Page 69 of The One I Hate
“Why are you still working?”
She turns back her head to me as she continues to power walk to the kitchen. “What?”
I grab her arm, pulling her toward a corner where we are a little more out of sight. “Why are you still working? I thought you were in Rolling Hills full time?”
She shakes her arm free. “Why do you care? Is my second job putting a damper on you harassing me every day?”
“I—” I stop myself, remembering that I need to choose my words wisely here. I can’t let the emotion of the situation make me say stupid shit.
Wow. Is this what it’s like thinking before speaking? I don’t think I’ve ever done this before.
“I just thought since you were living in Rolling Hills that you would be concentrating all your energy into the new place. That’s all.”
Her face is getting more red by the second. “Not that it’s any of your business, but some of us aren’t made of money. I couldn’t afford to not work. So I’ve been pulling double duty. And if you don’t let go of me, I won’t receive a much-needed final paycheck.”
“Fuck that. How much? I’ll give you the money.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not taking your money, Simon.”
“Why not? You’ll take his but not mine?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s different, and you know it.”
I do, but I don’t care to be rational right now. My blood is starting to boil thinking about her working all those hours. Fixing up the restaurant by herself. Why didn’t she ask for help? I mean, I know she wouldn’t have asked me. But she could have asked Emmett. He knows he can give her whatever she wants.
Note to self: Tell Emmett to offer her whatever she needs under a bullshit reason.
“Fine,” I say as I take a step back. “But you know he wants to fuck you, right? Like he’s probably going to try something before you leave.”
She rolls her eyes. “He’s not. And even if he was, it’s none of your concern.”
I open my mouth to tell her it’s without a doubt my concern, but I don’t. Because it’s not. Even though I think it is. It’s not. And I know that.
She’s not mine. She never was. We were fleeting moments and one unforgettable night.
But she never was, and likely never will be, mine.
“Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Fine,” she groans. “Now will you take your pink tuxedo ass back to your makeshift DJ booth?”
I laugh. “You love the pink, don’t you?”
“You look ridiculous.”
“You’re pronouncing sexy wrong.”
She shakes her head, but a little laugh sneaks out as she walks back into the kitchen.
But not before turning back and giving me one more glance.
And that, my friends, is what I call a win.
I’m an amazing fucking DJ.
The dance floor hasn’t been empty all night. I hate weddings when the DJ plays a great song, only to follow it with something that’s a drag.
Not me. This has been banger after banger. Even the older guests have been busting a move to what can only be classified as peak millennial hip-hop and dance music. People are going to be talking about this reception for ages.
