AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When she shakes her head gently, I’m thankful she’s still turned around and can’t see me because my face is beet red. I’m sure of it. “Yes!”
Getting my newly diagnosed rosacea under control, I answer her. “It wasn’t.”
She spins, glaring up at me in a way that has that damn smile pulling at my lips. She doesn’t let up, and the smirk grows wider. Something about the look in her eye makes me want to keep goading her. “I’m gaslighting you.”
She sighs. “Finally.” Her eyes sparkle in the harsh dressing room lights–they’re the kind of lights that make people hatethemselves as they try on new clothes. Everyone looks ugly in these lights. It’s a biblical truth. It makes me question if the girl in front of me is even human because dressed in a silk orange jumpsuit that smells like salami without a properly functioning zipper, she still looks good. Same as she did with coffee all over the back of her coat.
“Finally, a man who admits it.” Her tone is teasing, and I can’t help how it draws me in.
I lean forward, just slightly, smelling something floral–like spring in December. My nose wrinkles. It’s definitely mixed with the scent of deli meat, though. “I’m anything if not self-aware,” I say with a smug smirk.
Her eyes flick between mine for a moment, arms holding the front of the jumpsuit in place. My mind briefly recalls that the entire back is undone, and all of that skin was bare. I don’t linger on that thought or the fact that it indicates a missing bra. I don’t think about it for a second.
“No,” she says. “The answer is no. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
The joy I feel is unmatched, and I internally curse Noah. Then I see the question in her eyes, and I can’t help but hope. “Go on,” I tease. “Ask your loaded question.”
Her face falls, arms still clutching the fabric at her chest. “I’d prefer if you just answered.”
I keep my face straight, shrugging. “I have hundreds of girlfriends.” She blinks at me. “Because I work in music.”
I wait, letting her brow furrow before putting her out of her misery.
“I’m kidding,” I offer. “I have none.”
She lifts a brow. “Not a single one?”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I take a step back to keep a respectful distance from her. “Not a single one at the moment. It’s rather scandalous for me to be in here. I’m known as a perfect gentleman, usually.”
“Well, Finn,”
“Again, nobody calls me that.”
“Finn, I don’t want to be the woman to tarnish your reputation. Get out of here. We’ve already established I look terrible in prison orange, and I smell of salami and confinement.”
I chuckle, glancing toward the ground as I sneak out of the dressing room. When I look around the store, I see one of the old women scowling in my direction.
Whatever she thought we were doing, she was completely wrong, but I can’t help the way my mind thinks about it–if only for a moment.
As I sit on the bench, I choose to focus on a different trait instead.
Again, I don’t want to be Ted Bundy.
I whip out my phone to text Noah.
Me:She’s really funny.
Eight
Ellis
It’s almost insulting how much fun I’m having.
Something about Griffin’s presence–the excitement of not knowing what’s coming next–it feels like being let free aftera long period of confinement. It reminds me of the orange jumpsuit, honestly.
I’ve spent so much of my life nervous about what I owe others for my existence. While I know that thought is wrong, as soon as I think about it, I can’t help but consider the truth of it.
I’ve fought to do the right thing–thesafething–the responsible thing. I spend my days working in the dungeon because I selected a college major that made sense and would support me financially. I had no interest in marketing, and somehow Griffin could see right through it.
