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But he’s attracted to me too.
At least physically. At least he was.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, standing. “I need to go to work.”
On my lunch break, I sit in the back of the cafeteria, eating my soggy sandwiches made with cheap bread, feeling down and knowing I need to buck up.
After Mom passed, I didn’t let myself descend into grim moods.
Obviously, I had to grieve. I’m not some superhuman.
But I kept myself as positive as possible, knowing I had to be there for Natasha.
Now, it’s difficult not to check my phone constantly. I miss the sound of the text alert, or the vibration, picking it up in a rush, thinking it might be Weston.
My phone vibrates.
I glance at it, expecting Natasha.
But it’s Weston.
My gaze moves to our message before last, mine.
Wow. Just wow.
And now there’s another…
What do you want from us, Alice?
I shake my head, smiling even as a grim laugh escapes me.
It’s like a Genie’s lamp of emotions opens inside of me, a trickster sending feelings flurrying through me.
That’s one hell of a way to start a conversation after three days of radio silence.
I imagine him smirking, but not the way he does in the movies.
It’s the way he smirked just for me when we were alone.
Before the kiss. Before the fall.
It’s a fair question.
I could ask you the same thing, he replies.
You could. But I’m asking.
I almost tell him that I want a life with him, a future that makes no sense because we’re almost strangers to each other. But I can’t make that leap and go there when he hasn’t given me any indication he wants the same.
Sure, his gaze was intense, his touch possessive, but that didn’t mean he wanted anything more.
I guess I’d like to get to know each other better, I reply.
I almost add, The way Kennedy knows you.
But I can’t go that far, though I’m aware I’ll never be able to give myself to this man knowing he wants anybody else. And I’m also aware that the chances of him wanting just me are pretty much zero.
What do you want to know? he asks.
I look around the cafeteria as though searching for Aurora, knowing my job’s in serious trouble if she ever finds out what I’m doing.
The public is still stoking the flames of the ‘Weston saved Kennedy’ fire, and she’s milking it on social media.
But, apart from that first video, Weston hasn’t publicly commented on it.
Should that give me hope?
You said you were born dirt poor, I reply, remembering. But there’s nothing about that online. In fact, there’s hardly anything about your personal history online.
Maybe if I can know where he came from, I could guess where he wants to go. Or maybe that’s crap, and I’m just happy to be talking with him again.
So happy I’m willing to ignore all the other stuff threatening to twist it up.
That’s intentional, Weston says. I love my work. I love disappearing into characters, but I’ve never wanted fame. It’s a byproduct of what I do, not the point. But if you want to know about me, I’ll tell you.
Aren’t you scared I’ll spread it around? I text back. Aren’t you afraid I’ll use you for it?
I can see you there, getting all sassy as you type that, he replies, and his words make me shimmer as though he’s leaning over me again, getting ready for a kiss. It’s a fact of my life that most people want something from me. I can’t complain. It’s a small price to pay for the freedom my work allows me. But it’s still true.
I realize he hasn’t answered my question, but, at the same time, he wouldn’t be willing to discuss this over text if he thought I was going to sell it or use him.
So what was your childhood like? I ask.
The truth, Miss Mystery… it was god-awful. My mom died in childbirth. Me and my twin brother, Maxwell, became the sole focus of our old man. He was a vicious, evil bastard. I hate saying that about my own father, but it’s the truth. He made us fight each other. He tried to make us hate each other, but he never could.
I’m so sorry, Weston. About that… and about Maxwell.
The skiing accident? I imagine my man’s shoulders heaving, his intense eyes staring at the phone the same way he stared at me.
It’s a hell of a thing, and I cried like a baby when I got the news. We were all each other had for years. He was the upbeat one, and I was the grumpy bastard. Are you sure this isn’t boring you?
I wonder if he talks to his other women about stuff like this. Or if this is just for me.
Not even a little bit, I reply, glancing at the time.
I’ve got ten minutes until I have to go back to work.
