Page 22 of Blue Collar Hotties

Will it hurt her feelings if I stop playing along? Will she hate me for that?

Lenore.

Christ, what a mess I’ve made. But Jimmy’s right—I never should’ve looked at her at all.

Some things aren’t meant to be.

Lenore

It’s 3pm on Thursday afternoon and Gabe Dempsey has barely looked at me all week. Gone is the man who smirked at me through the window, his dimples so deep I could see them across the room. Gone is the man who held my gaze as he swigged from a stainless steel water bottle, his throat working as he drank, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and winked.

I’m empty. Hollow. Cold to the tips of my toes. Stumbling through day after endless day in this beige hellhole, now with only my fashion sketches in the first drawer of my desk to make me feel alive.

Of course, I can’t letGabesee that. Can’t show how badly his sudden rejection has hurt me. If he doesn’t want to play anymore, if he’s pushing me away, just like my own freaking family does, then… fine. That’s his call.

He probably doesn’t even know my name. Doesn’t know the first thing about me, and it’s my own fault for getting so weirdly attached to a handsome stranger. Whodoesthat, anyway?

Whatever. One day soon I’ll graduate and take off across the country, no more ties, no more stuffy family rules, and I’ll start over somewhere completely fresh to build a life of my own. A life with color and music and friends and delicious food. A life where no one huffs at me if I eat something fattening, and where no one rolls their eyes when I walk in wearing a brand new dress I designed.

Had I started to picture Gabe Dempsey alongside me in that nightly fantasy?

Ugh. Yes.

But will I let this latest rejection break me?

No, sir. Even if my chest stings like crazy.

“I spy, with my little eye… something beginning with ‘m’.”

Rhonda from payroll leans her hip against the kitchen counter, dunking a chamomile tea bag in her steaming mug. Her purple hair has been straightened mercilessly into a jaw-length bob, and her false nails have spiky tips. She smirks out of the break room window, eyes sharp, as young, strong construction workers climb up and down the scaffolding out there.

God. My fingers itch to snatch the glasses off her nose and break them in two. I huff and hope to god I never looked likethatwhen I was playing my don’t-blink-first game with Gabe. Like a hungry lion licking her chops. Hypocritical, I know, but I can’t help it.

It felt different with Gabe. Special.

Mutual.

You know, until he stopped looking at me at all. Now I feel like a complete creep, my cheeks constantly hot with shame.

“M?” My brain is slow today, the gears rusty in my skull, but I force myself to play along as I peer out of the window. “Metal? Mallets? Uh. Men?”

Rhonda’s smirk widens even further. “Man candy,” she says, dunking that tea bag over and over and over.

Gross. My chair scuffs back over the linoleum, and I snatch up my own lukewarm coffee. Better to hide on the top floor and look anywhere except the window, than sit here and listen tothis.If she drools over Gabe like that, I’m gonna yank out my own hair.

I’m being unreasonable, I know. Rhonda’s not really hurting anyone, and lord knows I can’t talk, but…

I don’t want her looking at Gabe like that. Like he’s nothing but a piece of meat. It’s driving me crazy.

And I’m so ashamed. As I trudge to the elevator, swilling my stale instant coffee in my mug, I wish I could go back and redo the last few weeks.

I shouldn’t have stared at him like that. Shouldn’t have magicked up some deep connection between us in my brain, kidding myself that he liked me too.

Should have kept my head down, done my stupid work, and never looked out of the window.

Now I’m no better than Rhonda. Bleurgh.

The elevator doors slide open on the eighth floor, and I’m greeted by my makeshift prison cell. It’s sparse and stifling hot, the heating always cranked on full, even on sunny days like today. It smells like the burning dust that cooks on the radiators. The same dried-out plants lie dead in their pots, a soulless landscape painting hangs on the wall, and a bluebottle hums and headbutts the ceiling.

---