Page 119 of David

“We can be friends.”

“You said it, and I said it. No one will believe us.”

“You could work for me.”

“Someone works for you already.”

“There’s room for another assistant in my life.”

I laugh.

He smiles.

“That sounded bad.”

“I was talking about work.”

“Sure. Work.”

He mulls over something.

“What happened before me?” he asks casually.

“Before you? You mean work?”

I know what he means.

“Boyfriends,” he says. “Men.”

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Because you’re hot,” he says curtly, and coming from him, that statement makes my skin warm.

I’ve never seen myself as someone hot. I didn’t want to see myself like that. Now he might try to flatter me and make me open my legs for him again. I wouldn’t say no to that. But if I did that, we’d only allow things to get even more complicated than they are.

The little girl inside me would grin from ear to ear, clap her hands, and ask him. ‘Really?’ She’d like to hear him say those words again, over and over again.

It’s silly and superficial, yet it makes me feel so good.

“Well, hot women have a hard time getting a boyfriend all the time,” I joke, and he laughs.

“You’re funny.”

“Hot and funny,” I say, and he chuckles some more.

“One day, you’ll tell me your story,” he says, turning on the engine and backing away.

What is there to know?

My mother raised me. I went to school and tried to be a good student, and money was never enough. My cousin was one of my closest friends. She still is, but her life is different now, so we’re not talking or hanging out as much as I’d like.

I have had several failed hookups in the past. I could write a book about them, but no one would buy it, and I wouldn’t make a living fictionalizing that crap.

That’s about it.

A part of me would like us to stay here a little longer to kiss, maybe hold hands, and stare at the view as if looking into eternity. It’s a nice romantic place, and I’m glad he picked it for me.

For us.

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