“It’s public access. I didn’t have our daily texts, so this was the next best way to check in.”
He missed me, then. And I missed him.
Ugh, why did he have to be such an idiot about my side job?
I stepped back and crossed my arms. “I’m not going to stop the foot stuff after one paying gig.”
“I know.” He rubbed his ear. “Your laptop was open, though, and it seems like you’re looking at other long-term jobs.”
“That’s to replace Fancee’s.” Ah, shit. I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. “Excuse me,” I said. I squeezed into the narrow opening between him and the door frame, but my boobs bumped into his bulky biceps. I couldn’t get through.
“Wait, you’re leaving Fancee’s? I thought you needed health insurance,” he said.
“I’ll buy the government package and take some vitamins,” I huffed, wiggling to get through.
“Don’t leave your job because of me,” he insisted, backing up.
The sudden lack of obstruction meant I went flying through the doorway. He caught my arm so I didn’t land on my face.
Heart racing, I yanked myself free. “You asked me to leave foot modeling.”
He held up his hands. “I asked if youwouldleave. That’s not the same thing.”
“It wasn’t a hypothetical situation, Zack. It was half a threat. You can’t date someone who does that. You can’t bring them home to your family. So, what? You want me to stay at my job so we can keep eye-fucking in the stacks?”
“Nic…” He rubbed his neck and glanced away.
“No, I get it. I have a great aesthetic. Lots of guys want to mess around without wife-ing someone up. Especially when it comes to sex workers.” I shimmied in my towel dress. A vain little part of me relished the fact that he glanced at my chest and blushed despite his best efforts to be a gentleman.
“I’m sorry for all that," he said. "Yeah, you’re hot, but I do like you as a person. You're confident, ambitious, and I don't know, you have a spark about you.”
Sure, a 'spark.' Any guy in his position would’ve sworn I mattered in the hopes I'd open my legs. I rolled my eyes and headed toward the kitchen. “You don’t need to say nice things because you feel guilty for hurting my feelings. Besides, you aren’t the only reason I’m quitting.”
He drew his shoulders up to his ears, nodded, then looked down. “You deserve better.”
Was he talking about us or my career?
I sighed and pushed my hair back. “I don’t want to waste my time getting bossed around by an alcoholic and mooned by someone older than my mom for the sake of health insurance I can get elsewhere. Shoe sales is not exactly a resume builder. I just get stuff. And I have enough stuff. I want…more.”
He furrowed his brow. “More?”
Okay, wasItalking about our relationship? I waved the question away and tried to get back on track.
“I want something that can evolve. I want respect. And I’m not gonna get it answering some fucking bell on the regular. I’m a knowledgeable salesperson and a great fucking stylist. I can sell my time somewhere that’ll pay better, appreciate my skills, or help me grow as a person.”
Ugh, I couldn’t believe I said I wanted to ‘grow as a person.’ A few dates with Zack and I was talking like I was in an after-school special. I rubbed my forehead. This whole thing was going to give me wrinkles. So would time, I guessed. Hopefully, by then, my heart would let go of the quarterback.
“I do respect you,” he said.
“Just not what I do.” I scuffed my bare feet on the tile and sighed. “Whatever. I have a video to shoot.”
He glanced down. “Yeah, you do.” A flush spread across his neck.
I rolled my eyes. “I already told you, it’s not that kind of shoot.”
“I know. But you’ll do that stuff soon,” he said.
My shoulders tensed in a shrug. So what? I wasn’t doing it in front of him. We weren’t together. It was literallymybusiness, not his.
