“But Jules and I floated the idea of ‘sharing each other’ with you, and I—” My hand reaches into the air in front of me, grabbing at nothing until my fist tightens. “I just can’t talk to you right now.”
A foot comes up to the seat of my chair, forcing it to spin, and forcing me to face him as a result.
He has a hand braced against his hip and there’s a challenging arch in his brow.
“I’m not a unicorn,” he tells me. “I’m not some toy for you to pull out and play with when your bed goes stale. I’ve tried that before, and the only thing it got me was hurt. So if you want to ‘share me,’ or however it is that you want to word it, you can accept that I acknowledged I screwed up, and you can make yourself forgive me like you did for Jules.
“You said you know I’m sorry,” he continues, ticking items off on his fingers like he’s making a list. “So punch me out and get it over with, accept my apology so we can move forward, or tell me we’re done here so I can move on with my life and stop wondering if you’ll forgive me, even when your tongue is in my throat.”
Pivoting my chair, I bring my attention back to the paper in front of me, reaching for a pen with my foot tapping against the tile beneath me.
There’s an unfamiliar tightness in my chest, and it only gets stronger when, after a few beats of silence, Connor huffs and turns to move toward his station. My eyes flit between the front door, the cracked-open door of the office, and the back exit before I pull in a sharp breath.
“You’re right,” I admit quietly, almost through my teeth. “I wanted to hurt you, but—fuck —you apologized again, and it pissed me off because I already accepted the first apology, you absolute fucking dumbass.” Tossing the pen in my hand to the other side of my desk in defeat, I lean back in my chair with aheavy sigh. “I don’t know why I’m still pissed at you when I— I justam.”
When I look in his direction again, I don’t miss the smirk on his face or the way that he wets his lower lip as he drops into his own chair.
“Now that’s something I can work with,” he tells me.
The shop has been quiet all day. I hate quiet days. The more of them that I have, the more I wonder if Julia’s been right about selling the place and washing my hands of it. I could find work in some other studio under someone else’s name and take stress off of my shoulders and hers.
I’ve kept the shop for myself.
But as I walk my third – and final – client of the day to the door, my eyes move across the shop to where Connor is pushing a needle through the belly button of some giggling teenage girl, and I can’t help but wonder if…
No, I tell myself,that’s stupid.
Especially now.
As CJ finally makes his way out of the office to say his goodbyes, we load him down with some last minute things that he might need, all the while inundated with his relentless and unnecessary thank yous.
“You meet me back here in the morning, and I’ll have some fresh clothes and breakfast for you, alright, man?” I tell the old man, clapping him on the back.
“You’re nice boys,” he says with a nod. “Good boys.”
“No we’re not,” I laugh, “we just like you.”
I walk him out of the shop with the rest of his food and the ten-dollar bill that Connor had in his wallet, and I watch to make sure that he gets across the street okay.
With CJ out of sight and off to wherever it is that keeps him safe at night, I pull the heavy metal shutters on the windows. The door is next, once I step back into the shop, and I move to the register counter to tidy up the flash books after that.
Small tasks that will keep my hands and my eyes busy and off of the only other person left in the shop with me.
The sound of him at his station, humming quietly along with the playlist still flowing from our shared bluetooth speaker crosses the shop to reach my ears. His favorite song is playing; the only one he ever hums to. The one that he always perks his head up toward every time it comes on.
With a shake of my head, I slide behind the pony wall that separates my station from the one next to it. Allowing myself a look in Connor’s direction for less time than it takes me to blink, I get stuck there. He’s staring at me; and the corner of his mouth quirks up as soon as our eyes meet. I try to look away from him, if only to quiet the tugging in my chest and my stomach, but I can’t.
As if some other force can feel the tension in my body, my phone vibrates against the desk top, stealing my attention as my eyes snap to Nia’s name on its screen. I clear my throat with a shake of my head before pulling the phone to my ear.
“What do you want?” I growl, throwing a healthy dose of playful anger into my voice.
Katie squeals loud giggles through the receiver, and when she finally stops laughing to speak, it sounds like she’s got a mouth full of food.
“What does the beach look like?” She asks. “Can you send me more candy?”
“It’s sunny and sandy, and you have to ask your parents,” I tell her.
I’ll leave it a surprise that I’ve already packed up more flip-flop and palm tree shaped novelty candies, colored pencils, andtemporary tattoos with the hair products that Julia’s shipping out to Brody and Nia at the end of this week.
