And I mean it this time. I’m not embellishing like I did with Eddie—not just saying it because I should. This is the undeniable and unaltered truth. I missed his texts, his touch, his humor, his face…
“Alright, food first, then you,” he declares, releasing me. Before he moves on with it though, he gives me one last adamant peck.
We fill our plates with food and then move on to the dinner table between the kitchen and lounge space. “Do you want something to drink?” I offer.
“Whatever you’ll have.”
“I’m having water. If you prefer, I also have a couple of fancy Belgian beers in the fridge.”
“Water’s perfect, love.”
As I return with a bottle and glasses, I sense how different the atmosphere is now. We’re not quite there yet, but it’s not as tense and awkward. Especially not when we start eating and the conversation flows.
“I never asked where you work,” Jake realizes.
“NexaCorp’s headquarters, on 7th Avenue.”
“Is that the glass one shaped like an obelisk?”
“Yep. There’s an amazing view from the 63rd floor.”
“Which is where you are, I reckon?”
I nod. We talk about my work a little longer, and he listens, even though it must bore him to death. By the time I’m done explaining my situation, we’re done eating, with nothing left on our plates but falafel crumbs and humus smears.
“Your boss sounds like a proper cunt.”
I chuckle. “I painted an accurate portrait, then.”
“What happens once you get his job? Will it make your life easier?”
“Probably not. If I do things the way he does, I would have fewer hours than I do now. But I’m too much of a perfectionist to half-ass the job like him. So I’d probably end up with more hours overall, and I can kiss goodbye most of my Saturdays.”
“Then why are you gunning for it?” I can tell he’s intrigued and curious to understand my reasoning.
“Well, the work will be more satisfactory, and I’ll make a bigger difference. It’s also one step closer to the top, which is my goal.”
“And once you get to that?”
“I probably won’t have Sundays either,” I humor. But the joke doesn’t land, leaving him even more perplexed. “Anyhow, what about you?”
“I’m making my way through the world one day at a time.”
“Really? No big goals, no ten-year plan?”
“Not exactly, no. I’ve been working my arse off for fourteen years. But I’m doing the things I love, so I’m enjoying it. It’s been working well for me so far.”
“More than well, I’d say.”
“Yeah, I’m good at what I do, and that paid off. I have gotten to a point where I get to tattoo whatever I want, and people will accept it as an honor. I can do all sorts of personalized projects, but those come at a high price.”
“So, you’re reserved for the elite?”
“I also take on smaller clients as long as I like the project. But yes, more than one celebrity out there has my work on their skin.”
“Maybe I’ve already seen one, then. Do you have a particular style?”
“Insects.”
