Page 37 of Rude Boss 2

“You may not care, but I do.”

“Then quit.”

“You know I can’t do that. I just got an apartment. I got bills. I have a life.”

And you have me.

I couldn’t say that to her, but it was on the tip of my tongue to assure her of that. It would be nothing for me to open an account in her name and fill it with all the money she’ll ever need, but I know that’s not how she rolls. Quintessa wants to feel like she’s in charge of her own life. She wants toearnher money. It’s more satisfying that way. It makes her independent and notdependenton a man. She didn’t go to college for four years to be sitting up in a house waiting for a man to give her some money.

“No worries. I understand where you’re coming from Quintessa—doesn’t mean I agree with it, but I understand.”

She wipes her hands and mouth. “This was good.”

“Agreed.”

“You know what—you should go back to work right now. There are still a few hours left in the workday and they only allow two people back with mom, so—”

“So, you’re kicking me out?”

“No, definitely not.”

“You are. All I hear you saying isgo on somewhere. I can handle it from here.”

She grins. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I just—I don’t want to take up any more of your time than necessary.”

I gaze into her soul via those dark, coffee-brown eyes that take me back to one of the many occasions that made me fall in love with her all those years ago:

Summer breaks with Quintessa were the stuff of a young boy’s dreams. One of the memories from high school I remember most is prom. No one in our circle had dates. We talked amongst each other and agreed we’d show up together and be each other’s dates - all five of us. When we arrived, however, Quintessa took me by the hand and led me to the dance floor.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” she questioned.

“Ask you what, Tessie?” my young, naïve, low self-esteem self asked her.

“To go with you to prom.”

I laughed it off. “Yeah, right. Like you’d really want to go to prom with me. Who am I?”

“You’re my friend.”

Yeah, friend…

Why would she want to be anything more with me? After four years of high school, I’m still ‘the friend’ – not that I expected anything more, but it would’ve been nice. I had considered staying home, but when Quintessa asks you to go somewhere, you go. Plus, the prom was basically a masquerade ball. I could wear a mask and hide this hideous birthmark on my face.

“The only reason I’m here is because I can hide behind this mask,” I said.

“Seriously, Stewart?”

“Yeah.”

“Your face isn’t all that bad.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend.”

“No, I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re the only one who talks about it.”

“Then you know it must be a problem for me if I keep bringing it up.”

“I understand that, but we all have insecurities.”

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