“That’s really cool.”
She nods. “Yeah. I bartended for a long time. Tried a few other things. I love working with people, but I don’t really like the disrespect that comes with working behind a bar, you know?”
I do know. She’s never been good with it.
“But I do love my job. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
I watch her from the other side of the couch, through the angelic glow of the TV.
Amara has grown a lot. There’s still so much of her in there. But the girl with anxiety about what she wanted for her life is gone.
“You know, I think about high school a lot,” I say, leaning back into the cushions. I stare at the ceiling. “I really loved that art class we had together. Mrs. Capriendo was it? I think so. God, I can’t believe I remember that.” I chuckle to myself. “The other day, before I tried to talk to you in the bar, Crosby was telling me about Isla’s art show in a few days.”
She lets out a low hum. “Isla is so talented.”
I nod. She really is. “Every time she talks about her art, I think about how batty Mrs. Capriendo was about that art style.”
“Impressionism?”
“Yeah. I can’t even begin to remember how many classes we spent covering it.”
Amara nods. “She really did love it.”
I take a deep breath. “I feel like I don’t remember most of what she taught us. Like I was spending all day just waiting to pass notes to you when her back was turned after a long tirade.”
My head falls to the side, resting on the soft surface as I watch her study me. “When you talk about the things you love, do you call it a tirade?” she asks thoughtfully.
I purse my lips. “No, I guess not.”
She shrugs with a soft smile. “We all pick and choose these things that have such a huge importance to us for the rest ofour lives. We spend hours upon hours, sometimes days, years, and decades studying those things. They make us happy. Complete us in some weird way we sometimes don’t understand.” Amara folds into herself, bringing her legs under her. “I used to judge her a little too. All I wanted to do was leave that class and go run on the beach. But one day, it just clicked while watching my friends talk about their passions. We all just want to share thethingswe love with the people we care about.”
I’m about to agree with her when the buzzer goes off.
“Where are your keys?” Amara asks. “I’ll grab it.”
I point to the counter, and she gets up, stretching before grabbing them.
She pauses, a mischievous glint in her beautiful brown eyes.
Right next to my keys is the photo from Elsa.
Amara picks it up, smirking as she stares at it.
“It really is a nice pussy,” she chuckles before placing it back on the counter and heading out the door.
And something within me breaks.
Because while Amara Flores has grown up, changing in ways that we could have only hoped as kids, I’ve stayed the same.
CHAPTER 17
AMARA
Ifound the pussy picture ripped up in the garbage in the morning.
Knowing that production was going to be here just a few hours later, I pushed it down into the trash as far as it could go.
I wasn’tlying,really. It was a nice picture! She got all the right angles. Honestly, I’m jealous of how photogenic her labia is.
