Yeah, I’m looking for the signs of his heartbreak so I can…
I can dowhat,exactly?
There’s nothing I can do. It’s none of my business either. It never was. It never will be. So all I do is shake my head and answer his question. “No, George is nice.”
I mean, sort of. He’s the manager of a strip club where they encourage tons of fraternization between clients and the staff. Plus he’s the one who came up with the whole muse thing so he’s not a saint or anything. And yes, he flirts with me a little bit but he hasn’t asked me out on a date like my catering boss or tried to grope me like some of these customers here. So the world that I live in, he does fall into the nice category.
His eyes narrow a bit. “Too nice?”
“To me?”
“Yeah.”
I shake my head again. “Not really.”
His eyes narrow further. “Not really.”
My widen in return and I realize the road this could send him down, if I told him about my slightly pervy boss. So to divert his attention and also because it’s true, I say, “I totally ruined your clothes.”
I hope he lets it go. I don’t want to get George fired or have my job jeopardize in any way. I also don’t want to be eyed like atoy my stepbrother wants to play with either. Which is how he’s looking at me as he says, “Yeah, you did.”
I wince. “Let me at least get you a towel, please.”
His eyes flash again, this time more brightly,dangerously. “Please.”
“What?”
He studies my features, his eyes going from one side to another, haphazardly, repeatedly. And for a crazy second, it feels like he’s trying to catch up. To the last six months, like I was doing. Looking for signs of things that happened during the time we didn’t see each other. Although, honestly, nothing happened. My life is still the same as it was six months ago. Work, my catering gigs, my sister, my friends. Trying to figure out how to pay my bills and send Snow to college. Staying up late into the night, thinking about him, worrying over him. Then admonishing myself for caring so much about someone who’s only ever been cruel to me.
“Didn’t think I’d like it so much,” he murmurs, breaking into my thoughts.
“Like what?”
“Hearingplease,” he explains. “In your sweet little voice.”
“I—”
“But,” he cuts me off, arrogance flickering through his features, “I’m sure you can do a better job of it.”
“A better job of what?”
“Begging.”
My heart thuds. “What?”
“After what you did.”
Shit. What a stupid freaking thing to do. Especially when I know how he can be. I’ve only ever had two encounters with him, and still I know this could get very bad, very fast. I swallow and resume walking back. “Look, it was a mistake, okay?”
He resumes advancing. “Yeah?”
“Yes, I didn’t mean to do it. I?—”
“I think you did.”
I keep hugging the tray as a shield against him and lie, “No, I didn’t. I-I stumbled.”
He hums. “See, I’m finding that a little hard to believe, given the very peculiar sickness you have.”
