Page 99 of Business Casual
Or maybe he’s finally decided to listen. I’m trying a new approach where I hold my boundaries instead of willingly giving in to all of his demands. I emailed him after our last disaster of a phone call and told him I’d only be taking calls from him during work hours, organized and coordinated by Selene. It seems to be working out for me, despite the anxiety ulcer I’m giving myself in the process. No matter how much of a douche my dad is, I still struggle with the idea of disappointing someone. Him, in particular.
But it’s difficult to care as much about it when I’m here. When I’m surrounded by people and projects and things to occupy my time. Especially when I’m in Nova’s bed every other night. Or sitting next to her at her kitchen table, filling out expense reports while she flips through a magazine. Or on the back porch of the guest cottage, a fire in the metal drum and her hair shining, shimmering gold. I don’t think it matters what we’re doing, whenever I’m with her, everything else is pushed firmly to the edges.
“You’re dressed up for an evening with the chickens.”
I glance down at my shirt and smooth my hand over the buttons. I don’t know how fancy I’m supposed to be for the soft launch of a tattoo studio, but I want to look nice, and Nova said she liked this shirt.
She said it while her hand was in my pants, but she said it nonetheless.
“No chickens. Nova’s studio opens tonight.”
“Nova.” Selene leans back in her chair with a smug little smile. “I’ve been hearing that name an awful lot.”
“Have you?”
“I keep a tally on the notepad on your desk. Would you like for me to calculate the results?”
“No, thank you.” I don’t need a reminder about how deeply I’ve slipped down this path. Blissful oblivion is the name of the game at this point. I’m not going to think about what comes next. I’m just going to enjoy what I have now. No expectations. “I can count them up when I get back to the office.”
“I bet you’re looking forward to that.” She tidies up the rest of the desk. “Being back in your routine.”
No. Not really.
I’m going to miss the way the sky comes alive at night, stars pressing in through the wide windows at the back of the little cottage. I’m going to miss the way morning smells, cold air and wet leaves and fresh apples and warm butter from the bakery. I’m going to miss Nova’s hair across my chest and her knee pressed between both of minewhile I cling to the edge of the bed because she barely allows me any room when I sleep with her. I’m going to miss being here in a million different ways.
But this isn’t the place I belong. These are not things I can keep. I’ve been playing dress-up for weeks, and the cuffs are starting to get a little tight at the wrists.
“Yeah,” I say instead, because it’s better to start convincing myself now. “Yeah, I do well with routines.”
?By the timeI get to the studio, there isn’t a single parking spot left on Main Street.
I end up having to park in the short alleyway behind the bookshop, three blocks away. The hum of the party is a low buzz that grows in volume the closer I get, people spilling out from the open doorway to the sidewalk. There’s music and lights of every color, crisscrossing back and forth from the awning of a taco truck to the entrance of the studio.
And standing by the door, lit up in shades of blue, is Nova.
My attention snags on her, just like it always does. She has her hair tucked neatly behind her ears, a drastically different look from when I left her at her house in her pink fluffy robe. Now, I can see the lines of her tattoos that dance up her neck to the hollow below her ear. I’ve traced that ink with my mouth. With my fingertips too. Her lips are painted bright red, and she’s wearing some sort of strapless top that shows off the ink along her shoulders and down her arms.
There’s a gnawing ache when I look at her, head tipped back in laughter at whatever the bozo in front of her is saying. I eye him critically. Black shirt with a hole near the collar. Black boots. Arms covered in ink. I check my cuffs and straighten my sleeves. I want to be the one making her laugh. I want to be the one by her side. I want to close the space between us, scoop her up until her legs are wrapped around my waist, and taste the edge of that smile.
But I’ve never had much luck with wanting things. The things I want almost always turn into the things I don’t get to have, and Nova is not an exception to that rule. No matter how much I’m starting to wish she was.
The person in front of her moves, and she sucks in a bracing breath, taking in the crowd. Tonight represents months and months of hard work for her. I hope she’s proud. I hope she’s looking at all these people here for her and recognizing what a goddamn force of nature she is.
Jeremy pokes his head out of the front window of the taco truck and her lips lift in amusement. He calls something to her and she rolls her eyes. I’m smiling before I even realize, and that’s when she finds me.
It’s like stepping off the curb without realizing there’s a curb. My heart trips over itself, seeing her face light up because of me. I glance over my shoulder just to be sure and when my eyes find her again, she’s got that twist to her lips that tells me she knows exactly what I was doing and she thinks I’m ridiculous for it.Of course I was looking at you, I imagine in her voice.Don’t be stupid.
I push through the crowd to meet her, her eyes on me the entire time. I don’t stop until I’m close enough to press my boots to hers, about as much as I can get away with when all these people are around us.
I want to kiss her.
I want to hold her hand.
I want to throw her over my shoulder and go back to the guesthouse on the edge of the farm and lose myself in her.
“Hey,” she says, and I want to kiss her so fucking bad my hands shake with it.
I curl them into fists in my coat. “Hey,” I say back. “Quite the crowd.”
