Admiration pours from her sweet expression. "That's beautiful."
"So, Gemma, I feel like a dick. I've been talking to you for a few days now and I haven't asked what you do." I really do feel like a dick for not asking her sooner. I felt like an idiot when Gus asked me this afternoon and I didn't know.
"Guess?" she challenges.
I have no idea what she does for a living so I'm going to throw out random, outrageous guesses. "You obviously don't farm avocados because you have zero respect for them."
"Zero respect. Nope, not an avocado farmer."
"Zoologist?" I guess.
She shakes her head and laughs. "No, but I do have an unhealthy obsession with sloths."
I didn't peg her for a sloth girl. "Sloths? Really?"
"Mmm." She hums reassurance. "I think it's their dead, soulless eyes and dim wit that I find so alluring."
"Captivating qualities," I tease.
"I'm a complicated woman."
I nod. "Training for a tryout with the Lakers?"
She tilts her head like she's thinking it over. "Basketball, right? I'm lacking the inherent skill, height, and peen, to make the team."
"But you are poetic. Peen. Team." I raise my eyebrows and lob another guess. "Writer?"
"I love to read, but I don't write."
"Phlebotomist?"
She laughs again. "You really are absolute shit at this, aren't you?"
I shrug because I'm not, I love making her laugh. Mission accomplished. "So tell me. What do you do?"
"It's not going to sound nearly as glamorous following phlebotomist, but I'm an architect."
"It doesn't sound glamorous at all. Keep phlebotomy in your back pocket." I tease and then I lay sincerity on her. "Jesus, an architect? On top of everything else, you're smart and creative too? Where does it end with you?"
It's then that our food arrives and Gem is introduced to the mother of all burritos. She photographs it with her phone to mark the occasion.
I jump back into our conversation while we eat. "What are you working on?"
"My team designed a small contemporary art museum here in L.A. It's the first project I've seen through from inception to completion. It's been my blood, sweat, and tears the past three years. I've been on site here for the past twelve months of construction."
"That's impressive." It is. Holy shit.
She accepts the compliment humbly. "Thanks. It's been so rewarding to see it through. I'll likely cry like a bloody baby at the grand opening this week."
"Do you know what and where your next project will be?"
"My team is designing a boutique hotel in Manchester. That will be the focus when I get home."
"Wow, good for you. You must love what you do."
"I'm passionate about it. It's all I ever wanted to do, design buildings. I've been with the firm since I graduated from uni six years ago. I'd like to make partner eventually." She sounds determined. I love determined. Determined makes dreams happen.
"Good for you," I repeat.
"Thanks."
When I polish off my burrito, I ask another question while Gemma finishes hers. "How old are you?" I assume she's around my age and it really doesn't matter, but now's a good time to ask.
"Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine in a few months. You?"
"God, you're ancient." I wink. "I'm twenty-six."
"Franco?"
"Yeah?"
"This old lady should've worn her fascinator. This burrito is outstanding."
Her sense of humor is my favorite thing about her, but I love there's always truth mixed in amongst it. "I've set the bar high. Don't expect to go anywhere else except my mom's house to get a burrito this good."
She rests her fork on her plate, wipes her mouth with the napkin from her lap, and drops it on top of the plate. "I feel like I'm going to explode from all the glory in my belly."
"You ready to go?"
"Yeah. You want to come back to my place for a drink? I bought gin and tequila today."
"Gin and tequila? In my experience, they don't play well together."
"They're mortal enemies, but I didn't know what you'd feel like drinking, so I bought both."
"Let's go find out. I'll decide when we get there."
I hold her hand while we walk to my truck and I remember the first time I held a girl's hand. Her name was Allison Espinoza. Eighth grade. She had her lip pierced, always wore red Doc Martens, and was obsessed with eighties new wave music. Our romance was short lived, one date to the movies to see Spider Man 2, but I'd never been so thankful to have hands filled with nerves and the capacity to feel touch. And I'm feeling that way again right now.
The anticipation driving to her place is killing me. I'm one to keep my shit in check, but I can't do it with her.
Brandon is watching TV in the living room when we walk in her apartment. He waves.
"Hiya, Brandon," Gemma greets. She's like an older sister to this kid. I can hear how much she cares about him.
"S'up, Brandon," I say. We're bros after the pukefest, broken lighting bonding session.
The microwave reads nine thirty-two when we walk in the kitchen. I'd lost track of time but it's still early.