Re: [Log: Gym-to-be, Marta and Holly]
Hey, it was all good. It probably wasn't fair of him to compare her with another her, but that was a logical thing, right? And this was kinda unthinking. "You snorted," he pointed out when she did, using the plastic fork as a pointer. "Minivan driving housewives can't snort. It's in the rulebook," he deadpanned, and he was just giving her shit. She was obviously way too young to be a minivan-mom, even though he did know all about her kid at this point. "Please, god, no. No fishnets. No micro-minis. Not my scene," he said, hands waving in, for Holly, an exaggerated manner.
He did like the lasagna. It was good. "We're stupid over each other," he agreed of himself and Noah. "But, seriously. He's, like, the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me. I know at first? I told you about his asshole counterpart, and I was worried he was gonna be the same, right? He's not. He's like so not. Night and day," he finished, and he pretended to look around the gutted place. "I meant they cleared out all the barstools and counters and scraped the old booze off the walls and floor," he clarified, looking back and popping the other half of the garlic roll into his mouth.
And he would definitely scoff at anything material that didn't net some return. Light? Oxygen? In a small fucking town with more moose than inhabitants? Yeah, no, he wasn't biting. He was still thinking money laundering, since that made the most sense. The IRS probably didn't look into small town stores. That, or the woman who owned it was loaded and didn't care about turning a profit. But he was glad Sunny had a better gig now; she'd sounded all fucked up about the sex-work, when they'd discussed it.
He didn't chuckle when she examined her sandwich like it was the New York Times Crossword or something. He just waited. He ate, but he waited. "Yeah, constant thing sounds right. What's the saying? You're still an addict when you're clean. Something like that." He shook his head a moment later, when she started stammering all over the place. "Man, Sunny, chill. It's just a conversation over tomato sauce. No fucking pressure."