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“Nothing,” I grunt, struggling with the latches on the fur and leather bra.
“Uh-oh. Girl trouble.”
I turn and shoot him a look of death, which was a mistake.
“Oh. Big-time girl trouble. Was it Kim? Did Kim text you again? I told you to block her; you know what she does to your psyche.”
With one arm hooked around the front of the mannequin, I abruptly turn toward Rhys, my jaw set. “It’s not Kim,” I spit out. And who would not feel irritated at their friend for bringing up the name of the person who cheated and then thought theycould booty-call you post-breakup? She tried. Didn’t work on me.
Maybe Rhys is right; I should have blocked Kim’s phone number years ago. But I haven’t. Not because I want anything to do with her. Her occasional messages remind me that, at one time, I was a hopeful young dude of 30 who was ready to settle down and start a family. Who believed in love.
Maybe I’ll get there again. One day.
“The only other explanation for this mood swing has to be either the tax assessment came through, or you’re brooding about a woman. And since a silent partner should be informed of any and all financial circumstances in this business, there’s one alternative.”
I turn away from Rhys and try to remember what it was I came to the window display to do.
And there, on the other side of the glass, is her.
The woman from the diner with the heartbreaking smile. She’s staring straight at me, eyes wide. But this time she’s not smiling. She looks…disturbed.
Probably because I look annoyed. I try to fix my face into a smile but only manage an awkward grimace.
And then, I see what she sees. I follow her gaze, and to my utter horror, my hand is down the front of this mannequin’s fur bra. I’m fully copping a feel—in broad daylight, on Main.
Understandably spooked, she runs away.
Because Rhys is in my orbit, he gets the brunt of my ire after I slam the mannequin to the floor.
“What is your problem, Dean?”
My problem? My problem is now I’m not just a serial-killer-looking dude with dirt under his nails who had a one-time run-in with a pretty girl and lost his nerve, but now I’m all that, plus the pathetic creep who fondles innocent mannequins.
As I march toward the back of the shop and slam open the metal door, I toss out, “My problem is no one knows how to mind their own fucking business.”
I take the metal fire escape two stairs at a time and push into my unlocked second-story apartment above the game store.
Time to shower and ask for a re-roll on this day.
3
Dakota
“How was everything?” Ruby asks when she checks on me.
I felt a little strange after that man came in, stared at me like I was the only woman on earth, then bolted before I could say hello.
It is a wild, almost high feeling. Coupling that with the feeling I have after eating the best burger and apple pie of my life—plus having changed in the restroom from my stuffy interview outfit into a much comfier pair of old jeans, sneakers, and hoodie—I’m starting to feel like me again.
“Ruby, if I wasn’t straight I’d marry you.”
The diner owner laughs as she plops my check down on the Formica table. “Sweetie, you and all the regulars who propose to me daily would have to get in line to fight my husband.”
I laugh as I pay my bill and leave a tip bigger than I can afford.
With my belly full of good food and my mood greatly improved, I decide to drive downtown for a quick browse. Iremember Ruby mentioning something about sidewalk sales at the shops today. A little retail therapy sounds perfect.
The small square is bustling with pedestrians and cyclists, but eventually I find a parking spot and stretch my legs. The sun is shining, and I’m content to browse the stores for a while before I decide on my next move. I’m long overdue to confront Mom and Dad on their life choices for me.
