Page 31 of Allured By Her

“Less mess,” she said as I watched her.

“But less fun,” I said, picking up my cob and gnawing on it like you were supposed to.

“If you say so,” she said, scooping up corn with her fork.

By the time I was done with my corn, I needed floss and a face wipe, but it didn’t matter.

Tenley gave me her coleslaw, but I couldn’t finish it.

“I think I’m done,” I said, picking up one of the wet wipes that we’d gotten a stack of with our meal. I was going to need way more than one.

“Your chin is covered in butter,” Tenley said, carefully wiping her own fingers.

“I like it that way,” I said.

“Is this a new skincare trend I’m unaware of?” she asked.

“I mean, probably. They put butter in coffee, so why not on your face?”

Tenley made a face and shook her head. “I will not be putting butter in my macchiatos, thank you.”

“People ask us to,” I said. “They’ll come in and be shocked that we don’t serve their special butter coffee whatever. They also get really upset if you suggest that they can bring their own butter to add to our coffee. Don’t do that,” I said. I’d had several bad experiences, so I’d learned not to make suggestions like that.

“What else do people ask you to do?” she asked, and I told her some of my best barista stories. Lattes for dogs, people who brought in their own raw milk and wanted me to add it to their coffee, and then there were the people who would make wacky orders just to post film them and post a video online. I’d even been asked to be in several videos, for which I had not-so-politely declined.

“Some people just don’t have any home training,” Tenley said, shaking her head.

“Yeah, look who’s talking,” I said. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to harass service workers?”

“Honestly? No. My mom isn’t exactly the nicest person,” she said, and then I remembered the few times I’d met Tenley’s mother. She was one of those people who defined themselves as a “boy mom” and who enjoyed being rude to those she didn’t value.

“Sorry about that,” I said.

She waved me off. “It’s one of the reasons we don’t spend that much time together anymore. Plus, she doesn’t exactly approve of my career.”

“She doesn’t think you should be a writer?” I asked.

“Fuck no,” Tenley said, laughing. “I thought she was going to have an actual heart attack when I told her.”

“What did you go to school for?” I asked. There was so much we didn’t know about each other, in spite of growing up in the same town.

“I went for business, but I was allowed to do an English minor. I wanted to major in English and do a minor in graphic design, but they wouldn’t pay for school if I did that, so I taught myself graphic design taking online courses.”

That was pretty impressive, I had to admit. When I’d wanted to make my own sex toys, I’d watched a ton of videos and read a ton of articles to teach myself how to do it. I’d also reached out to several other creators who had been incredibly generous with their time and my questions.

“That’s really cool,” I said.

“Thanks. My parents didn’t think so. Every week or so my mom sends me a message asking me when I’m going to get a real job,” she said.

“Shit, that’s awful,” I said. I had no idea there was so much animosity between Tenley and her mother. I’d known her life wasn’t perfect, but I’d thought it was pretty easy.

“Do you make good money with writing?” I’d heard Alessi talk about how difficult it could be as an independent author without a publisher to do everything, from the writing to making covers and doing all the marketing. It sounded utterly exhausting.

“Some months are better than others, but I make enough to get by,” she said, but I could tell she was just being modest. She probably did much better than she was letting on. That house she lived in couldn’t have been cheap.

“Do you ever get readers telling you how much they love your books?” I asked.

“My fan mail can get interesting. Most of it’s very sweet, but then there are always weirdos,” she said.

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