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“Better.” I sip my tequila. Wait for it to burn away all the weird shit I’m feeling right now. I’m doing this for Joe. Fuck everything else. “How was your day? House all right?”
She smiles at me, and I feel—more or less confused, I don’t know.
I do know she’s leaning into me a little more. Her shoulder brushing my chest. The memory of her red vibrator in my nightstand drawer flashes across my thoughts.
“House was great,” she says. “Work was great too. That site I’m working on?—”
“The gayBridgertonone with all the bulges.” I glance at the restaurant. No one is paying us much mind.
“Good memory.” Her eyes light up. “Yes. It’s so damn adorable I can’t even take it. My client is thrilled and so am I.”
“What do y’all love most about it?”
Jen thinks on this for a minute. “I think the branding is really on point. It’s this perfect combination of style and substance that really captures the spirit of the author’s work, you know?”
“Of course I know you killed it and nailed an incredible design. You have any pictures?”
“I do, yeah.” She digs her phone out of her purse and smiles as she scrolls. “It’s not finalized yet, and I’m not sure the red is right for the roses, but?—”
“Gimme.” I hold out my hand.
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes as she drops the phone into my palm, but I don’t miss the way she immediately goes for her drink, averting her gaze. “Do me a favor and lie if you don’t like it. I need a win today.”
She needs a win? Why? She just said she had a good day. Something must’ve happened. I decide to wait a bit for her to open up and tell me. Maybe she needs a minute.
The longer I look at the photos of her work, the more I start to recognize just how clever the website is. There are screenshots of several pages: the home page, a newsletter sign-up page, and a NSFW page that has a placeholder image titled “Illustrated blow job goes here”. I smile at that, even as my heart skips a beat at how clean andprettythe design of the site is.
The colors, which are romantic yet vibrant shades of cream, red, pink, and Kelly green. The logo, an intertwinedOandG—author’s initials I’m assuming—embellished with a rose and a thorn. The fonts are on point too. The sections of each page are separated by subtly phallic-looking red and pink arrows.
“The details.” I point to the arrow’s double line of pink and red. “And the color scheme. I like how it’s sexy and soft at the same time. The rose—love, romance—juxtaposed against the thorn. Pleasure and pain, all entwined. Jen, it’s fucking genius.”
She looks up from her spritz. Brow furrowed again. I resist the urge to press my thumb there. Smooth it with slight pressure. “You think so?”
“It’s a knockout.”
“I’m impressed you picked up on all that. It took me weeks to get the vibe just right. I wanted to incorporate the breeches bulge thing with the breathlessness of romance—sex and love—and it was harder than I thought. We wanted the site to be tongue-in-cheek, but also smart and romantic. Like,there’s something for everyone. You want penis, it’s there. You want stories about the meaning of life, that’s there too. I love it, but it’s still not perfect.”
She’s glowing as she talks, gesturing with her hands. This talented, clever girl, the one who second-guesses herself constantly.
“Perfect is boring,” I manage, finishing my tequila. “Your gut instinct is much more interesting.”
She drags her teeth over her bottom lip. I’m just buzzed enough to angle my body toward hers. Our knees touch. My body ignites.
“I just feel like if it’s not the best branding or site or color scheme ever, it’s not worth sharing. I don’t want to disappoint anyone,” she says.
“But are you disappointing yourself in the process?” I hold up my glass to Howie,another please and thank you. “Are you holding yourself back trying to please everybody else?”
Sighing, she puts an elbow on the bar so she’s completely turned toward me. Face inches from mine. “You know I’m guilty of people pleasing, yeah. Might be my best, worst personality trait.”
“Why is it so important that everyone likes you?”
She looks thoughtful for a moment. “I’m not sure. Being good—it’s what I’m good at.”
“But you said it makes you feel dead inside.”
“I said it makes me feel... well, yeah, like I’m sleepwalking, so I guess dead inside is another way to describe it. But being good has gotten me this far. I can’t just tell everyone to go fuck themselves and light my life on fire.”
“Why not?”
