“Yes, please.”
My chest puffs with pride and I lead us to the back of the bar, near the emergency exit. There’s a brick-walledhallway lined with a wooden bench where the staff sometimes relaxes. We keep the back door open for fresh air too, so there’s a nice breeze when Mabel and I arrive in the dimly lit space.
She’s the first to lower herself onto the bench and I follow suit, keeping a decent amount of distance between us. I hand her the plastic cup and the ice cubes clink together.
Mabel places it against her cheek and hisses a little. “Ouch.”
Accident or not, the urge to beat up the guy who hit her returns. “That’ll take down the swelling and it shouldn’t be too bad by tomorrow.”
She sighs heavily. “I hope so. I have a photoshoot in a few days and I can’t afford to have a big bruise on my cheek.”
I crack my tattooed knuckles. I know that Mabel works as a part-time model while being a marketing student. My girl’s a hustler. Another thing I love about her.
“What kind of photoshoot?” I ask as if I don’t have a clue. Anything to hear her soft, raspy voice again.
She stretches her bronzed legs out and her black skirt rides higher up her thick thighs. I stifle a groan, the mental image of them splayed open as I drizzle gentle kisses searing into my mind.
No one turns me on like this woman.
My phone is filled with spank bank material of Mabel, various shots straight from her Instagram. A few months ago, she did a swimsuit photoshoot and I nearly lost my mind seeing her wet in a little yellow bikini thatbarelycontained anything.
It’s my favourite thing to look at every night before bed.
“It’s a lingerie photoshoot. I actually work as a model.”
I stretch my legs out too. “Ah, I see. Do you enjoy what you do?”
A light twinkles in Mabel’s eyes. “Some days are very long and exhausting, but yes, I love what I do. I know my angles and I feel my most confident in front of a camera. For me, modelling is a very empowering experience.”
That much is obvious. Her passion shines through in every picture she posts. I wish I can tell her in person—and not text—how proud I am of her.
“That’s amazing, May,” I say instead, my voice gruff and sincere.
“Thanks for helping me out.” Her brown eyes meet mine and her smile morphs into a grin. “You also didn’t have to hang out with me while I ice this.”
I only ever want tobe where you are, sweetheart.
I shrug my shoulders like it’s no big deal, but this feels like the most defining moment of my life. I want to pinch myself. However, if this is a dream, I never want to wake up.
“I was going on break anyway, and I’m not very fond of loud places.”
“Ironic, considering where you work, eh?” I love that she’s teasing me. “I’m not a fan of big gatherings either. I came here as a favour for a friend.”
I know why Mabel doesn’t like big gatherings. The thought of what happened to her in the past makes my blood boil. Some shitty person really decided to mess with my girl for his own benefit and it pains me that it’s left Mabel with this kind of trauma.
“Where is your friend now?”
“Hopefully getting it on with her crush. Figured I’d give them some alone time before I cockblock.”
Silence falls upon us. It’s not strenuous, though. More companionable. My inability to open up to others except for Mabel and Pia has made me a bit of a loner. Which is fine with me since most people suck anyways.
I’ve learned in life that people are rarely interested in you unless they can benefit from you in some way. And when you no longer serve their purpose, they’ll toss you away like yesterday’s trash.
Except for Bel.
During the epistolary writing program, Mabel cared about me when no one else did. She made me feel like I was more than an object for others’ entertainment—like I had a voice. Because she’d never seen me, to her I wasn’t the guy who was bullied for his size. Or the one the mean girls at school asked out as a sick joke just so they could humiliate me in front of the popular kids.
To Bel, I was just me.
