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“Hang on a minute.” He left the room, then came back with a second, smaller laptop. “This is my old one. I figured you could use something to work on.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. “And before you complain, I think it’s important. Most people look for jobs online nowadays. Plus, you’ll want to tailor your résumé to each person you email.”
Good point. “Okay, true.”
His smile was smug, but I couldn’t fault him for it. He sat down beside me again, opened the laptop, and gave me a quick tutorial before we got to work on my résumé.
I’d been so out of the loop that placing my fingers on the keyboard to type didn’t seem real to me. I wasn’t much better with a pen and paper, not with these fingers, but at least no one had to read my handwriting.
“You sure I should use this address?”
“That’s the idea, right?” He gave it to me, and I typed it in. I wasn’t very fast, never had been, but he was patient with me.
“I also have a landline.” He pointed across the room to the phone sitting on the end table. “I know, I’m a dinosaur, but in this case it helps. You should use it to take calls from prospective employers.”
“Okay, T-Rex. Thanks.”
He smirked and nudged my shoulder.
Next, I listed my work history at the different salons, my education, and the information on my state licensure.
“Impressive,” he said, leaning toward the screen, and I could feel his breath on my cheek. When I turned my head, our eyes met, and I shivered a little.
I wanted to kiss him so bad, but I needed to keep my focus on important things.
“What should I say when they ask why I’d been out of work so long?”
He looked off into the distance, considering it. “How about…you had an accident involving your fingers?”
“But won’t that just draw too much attention to them?”
They might end up being my downfall, but I was going to remain positive. Still, I’d only cut one head of hair, so how would I fare at the end of a long day? Maybe I needed to only search for entry-level jobs. Start over again, from the beginning. For now.
“True.” He sighed. “I don’t know, I hate that question. During the worst of my depression, I’d taken time away because it was emotionally and physically taxing. But some employers don’t really understand mental health. I don’t try to hide my depression, but I’ve also learned to adjust.”
“You’re right. That’s why I was fired. Well, technically, I kept calling in sick without explaining myself, but still.”
“I bet that asshat didn’t miss one day of work.”
“I’m not sure, actually. He might’ve been embarrassed that his face was black and blue. But it did give him a good sob story and plenty of sympathy, I’m sure.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…you’d think your friends would’ve read the signs between you.”
“He was quite the charmer in public.” He even had Marcie fooled. Maybe I should’ve confided in her how toxic we were becoming. I shrugged, then glanced at him. “Are you still friends with your ex?”
“Nah. Still see some of Robert’s posts on social media, but that’s about it. I’m glad we were both able to move on while remaining civil.”
“Have you dated again?” Probably too personal, but I was more than curious.
“A little, but no one special. And that’s okay with me.”
“It’s okay with me too—I mean, in regard to myself,” I said, and Foster laughed.
“Well, I can understand why. But I hope one day you’re with someone who appreciates you. Someone who’s kind and trustworthy. You deserve that.”
I cleared my throat and looked away. “Thanks.”
We put the computer away with the idea of tweaking my résumé again tomorrow, then watched some TV, which also felt strange after being out of the loop on shows and movies. As our hands rested together on the cushion, the tension grew thick, and I longed to close the distance between us. To ask Foster to kiss me or hold me.
When I looked down at his lap, he was stiff behind his zipper. I tried to act casual when I asked, “You having the same problem I am?”
“Maybe? I mean, yeah, if we’re being honest.” He shifted uncomfortably. “But that doesn’t mean I need…”
“What if I want to?”
He met my eyes. “Want to what?”
“Make you feel good.”
When I slid to my knees in front of him, he swore under his breath, but didn’t stop me from unbuttoning and unzipping his pants.
“Wait.” He stilled me with a hand to my shoulder. “I don’t want you to think—”
“I don’t.” And before he could say more, I slid my knuckles over the front panel of his boxer briefs.
He shuddered, then squirmed when I buried my face in the material and breathed him in. “Well, fuck.”
