Page 19 of Prince Charmless
“Well, when you think of something I can do for you,” I scribble down my personal number and peel it off, “let me know.”
After a few seconds of reaching it out to her, she doesn’t take it, so I stick the yellow paper to the back of her hand. She doesn’t seem to care, so I stand and nudge an irate-looking Julien out of the way to leave. This was a waste of time. Well, not a complete waste of time. Julien is right. I’m too privileged to be running around burning bridges and not giving a shit. Furthermore, Melina’s hatred of me stings in a way that’s painfully nostalgic. Like when your mom says she’s not mad, just disappointed. And my fated attraction to her only twists the knife.
I can get her to come around, I think. It might just take some planning.
7
Melina
My friend owns a photography business, and I help her out sometimes.
That’s usually what I say when people ask me what my side hustle is. Sometimes, those people follow up with the dreaded question, ‘What type of photography?’ I have to choose between lying and saying I help her do weddings or telling the truth. I can be pretty bad at lying, so I usually go with the latter. I’m not ashamed of our genre of photography, but whenever I explain it, people end up assuming I moonlight in the porn industry.
Rachel’s not just a wedding photographer. She has a small studio for boudoir and pinup photos as well. Most people get them done as presents for their partners or even themselves. While her subjects are scantily clad, she always keeps things tasteful. And it’s not porn.
I’ve been supporting Rachel with the business since she started it. I run her website and set up lights sometimes. Tonight, we had a photo shoot that went a little long. I’m exhausted after a full day of working my real jobandmy side hustle.
I awkwardly force open my crooked street door, making sure I turn the knob enough but not so much that it completely falls off in my hand. The clanging coming from inside the apartment crescendos as I walk up my stairs. Popcorn must be getting into something she isn’t supposed to. When I open the door, light spills into my stairway. I always remember to turn the lights off. My electric bill isn’t included.
Is someone here?
I fish the pepper spray out of my bag, taking deep breaths to keep my heart rate steady. I got it for free ages ago at one of those self-defense for women classes Rachel and I took together. Pepper spray doesn’t expire, right? As I creep into my apartment, I keep my weapon at the ready. It smells like...roasted chicken?
A man clears his throat. I pivot toward the kitchen and put up the canister. Right before I press the button, I realize it’s fucking Taylor.
“Where were you? I thought you’d be home,” he asks as if he lives here.
I lean over the sink. He’s washing a knife. “Are you going to murder me?”
“What? No. You watch too much true crime.” He twists the faucet off and turns around to look right down the barrel of my pepper spray. Instead of flinching, he says, “Careful,” and nudges my hand away with the back of his. God, he’s so perfect-looking. I feel self-conscious in my own home.
I scan my kitchen to discover that Taylor has been cooking. Things are simmering and boiling on my stove. Various ingredients and utensils are meticulously laid out across the countertops.
“Why are you... When did... How...” I stutter through all the WH- questions before landing on, “What are you doing?”
“Something better than takeout.”
Takeout?
Oh. He’s referring to the last text I sent him. After Taylor left Julien’s office, I peeled his number off my hand and didn’t immediately throw it in the trash. I wasn’t planning on using it, but I wanted to know if he actually gave me his personal phone, so I texted—
Me:is this really your number, or am I talking to a Chinese restaurant right now?
And he said.
Unknown:it’s me
Then I said.
Me:damn. I was kinda hoping for takeout
That was all, I swear, but now he thinks we’re buddy-buddies.
“Why didn’t you text me?” I try to ask as calm as possible.
“I did.”
I holster pepper spray back in my bag and take out my phone. Yep. He texted me an hour ago.
