Page 25 of The Influencer

“Sounds nice.” I gesture to the seat where I pierced his septum originally. We go through the same song and dance as last time about whether or not he has something in his nose. He insists on checking for himself in the hand mirror while I patiently wait for him to let me in on the big secret that he has a few neatly trimmed nostril hairs.

The original hole does require a needle to get through, but he barely flinches as I re-pierce him and insert his ring. It really does look good on him.

Suits his face. A subtle hint of sparkle just above his full, pink lips, which, according to him, have won awards. “Plans for tonight?” I ask when I’m finished.

“Nothing other than packing,” he says, studying himself in the mirror for what I feel like is more than the standard amount of time. “You?”

“Nope. Liv’s out of town until tomorrow visiting her family in San Diego. I’ll probably just go put another hour or so in at the gym.”

“How’s the bachelor party planning going?” Jade asks.

I’m impressed he remembered. He’s not exactly the type who seems to pay attention to what other people have going on in their lives. “Gideon set a date. That’s all I know.”

“You don’t sound like you want to be involved at all,” he notes, handing me back the mirror.

“It isn’t that. I’m happy for my brother.”

“What is it then?”

I start to answer him, but stop myself. Noticing my guard is down, I quickly rebuild it in light of our last conversation where he actually managed to hurt my feelings. “How much does a conversation cost?” I ask, arching a brow at him.

He purses his lips and narrows his gaze. “I asked a question. I wasn’t asking you for a full confession.”

“I can’t tell whether you like me or not,” I admit. And it’s been bugging the fuck out of me. He’s a flirt one second, shrewd the next, and on occasion, a hot fucking mess. But then out of nowhere, he’ll surprise me. Like today. He could have gone literally anywhere to have his piercing reset, but he came here, after he offered to blow me for cash.

“None of the above,” he says. “I feel bad for you.”

Why that hits like a knee to the chest, I’m not sure, but fuck. He can go. “Good to see you again, too, Jade.”

He doesn’t move, totally unfazed. “I only mean you’re obviously having a rough time right now, and I’m sure your brother getting married is just the icing on the shit cake. Look, if you want to have a conversation with me of all people, come over to the guesthouse when you’re done for the day and help me pack. I could use the help, and I’ll credit your account.”

I smile, nearly laugh, but I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me. Except—I’m once again tempted. I don’t know why I like this guy, but I do. He’s different from anyone in my life, past or present, and something about having absolutely nothing in common is keeping me interested. “Okay,” I say.

He nods and scoots to the edge of his seat like he’s about to get up. “Don’t get used to it, though. I’m usually booked solid. You’re catching me in a transitional period.”

“Lucky me. You’re my last client, by the way.”

“I guess there’s no time like the present then,” he says, popping up from the chair. “Let’s go pack.”

I’ll hand it to Jade. The mess I walked in on the other day must’ve been because he wasn’t feeling well, because his packing game is on point. Empty boxes are already labeled. A box-making station with packing tape, bubble wrap, and Sharpies sits on the dining table, and neatly scattered piles of everything from clothes, toiletries, and filming equipment fill the floor.

“I’ll handle my livelihood,” he says, gesturing to the cameras and lights, “You can do skin care.”

“I’d rather do clothes.” Less chance of breaking anything, I figure.

He side-eyes me before saying, “Suit yourself.”

Jade puts on a playlist that sounds like trap music and gets to work with the bubble wrap. I take a seat on the floor next to one of his stacks of clothes, and my stomach growls. I catch him looking over at me. “Hungry, beast?”

“I guess so.”

“If you want something other than pop tarts, you’ll need to have it delivered, unless you want to try and raid Jax’s fridge, which I don’t advise.”

“Jax likes me,” I say, opening up a food delivery app and scrolling through the nearest options.

Jade snorts. “Of course he does. You’re practically the same person.”

I ignore the comment. It’d be like saying all gay men look the same, which I doubt he’d appreciate either, pioneering individualist that he is. I scroll through my app and decide on a sandwich. “You want anything from here?”

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