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Kenzie nods, pointing her empty glass at Paige. “She’s right. It is.”
I haven’t told them I got fired today. Partially because I’m embarrassed. What thirty-two-year-old woman gets fired from the job of her dreams? I wince. Fuck. Not good.
It wasn’t even my fault. They’d understand if I told them... wouldn’t they?
“What’s that?” Paige points at my face. “That look, what is that look?”
Kenzie’s brows pull together, and my super empathetic friend leans towards me. “What happened?” She holds her hand up, shaking her head. “Let me get drinks first.”
My skin is hot, a prickling feeling sneaking up the back of my neck. “I can get them, but could I use your card?”
I hate the words as they fall from my lips. I hate myself for being this person. I hate the bitter taste at the back of my throat. But I need to stretch what I have for as long as I can, because I’m going to be homeless, destitute, and at best, living on one of their couches before the end of the month.
Bristling, I swallow hard. A small voice at the back of my brain tells me I could maybe,possiblycall my mother. But I don’t believe she’d help. Not again. And the pain in my face from clenching my teeth says I’d rather spend the rest of my days in a cardboard box on the street than admit to her that I got fired from the job she and Daddy helped me get.
I’m tired of being the screw up in the family. They wouldn’t understand that it wasn’t even my fault becauseeverything'smy fault as far as they’re concerned. And I don’t need to hear how I should have just shut up and taken the handsy crap from my boss, in order to keep the job that opened doors for me.
Without another word, or sound, without a single ounce of judgment or pity in her eyes, Kenzie hands me her card, and I make my way to the bar. Standing where the stud can see me, I lean forward, flashing my brightest smile.
People tell me I have a nice smile. In fact, that’s not quite true. They tell me I have a pretty face. What they generally mean when they say that, is that I have a nice face—for a fat girl. It’s not a term I appreciate, I prefer curvy, or chunky, or I dunno, smart, funny, strong, capable, passionate—something about me that isn’t based on my appearance.
But my smile gets the attention of the bar man, and within seconds he’s making us another round of drinks.
Score one for the pretty faced fat girl.
Thor catches my eye, his brow twitches, almost imperceptibly. The closer I get to him, the hotter he looks. He tips his drink at me, and I smile back.
He has no clue that he’s going to be balls deep in my honey pot tonight.
The bartender offers to bring the drinks over, and when I reach out to hand him Kenzie’s card, he shakes his head. “They’re already taken care of.”
If I wasn’t already a redhead, the heat of Thor’s gaze on the side of my face is enough to turn my hair the color of fire. Assuming that’s who paid for our drinks, I thank the bartender, throw a more casual wink than I’m feeling at the Nordic giant, and head back to the girls who are watching me with amused interest.
Hopefully it looked like a wink and not an eye twitch. I wasn’t prepared for the scorch of his stare to fry my brain.
“You good?”
Nodding at Paige, I hand Kenzie’s card back to her. The bartender arrives, places our drinks on the table, doesn’t meet anyone’s stare and leaves as quickly as he arrived. Pretty sure ifhebought our drinks he’d have at least given a flirty smile to one of us.
I’m avoiding eye contact with my friends while I sip on my drink. A million and one thoughts spiral through my brain. Most notably, what the fuck I’m going to do now.
That, and how much longer I have to hang out with my friends before it’s considered acceptable to leave them and go screw the divine presence chillin’ like a villain on the high-backed stool. Even with his back to me, his presence takes up space, his intensity burns, and anticipation hangs heavy in the air around me. Last time I saw him at Protocol, he was on the other side of the bar. Here... he isn’t, and I can ogle how well his shoulders and back fill out that shirt of his.
I’m just getting hotter and hotter the longer I sit staring into the green drink in front of me. “Who wants to play pool?” I need a distraction. Something to do that isn’t clawing at the skin of his well-defined shoulders.
Kenzie wags her finger at me. “Don’t think this gets you out of telling us what’s going on with you.”
It doesn’t matter that it’s something I suck so bad at that I lose every damn time, I need to busy my hands. And because they’re my ride-or-die friends, they indulge me.
As Paige racks the balls, Mackenzie grabs the cues. Their silence opens the door to sharing, but there’s a piece of me that still burns with embarrassment that at thirty-two-years of age I’ve lost my job.
“Why is it always the wrinkly old dude who gets away with whatever shit they pull? And the woman they damage has to pay the price for the fact they can’t keep it in their pants?”
Both of them stop what they’re doing, and pivot to face me.
Kenzie’s “What happened?” is almost lost under Paige’s “Who do we need to bury?” Her nostrils flare, her eyes are dark and shining with vengeance, and if she wasn’t on my side, there’d be a puddle of piss at my feet right now. Bitch is terrifying.
“I lost my job.” The weight of my admission forces my shoulders to slump. Dropping my head so I don’t have to see their rage morph to pity in front of my face, I sigh. It doesn’t feel better to have said it out loud.
