Page 18 of Yield to Me

Chapter 10

Applications are due in a month, Owen texted. I put my phone back in my pocket. I smiled to myself, gloating in my head that he had texted first. It had been hard, but I had stood my ground, only using his number to invite him to the studio the other day, even if I had thought about texting him every night since I had visited his home. I would wait at least ten minutes before responding to his text though, to show that I had other things to do besides text him. After all, I was at work.

I threw away a few to-go cups and used napkins, then wiped down the table. Before I walked back, I typed, I’m aware.

Are you finished with your portfolio? he asked.

Are you asking to see it? This time, I didn’t wait. There weren’t any customers, so I walked to the backroom and stood by my locker, leaving Clay to man the cash register.

Absolutely. It’s part of my duty as a beneficiary.

The absurdity of the text made me laugh. He had no part in judging the applications, even if he did know the committee members personally. Maybe I’ll show you, I responded. The door opened, and Clay waved me to the front. A bouncer from one of the clubs made a large take out order for the staff: six gorgonzola, arugula, and pecan flatbreads, two personal pizzas, an everything goes twelve-inch sub, and twelve vanilla iced coffees. Clay volunteered to help him carry the coffees, and as soon as they were both gone, I checked my phone again

I’d like that, he sent.Then, a separate text: When will I see you again?

Heat consumed my cheeks and trickled down my arms and legs. The thought of seeing him again thrilled me. The desire in his eyes as he restrained himself, as if his eyes could wrap around me, gripping every curve of my body, made me fill with need. There isn’t any harm in seeing him again in a sexual context, I thought,Is there? There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to see him again, but the thought of dragging it out longer, of teasing him, was enticing too. I responded: I’m sure I’ll see you at Serpentine & Worth Galleries.

“Who are you texting?” Clay nodded at my phone. I startled; I hadn’t heard him come back in. I shoved the phone in my pocket and started wiping down the espresso machine. “You’ve been on your phone all night.”

“Owen,” I said.

“Owen who?” he asked. But he knew the answer. It’s not like I hadn’t texted him Owen’s address a few days ago. I shrugged. “For real? Bobby, get out here! Riley is texting Lowell!” Bobby came out of the back office with a look of amusement on his face.

“I told you he was into you,” Bobby said. He slapped Clay on the back. “Didn’t I tell her? He was flirting like crazy!”

My cheeks were redder than the jar of maraschino cherries we kept for the frozen blended drinks. I avoided eye contact as I dumped the drip tray in the sink. “It’s not a big deal. He’s a friend.”

“The kind of friend where you have that stupid grin on your face while texting? That kind of friend,” Clay said.

Bobby shook his head. “It’s nothing to be ashamed about, Riles. Break us off a piece of the pie when you move up into his ivory tower,” he said.

Clay cackled, adding that he wanted his own platinum watch for protecting me on the Broadway Strip while Owen was gone. My face flushed with anger. It was like they were suggesting that I wanted him for his money.

“We are not dating. Chill out,” I said.

“Whoa, whoa! We were just playing,” Bobby said. He threw up his empty hands. “Besides, who cares? It’s your business.”

It is my business, I thought. I shook my head, and Clay took over the cash register as a couple walked in. I listened for their order and scooped chai powder into a to-go cup. I checked my phone. I was thinking tonight, Owen said.

It was sooner than I expected, a whole week sooner. I don’t get off of work until two, I sent, mildly hoping that it would be too late and would buy me some time to prepare myself. I got off of work at one, but if I was going to see him, there was no way I was going to see him without showering off the odor of coffee grounds.

That’s fine. My place, he sent.

“He’s a player,” Clay said. He steamed the milk, turning the cup as it scalded in front of him. “I heard he hasn’t been seen with a woman in years because he fucks around and leaves them.”

“In years?” I asked.

Clay nodded. “Yeah. Apparently there was some chick a long time ago. They were engaged, and she left him out of the blue, disappeared too.” I remembered reading about that, but I couldn’t remember much about it. “Everyone was concerned about her disappearance until she showed up dating some Duke. Now he bags these supermodels, uses them, then leaves them. Calloused heart, I guess.”

It annoyed me that Clay seemed to know more about Owen’s love life than I did. I wondered if he used the term ‘supermodel’ on purpose, to make me feel insecure and beneath Owen’s status, or if Owen actually did screw supermodels. I didn’t need to be reminded that I was a struggling artist, a plain Jane, and he was a gorgeous, successful businessman. We couldn’t be any more different. But besides all of that, we weren’t in a relationship. But we were definitely involved, whatever that meant, and I knew I at least wanted to see what Owen was like in the bedroom. It doesn’t matter what he does in his private life, I told myself, as long as he doesn’t screw me over.

Which is exactly why we were going to stay friends, I thought. Well, friends with benefits, that is.

I slammed a hand on my hip and turned towards Clay. “I can make my own decisions, Clay. One of them is the decision not to tell you who I’m texting the next time because clearly, you want to make a big fucking deal out of it.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” Clay said. He threw his hands up as if to show he was unarmed. “Maybe you think you don’t like him like that, but I can tell.” He handed me the steamed milk and I poured it into the cup. “You certainly don’t smile like that when Michael texts you. Or me.”

I wrinkled my nose. Or me? What’s that supposed to mean? I wondered. I sealed the cup and brought it to the couple.

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