“Oh, it’s fine, I can buy my own groceries, I can also help out around the house since I’ll be here most of the time,” I offer with a shrug as my phone buzzes in my hand. I ignore it as he stares at me for a long moment.
“You don’t plan on getting a job?” he asks, a light hint of disproval in his tone.
“I already have a job, I’m a social media personality,” I say, sitting down at the kitchen counter, dropping my bag down at my feet before taking a drink from my bottle.My fingers immediately tap softly against the counter. I try to brush off the nerves that are threatening to consume me. I always feel so stupid when I tell people what I do, and while he’s not my biological family, I still want him to be proud, to see me as worth something.My daddy issues at their finest, ladies and gentlemen.
“What does that even mean?” he asks, leaning against the sink, his forearms flexing slightly as he crosses them over his chest.Has he always been fit?
“It means I get paid for posting content online,” I tell him.
“So like ads?” He asks.
“No, silly, I’m an AurumPlus actress,” I tease with a wink.
“A what?” he asks, his eyebrows knit in confusion.
So not only did my joke fall flat, but I am now going to have to explain to him that I was making a joke about being a pornstar, on a new app that is blowing up like crazy right now.
“You look it up on your own time, and come back to me with what you find,” I say, mustering up as much false confidence as I can.
He just stares at me. I internally roll my eyes and turn my attention from him back to my hands. I look back up, and his gaze hasn’t budged. My confidence quickly falters, and instead of functioning like a normal human being, I begin to ramble.
“I post stuff to social media, and people pay me for it. I make decent money, and I’m even willing to pay utilities or something. I don’t need charity, just say the words, and I’m gone. We don’t even have to tell Briar that you kicked me out. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, I just need a few days to get on my feet,” I say, quickly picking up my bag and going upstairs,figuring the best solution is to just remove myself from the situation.
He doesn’t say anything to me, and instead just watches me leave.
Once I’m securely locked away in my temporary room, I set up my space for filming.
The bedroom itself is fairly good-sized with lots of natural lighting.There’s not much in it: a bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a closet, which is ok. I’ll figure out how to make it work.
After a few hours of hiding and not wanting to admit that I was being a little dramatic by just storming away, I make my way back downstairs to have a real grown-up discussion about how the next few days are going to look.
Beckett is sitting on the couch with the TV on, still dressed in casual jeans and a black t-shirt. He holds a newspaper in his lap, but he’s not really paying attention to it. He doesn’t react, so he either doesn’t know I’m standing here, or he doesn’t care. Either way, I find myself staring at the side of his face for a moment, catching the subtle sharpness of his lightly stubbled jaw.
“I’m sorry, I panic when people ask about my job, because most people don’t see it as one, and I sometimes shut down or get defensive. My therapist says it’s because I don’t know how to react to people wanting to know about me, because I was never asked those types of questions growing up,andnow I’m oversharing, something else that happens when I’m nervous.” Ifeel my cheeks turn pink as I can’t force my mouth to close and stay shut.
I sit down in the armchair next to the couch he’s sitting on, my fingers twisting together anxiously.
“It’s fine,” he mumbles, looking back down at the newspaper in his hands.
“Ok, well…How long are you ok with me staying? A few days, a week, a month, the whole summer?” I ask when he makes no other attempts at conversation.
“You can stay as long as you need,” He says, still not looking at me.
“That’s not what I asked. Even though I was being a little dramatic earlier, I meant it when I said, you can kick me out at any time. I can go stay wherever until I go back to Georgia at the beginning of September.”
Is there any way that I can embarrass myself further?Why am I acting as if I’ve never had a conversation with someone in my life? What the hell is wrong with me?
“Look, Sloane. I really don’t care. I work twelve-plus-hour days, six days a week. I’m not usually home, so you can do whatever you want and stay for as long as you need. I’m happy to have you here. You’re a good kid, I’m just trying to help you out.”
His words leave me speechless for just a few seconds.
“Oh…Well, I don’t want to mess with your routine, so what can I do to make the most out of this?”
“I leave at five a.m. and get home usually after eight. I bring work home with me most nights, and don’t go to bed til midnight. My life is my job.”
“What about meals and stuff?” I ask.
“You’re on your own,” He says, and I let out a huff.
