

“Wow. OK. You’re in a bad mood.”

“I’m not in any mood, actually. I don’t do moods.”

“You don’t do moods?”

“I do business and that’s about it. You’re a business transaction. That’s it.”

“What the hell?”

“I’m just telling you. I didn’t mean to buy you all those packages from the boutique. I actually

didn’t mean to buy you anything—”

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

“I just wanted some clothes, and you needed clothes—”

He pauses. Like stops walking. So I stop too and turn to look at him. “What’s your fucking

problem?”

“What are those?” He’s pointing to my flip-flops.

“Um… shoes?”

“Fuck,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. “I forgot to get you shoes. I got myself shoes.

Why did I forget your shoes?”

“Probably because you weren’t there to get me things? Or so you say.”

He sighs and turns his back to me.

“I don’t need shoes. I don’t really even need you. I’m more than happy to find my own way from

here, thanks.”