Page 57 of Let It Be Me

“Oh, no. Best friend growing up. Strictly platonic.” I’m hoping this endears me to him, this vision of me sacrificing for my best friend and the good of the Shafer athletics department, expecting nothing in return, not even some good dick. “Anyway, nothing like that will come up again—if the job were to become available to me, I mean.”

He squints at me with a look that’s somewhere between pity and irritation. “There some reason you want this job so badly? If I’m remembering, you’re not even studying biology.”

Until now I feel I’ve been rather charming, at least for someone with zero natural charm. But this question cuts through my facade. WhydoI want this job so badly? “I’m trying to figure out what to do with my life. I’m not particularly talented at anything, so it’s kind of a puzzle. But I love animals and I’m good at working alone and I haven’t stopped thinking about this job since the day you told me it was mine. Also, if I don’t get it, I have to live with my parents for the rest of the summer.”

He tips his head side to side like he considers these reasons almost convincing but not quite.

“And I know I wouldn’t disappoint you,” I add quickly. “I really want to be here.”

He gives me a long look. “Well, truth is we’re still searching for someone to fill the job. We’ve made do with our limited summer staff, but it’s not putting smiles on anyone’s faces.”

This puts a smile on mine.

“But,” he says, holding up a finger to stop me right there, “I’m not the only one who makes the hiring decisions. And noone’s gonna be particularly eager to hire someone who’s already proven unreliable.”

I swallow. “Understood. So you can just let me know.” I’m being presumptuous, but I’m hoping it works in my favor. “Should I leave my contact info?”

“I still have it,” he says in a tone that says he’s grown tired of me. I need to get out of here.

“Perfect. Thank you, Mr. Simms. Thanks for even considering me again.”

“Okay.” He’s focused his attention back on his computer screen before I’ve even turned around.

I head down the hallway, uncertainty making my stomach tight. So he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me, but he didn’t shoot me down. Outside, I take the side exit to the parking lot—and come face-to-face with someone I really don’t want to see.

“Brad. Hey.”

He looks startled to see me. “Hey,” he says shortly.

I’ve thought about this moment several times. I just never figured out what I’d actually do when it came. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good.” Awkward silence. I prepare my exit. “Well, I?—”

“I keep thinking I’m gonna hear from you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, after that dramatic exit?” So typical, any female who expresses a feeling is instantly a drama queen. “We’re having a great time and then boom—I’m watching you walk away.”

I have to restrain myself from rolling my eyes at his CliffsNotes version of our date. “We just didn’t hit it off, that’s all.”

“I thought we did.”

I soften at his earnestness. “I’m sorry. We did at first, but ...”

“Okay, look.” He smiles and I’m reminded how cute he is. “Maybe I got a little preachy. But you can’t blame me for wantingto help out when I see you struggling.” It’s ... nice, I guess. Annoying and patronizing but well intentioned. I think. And then he adds, “I just want what’s best for you.” And it all turns.

It’s the worst line of all time and, not coincidentally, my parents’ favorite line to pull out when they’re trying to justify being controlling, hypercritical assholes.

“How can you know what’s best for me? You hardly know me.”

“Okay, but ...” He smirks. “Some things are obvious.”

“It’s not going to work. We don’t need to deconstruct all the reasons why, do we? It’s just not going to work. Sorry.” I turn to walk past him, but he stops me.

“Hey, I get that you’re a girl who knows what she wants—and that’s cool. I respect it,” he says like he actually thinks it’s uncool and has no respect for it at all. “But I said one wrong thing and you bolted. Can you give me a break?”

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