Page 10 of Wells

"You're glowing," I say.

"I know. Three weeks of sunrise yoga and a German named Matthias will do that." He sets the juice down and drapes both arms along the back of the booth, chin tipped up, holding the pose until I acknowledge it. Three weeks at an ashram, and he came back more sure of himself, not less. I didn't think there was room.

"You look tense," he says.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Not meant as an insult. Any luck on the job front?"

I take my first sip of turmeric tonic, then turn back to Locke and let my shoulders drop an inch. He watches me with that patient amusement he always has, the one that says he can wait all day for me to say what I need to say.

"Nothing. I've sent my resumé out to so many jobs on Indeed and ZipRecruiter that I've lost count. I've done five in-person interviews, and so far, nothing."

"I'm sorry, babe."

"It's okay. Luckily I have my side hustle keeping me afloat for now."

"So," he starts, fingers tapping the tabletop. "How are the OnlyFans bros? That's far more interesting than a desk job, anyway. I need you to catch me up on everything while I was gone."

Heat floods my face, and I kick his shin under the table.

"Jesus, Locke. Plus, it's not plural. I emailed you three weeks ago and told you one of them is paying me an ungodly amount to keep me all to himself. Whatever the hell that means in a chat relationship where I'm fully disguised and he doesn't even show his face on the screen."

He laughs and leans forward, elbows on the table now. "Shit. That's right. The Girlfriend Experience."

"Definitely not a girlfriend. He's a client."

"He's obsessed with you. Clearly."

I wrap both hands around the cold plastic cup. "I don't get the obsessed vibe, but he definitely wants me all to himself. I'm happy to not have to manage multiple accounts, so it works."

"Babe, if he is paying to keep you to himself, and he keeps coming back for more, that's obsession. Let me call it the Girlfriend Experience. It's a whole vibe."

"Semantics."

I set the cup down harder than I mean to, and the juice sloshes against the sides. Locke raises his eyebrows but doesn't back off.

"Fine. Girlfriend Experience, whatever. Happy?"

"The question is, are you?"

I look away, toward the window where Magazine Street traffic crawls past in the late morning sun. A streetcar rattles by, and I count three breaths before I look back.

"Right now I'm surviving. Not much space for happiness, but I'm hanging in there. In a weird way, I'm grateful to be Masked Maiden, because I can pay my rent."

Locke sighs and takes another drink, then leans back again. "Such a badass name."

"You're the one who suggested it. Of course you'd love it."

"Still, though. I can't," he says dramatically, waving his hand before grounding himself with a sip.

"You're going to fall out when I tell you what he's been calling me for the last week."

"Please tell me it's Pussy Willow, or something equally cringe."

"Peoria."

"What the fuck is Peoria? It sounds like a cartoon skunk."