10
Someone deserves me but they don’t know it yet.
"I'm proud of us," I brag through a sigh.
"You're proud of us for getting coffee instead of alcohol?" Wesley asks, tapping his fingers against his lips.
"Yes, a two-night-stand in any regard is not on my list of things to accomplish in my twenties."
Wesley takes another sip of his coffee rather than responding. I'll assume he's had a two-night-stand in his twenties. I'm in no place to be judgmental, though. "So tell me more about what your roommate does for a career?"
My jaw tightens at the thought of Layla and her actions, but I don’t need drone on about my roommate. "Layla intends to be an entrepreneurial mogul before she turns thirty, which means she needs to find the perfect business to run online, then make it function on its own."
"Her dream is to do nothing and get paid for it?" Wesley asks.
"More or less."
"Smart woman."
I laugh silently at the thought of Layla being referred to as a smart woman. “I thought so to until tonight." I lean back into the bench we're sitting on, staring at the bars we avoided. "So, Wesley Moon, how did you get into the milk business?" I'm trying to add a side punch of humor, but I want to know about his reputation as a child-star, even though I never heard his name before.
He tosses his head back and sighs. "It's a long story."
"Come on. We have time while we don't drink."
"Don't you know stories are better told when drunk?" he argues.
"I do, but I have faith you can manage a story while sober too." Wesley raises an eyebrow and glances over at me through the corner of his eye.
"It's not an exciting story. My mother thought I was cute and wanted to make into a child model. I don't remember the early days of it all, but somehow I ended up doing these commercials and magazine ads for milk and it went on for a few years. My mother got a high off watching me succeed from my looks and hired another agent who had me attending auditions here in the city every week."
"Did you enjoy it, from what you can remember?"
“Not quite,” he says with a guarded look. "This is ridiculous."
"What is? We all did things we aren't proud of while growing up."
"I'm not embarrassed about my youth; I'm embarrassed to admit my youth defined my manhood because modeling doesn't make me happy."
His statement makes me sit up a little straighter, and I twist to face him. "Nothing ultimately defines us. Plus, I'm sure there are plenty of opportunities for you outside of modeling. It's just a matter of what you want to do with your life."
"At almost thirty, it's hard to hand anyone a resume with one bullet point next to the word,model."
"So you don't want to model anymore?"
"I never did."
“Well then, what do you want to do?"
He lifts his head and matches my gaze. "You'll laugh if I tell you."
"I swear, I won't laugh." With my pinky finger up to prove my honesty, he cups his hand around mine and brings it down to the bench.
"Truth be told, I want to work in finance because I get a kick out of crunching numbers. Plus, I want a job with a yearly salary and requires me to wear a suit. My goal in life must sound a little odd, but it's frustrating to know I'm no closer to it now than I was back in my child-modeling days."
Picturing him in a suit is hot. He would make any suit look amazing, but I don't think my thoughts are relevant to our conversation. "It's not too late, Wesley. Take night classes, get a day job to pay the bills, then before you know it, you will be on your way to a dream job."
Wesley shrugs. "You make it sound easy."
