stared up at the ceiling, closed his eyes, and focused on his breathing. He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, trying to get his brain to stop ruminating about his upcoming scene. Meditation was not his strong suit.
He was almost there when his cell rattled against the birch veneer of the Ikea nightstand.
He propped himself up on one elbow and reached for the phone. It was a text: 6 wuz gr8. Luv Lexi.
The sex had been great. And when he rolled over exhausted, she hopped out of bed, and padded naked to the kitchen. Leave it to Lexi to take her cell phone so she could text him from twenty feet away.
This is why he adored her. She was smarter than any girl he’d ever known, but she still did wonderfully stupid things like text him from the kitchen to tell him the 6 wuz gr8. He texted her back: 4 me 2. Wherz my ice cream?
A few seconds later the answer came back: Scoopin fast as I can.
He sat all the way up in bed so he could watch her scooping.
Scooping is what she was doing the first day he met her—only it wasn’t ice cream. She was selling popcorn at the Paris Theatre, one of the last single-screen movie houses in New York.
“You must be a big Hilary Swank fan,” she said, ignoring the prefilled bags and digging deep into a batch of hot, fresh-popped corn.
“Not really,” he said.
“This is the third time you’ve come to see the movie this week,” Lexi said. “It can’t be the popcorn.”
He laughed. “You know the scene in the beginning where the guy at the bar tries to hit on her, and she blows him off? That’s me.”
“Get out of here,” Lexi said. “You’re acting in the movie that’s playing right here at the Paris? Just for that I’m giving you a medium popcorn and you only have to pay for the small.”
“Thanks,” he said. He didn’t even want the small one. The popcorn sucked, but he kept buying it so he could talk to the popcorn girl.
“One question,” she said. “Why do you stay for the whole movie if you’re only on in the beginning?”
“My name is in the end credits. ‘Jerk at the Bar—Gabe Benoit.’ That’s me.”
“Hey, Gabe, nice to meet you. I’m Lexi Carter—Jerk at the Popcorn Stand.”
He stayed and watched the movie two more times until Lexi got off work. Then they walked over to the Carnegie Deli on Seventh Avenue and split one of their foot-high celebrity sandwiches—an artery-clogging, towering pile of corned beef and pastrami called the Woody Allen.
“Wouldn’t it be cool if one day you got so famous that they named a sandwich after you?” Lexi said.
“I have a better idea,” he said. “They can name half a sandwich after me and the other half after you.”
They took the subway downtown to her apartment for coffee.
“I lied,” she said as soon as she locked the door. “I don’t have any coffee.”
“What’ve you got?” he said.
She peeled off her T-shirt, stepped out of her jeans, and stood there naked.
God, she was gorgeous. Lexi was one of those women who actually looked better naked than she did with clothes on. Thick auburn hair, bottomless blue eyes, and creamy white skin all the way down to her frosted pink toenails.
“You have the most incredible body I’ve ever seen,” he said.
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, really. I mean it.”
“Thanks. Most guys prefer tits the size of volleyballs. Mine work better if you like tennis.”
“They’re perfect,” he said.
“You know what my mom always said—the perfect breast is just big enough to fill a champagne glass.”
The next night he bought her a gift. Two Baccarat champagne glasses. Since then, she used them for everything. Diet Coke, M&M’s, sunflower seeds—it didn’t matter. It was, she told him, the best present she ever got.
Right now the champagne glasses were filled with ice cream. She twirled out of the kitchen, a glass filled with Rocky Road in each hand. She gave him one and plopped down on the bed next to him.
“Go ahead,” she
He was almost there when his cell rattled against the birch veneer of the Ikea nightstand.
He propped himself up on one elbow and reached for the phone. It was a text: 6 wuz gr8. Luv Lexi.
The sex had been great. And when he rolled over exhausted, she hopped out of bed, and padded naked to the kitchen. Leave it to Lexi to take her cell phone so she could text him from twenty feet away.
This is why he adored her. She was smarter than any girl he’d ever known, but she still did wonderfully stupid things like text him from the kitchen to tell him the 6 wuz gr8. He texted her back: 4 me 2. Wherz my ice cream?
A few seconds later the answer came back: Scoopin fast as I can.
He sat all the way up in bed so he could watch her scooping.
Scooping is what she was doing the first day he met her—only it wasn’t ice cream. She was selling popcorn at the Paris Theatre, one of the last single-screen movie houses in New York.
“You must be a big Hilary Swank fan,” she said, ignoring the prefilled bags and digging deep into a batch of hot, fresh-popped corn.
“Not really,” he said.
“This is the third time you’ve come to see the movie this week,” Lexi said. “It can’t be the popcorn.”
He laughed. “You know the scene in the beginning where the guy at the bar tries to hit on her, and she blows him off? That’s me.”
“Get out of here,” Lexi said. “You’re acting in the movie that’s playing right here at the Paris? Just for that I’m giving you a medium popcorn and you only have to pay for the small.”
“Thanks,” he said. He didn’t even want the small one. The popcorn sucked, but he kept buying it so he could talk to the popcorn girl.
“One question,” she said. “Why do you stay for the whole movie if you’re only on in the beginning?”
“My name is in the end credits. ‘Jerk at the Bar—Gabe Benoit.’ That’s me.”
“Hey, Gabe, nice to meet you. I’m Lexi Carter—Jerk at the Popcorn Stand.”
He stayed and watched the movie two more times until Lexi got off work. Then they walked over to the Carnegie Deli on Seventh Avenue and split one of their foot-high celebrity sandwiches—an artery-clogging, towering pile of corned beef and pastrami called the Woody Allen.
“Wouldn’t it be cool if one day you got so famous that they named a sandwich after you?” Lexi said.
“I have a better idea,” he said. “They can name half a sandwich after me and the other half after you.”
They took the subway downtown to her apartment for coffee.
“I lied,” she said as soon as she locked the door. “I don’t have any coffee.”
“What’ve you got?” he said.
She peeled off her T-shirt, stepped out of her jeans, and stood there naked.
God, she was gorgeous. Lexi was one of those women who actually looked better naked than she did with clothes on. Thick auburn hair, bottomless blue eyes, and creamy white skin all the way down to her frosted pink toenails.
“You have the most incredible body I’ve ever seen,” he said.
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, really. I mean it.”
“Thanks. Most guys prefer tits the size of volleyballs. Mine work better if you like tennis.”
“They’re perfect,” he said.
“You know what my mom always said—the perfect breast is just big enough to fill a champagne glass.”
The next night he bought her a gift. Two Baccarat champagne glasses. Since then, she used them for everything. Diet Coke, M&M’s, sunflower seeds—it didn’t matter. It was, she told him, the best present she ever got.
Right now the champagne glasses were filled with ice cream. She twirled out of the kitchen, a glass filled with Rocky Road in each hand. She gave him one and plopped down on the bed next to him.
“Go ahead,” she
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