Текст книги "The Temptation of Lila and Ethan"
Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Chapter Three
Lila
I love shopping, probably way too much. Spending money and buying clothes, for whatever reason, fills the void inside my heart. My mom used to drag me along with her all the time while she shopped. She’d go on these outrageous spending sprees every time my father would upset her. Instead of confronting him, she’d buy stuff and then put it all on and make herself look pretty. I remember watching her put new dresses on, shoes, and jewelry, and then she’d stand in front of the mirror and admire herself with a smile on her face.
“Don’t I look pretty?” she’d ask me and I’d always nod because she always did look gorgeous and glamorous to me. She’d turn toward me and look me over, like I was a doll, sometimes even letting me try some of her stuff on. “One day, when you’re older, you’ll be as beautiful as me, Lila.”
“But what if I’m not?” I’d asked, because some of the older people around the neighborhood that I’d seen weren’t pretty like my mother. “What if I don’t turn out as pretty as you?”
She clipped on a pair of diamond earrings that shimmered in the light flowing from the chandelier. “You’ll have to make sure you do, Lila. No man wants an ugly woman.”
Even at the young age that I was, I can remember thinking how strange her response was, especially since my teacher was always telling us that beauty lay more on the inside than the outside. Still, something about her words stuck with me and, whenever I get a new outfit and put it on, it temporarily makes me feel beautiful. If only the feeling would just last. Then I could stop spending so much money and wouldn’t be going broke, nor would I have to take the pills. I’ll figure something out, though. One day.
“Seriously, Lila,” Ethan complains as he follows me through the mall. He’s been in a downer mood the last few times we’ve hung out, but today he’s extremely down because he hates shopping. “No more shopping. I can’t take it anymore.”
He’s got a loose pair of jeans on that are frayed at the bottom and there’s a hole in the hem of his green-and-black plaid shirt. He has an array of leather bands on his wrist, all of which look handmade. If only he’d try to dress nicely, then he’d be so sexy it’d be impossible for any girl to turn him down. Not like a lot do. “It’s not that bad,” I say, weaving around the shirt section in the men’s department. I’m on a shopping high, not to mention the fact that I popped three pills before I left. I feel euphorically happy at the moment, so happy in fact that I think my smile might be real. “We’ve been out for only, like, a few hours.”
He exaggeratedly widens his eyes as he turns his wrist toward himself to check the time on his watch. “We’ve been out for a few too many hours then.”
I rummage through the clearance rack because Ethan will never buy anything that’s not on sale. “I’m sorry, but I hate riding the bus and I needed to go shopping.”
He sighs, letting his hand drop to his side. He’s carrying my bags for me, which I’m secretly smiling about. He didn’t even say anything when I handed them to him, as if he’s gotten used to the fact that I’m going to ask him to help carry them. “Fine, but can you please hurry up? I have things to do.”
I slip a hanger off the rack and check the tag on the shirt. It’s a little high-priced for him, but I’m going to try anyway, because it’s this light shade of pale pink and I love, love the color. “What things?”
He shrugs. “Anything besides shopping.”
I hold the shirt up to him. “You should totally get this. It’ll bring out the color in your eyes.” I dazzle him with a sunny smile.
He sticks out his tongue and makes a gagging face. “The only time I would ever wear a shirt like this is if for some insane reason I wanted to get my ass kicked.”
“It’s not that bad,” I say, angling my head to the side as I position it higher on his chest.
“It’s pink.” His expression is neutral.
“A pretty pink,” I point out, grinning at him.
He just stares at me.
“Oh fine, whatever.” I roll my eyes, but smile as I put the shirt back where I found it and turn to face him. “I try to help, but you never let me. You could dress so much nicer.” I flick the hole in his shirt with my finger.
“I don’t need to dress nicer,” he says. “What I need is to get the hell out of here. I hate shopping, malls, crowded places where everyone is acting all money crazy. Besides,” he says and arches his eyebrows, “have you even paid your rent yet?”
“Yes,” I lie, frustrated with him for ruining my cheery mood created from the perfect balance of pills and new clothes. I hurry around him, though, hoping he won’t notice my abrupt sunken mood.
His fingers wrap around my arm and stop me from going any farther. “Lila.”
I roll my head back as I let out a frustrated sigh. “Oh, fine. I haven’t yet, but I will.”
“With what money?”
“Money that I have.”
He holds on to my arm, refusing to let go. “You’re being cryptic.”
That’s because I don’t have an answer. I crane my neck and look at him. “Look, I’m going to pay it. In fact, these clothes I’m buying are so I can go apply for jobs.” A huge lie, but I don’t want him hassling me when I’m actually feeling good inside.
He doesn’t look like he believes me, but he lets go of my arm. “Do me a favor, pay for the stuff you have and then come with me somewhere.”
I have a few shirts draped over my arm and a skirt. “Where?”
“Somewhere I want to go,” he says, leaning his elbow on the rack next to him. “I figure if I can spend the day shopping then you can spend some time doing what I want to do.”
“It’s not a strip club, is it?”
“Would it matter?” he asks curiously. “Would you go with me if I wanted to go to a strip club?”
I can feel my cheeks heat, which doesn’t happen that often. “I don’t know. Can’t I get herpes or something just from going in there?”
He snorts a laugh. “That depends on what you’re touching.”
My cheeks flame hotter, something only Ethan is capable of causing. “I won’t be touching anything.”
He eyes me over quizzically and then his eyes darken. “But you’d go with me, then?”
I bite on my lip. I’m not sure why, but the idea of going to a strip club with him seems naughty and kind of sexy. I can picture him getting turned on and the look on his face would be totally hot. Jesus. I’m getting hot just thinking about it. “I’m going to go pay for my clothes.” I hastily head for the cash register, dodging the subject.
His laughter hits my back and I have the urge to wind around and slap his arm or something. Honestly, what I have the urge to do to him should never be done in the middle of a store. It would be something that could happen only in the bedroom. His bedroom probably, since I’m going to end up getting evicted from mine.
Crap. What am I going to do? As the pressure of reality crashes on to my shoulders, I almost put the clothes back because I know I shouldn’t be buying them. But then I think about how good I’ll look in them and how, really, my looks are all I have. So I put the clothes on the counter, doing exactly what I was taught to do.
Ethan
I’m making her pay me back for dragging me around the mall. I hate shopping, watching people buy stuff they really don’t need. It’s so pointless. Give me a T-shirt, jeans, and a pair of boxers and I’m seriously good to go for a week.
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Lila complains after I take her to where I want to go. “I hate getting dirty.”
“I can’t believe you made me carry your bags,” I reply, smiling up at the clear, blue, unpolluted sky. “I hate shopping.”
We’re out in the middle of the desert, the city far, far away in the distances, along with the noise and chaos of it. The sun is shining down on us and there’s a little bit of sand on the blanket we’re spread out on. We’re side by side on our backs, squinting up at the sun. Lila has her arm draped over her forehead, acting overdramatic and I have my hand tucked under my head, feeling totally in my element. The quiet. The bare space. I love it. It makes all the crap jumbled in my head clear out. I just wish I could hold on to it.
“I didn’t make you carry my bags,” she protests. “I just handed them to you and you took them.”
“You’re right,” I say, shutting my eyes as the cool air blankets me. “I guess I’m a sucker, then.”
“You totally are,” she muses. “But a sexy sucker.”
It grows quiet between us. It’s not news that Lila thinks I’m sexy. She’s hit on me way too many times for it not to be evident, but it still makes things tense between us and the sexual tension builds.
“One day I’m just going to pack up my shit and take off,” I say, causally changing the subject. “I seriously want to spend a year just driving around the country, sightseeing.”
She’s quiet for a moment, mulling something over. “But where would you live?”
“In my truck.”
“In your truck?” she says. I feel her shift and I open my eyes, blinking up at her as she hovers over me with an astonished, almost horrified look on her face. “How is that even possible? I mean, where would you sleep?”
I shrug. “It’s got a backseat. What more do I need?”
“Um, running water, a toilet, a fridge. Clothes. Shoes. Jesus, I could go on.” She sits up straight, tucking her legs under her to raise herself up on her knees. “And where would you keep all your stuff, like your television?”
I shrug again. “Honestly, I’d be okay with leaving them all behind, but I’d probably just get a storage unit so I didn’t have to start over if I ever decided to settle down again.”
She seems angry, her face sharp, her gaze nearly cutting into me. “But you tried the whole loner thing already when you took that road trip and it didn’t work out.”
“It did work out, but Micha asked me to move to Vegas with him so he could be close to Ella and he couldn’t afford to do it alone.” I prop up on my elbows. “I was doing just fine being on the road alone. It was my niceness that got in the way of it.”
She raises her eyebrows as she gathers her hair at the back of her neck, fanning her hand in front of her face as her skin dews with heat. “You’re always telling me you’re not nice.” Her voice is tight and her face pinched.
“I’m usually not.” I sit up and brush some sand out of my hair. “Why is this bothering you so much?”
“It’s not,” she snaps, turning her back to me. “I was just wondering why. That’s all.”
I stare at the back of her head as she rests her chin on her knees, staring out at the desert land. “It seems like you’re bothered,” I point out.
Her shoulders lift and descend as she shrugs. “If you leave, then I’ll be alone.” She mutters it so quietly I can barely hear her.
I’m silent for a while, unsure what to say or if there’s anything I can say—want to say. “You can come with me.” It slips out and I want to smack myself on the head. Taking her with me would defeat the purpose of escaping the noise and people, yet at the same time I know I’d miss her if I left her behind.
She glances over her shoulder with skepticism on her face. “Could you imagine me living in your truck, because I sure as heck can’t.”
“Why not?” Again, what the hell is wrong with my mouth? Why can’t I just let it go? She’s giving me such an easy out to a huge commitment I shouldn’t be taking.
“Because.”
“That’s the silliest reason I’ve ever heard.”
“Because I don’t understand why anyone would want to take off from a city where you have everything at hand and live in a truck where you have nothing but a backseat. It’s pretty much like being homeless.”
I kneel behind her, inching close to her, then hesitantly place my hand on her shoulder. “Shut your eyes.”
She leans away, like I’m scaring her. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to prove what’s so awesome about my idea.” I wait for her to do what I ask and she stubbornly drags it on for longer than necessary, then finally surrenders and turns around.
“Fine.” Her voice softens a little. “Show me what’s so great about a backseat.”
“There’s a lot of great things about a backseat,” I joke in a low voice, and then dip my lips toward her ear and whisper, “Now shut your eyes.”
I expect her to argue, but she very willingly obeys, shutting her eyes the second I utter the words. I shut mine, too, but only because being so close to her, breathing in her scent, feeling the warmth emitting from her body is driving my body into a frenzy.
“Now picture nothing but mountains,” I say softly, picturing it myself. “No city. No noise. No crazy-ass parents who act like children and treat their children like shit. No nothing. Just the quiet.”
“It seems like an awfully lonely place, if you ask me,” she tells me. “Just me and the dirt and the quiet. Although I wouldn’t mind the being without the parents part.”
“You wouldn’t be completely alone.” I sweep her head to the side and rest my chin on her shoulder. “You’d be with me.”
She pauses for an eternity and her breathing is ragged. Or maybe it’s mine. “What would we do at this mountain place together?” she says.
“Anything we wanted.”
“Hike?” There’s disdain in her voice.
“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe we’d just sit and enjoy each other’s company in the quiet.”
She shifts her weight and situates her hands underneath her legs, leaning back against my chest. “That kind of sounds nice.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
As strange as it is, and as much of a pain in the ass as Lila can be, I can actually picture us sitting together up on the mountains in the noiselessness, living in my truck, driving anywhere and everywhere. Together. And the comfort in the idea is kind of frightening because it means I’m thinking about our future. Together. Shit.
I think about moving away from her, putting a little space between us because obviously I’m heading down a road I shouldn’t be headed down. The dream of living on the road has always been one I’d planned to live out alone and now suddenly I’m telling Lila she should come with me. God knows what would happen between us if we lived in a truck with one another. We’d either grow really close or end up hating each other. Or maybe both. But I can’t bring myself to move and break the peaceful moment. So instead I sit down and wrap my legs and arms around her and we just sit there in the sun, enjoying each other in the quiet.
Chapter Four
Lila
It’s amazing how one moment in life can be beautiful, and then you return home—to reality—and remember that beauty isn’t everything and that the ugly painful part will always exist in the form of unpaid bills, bad choices, and tiny white pills.
At what point do you finally admit that your life is falling apart, not to just yourself but to the outside world? When should I finally tell someone what’s really going on? That I’m penniless pretty much, soon to be homeless, carless, jobless, everythingless. That my mother was right. I was nothing without their help.
I thought about telling Ella once, a couple of months before she left for California, about some of my money and even my pill issues, but then I remembered what I’d been taught and decided it was best to keep my mouth shut. Besides, now she’s got her own life with Micha. And I’m here, wondering what I should do with my life because I want to do something—anything. I wonder how long I can keep going like this, blacking out, having unmemorable sex, like I did the other night with some random guy I met at a club. It was after Ethan suggested our road trip together, even though I’m still not certain if he was being serious. Afterward he had to drop me off at my apartment because he had stuff to do and the emptiness and silence wore me down and I went looking for someone to fix it, after I’d taken a few pills. I’ve even considered telling Ethan about my problems a few times because I know he’s done drugs in the past and might understand what I’m going through, maybe just a little. Although, it’s not really the same. I mean he did weed and stuff and I just do pills.
“Earth to Lila.” Ethan waves his hand in front of my face. I blink and then direct my focus to him. He shakes his head in disbelief as he shoves up the sleeves of his black-and-red plaid shirt that has a torn front pocket. “You totally just spaced out for, like, five minutes straight,” he says, resting his heavily inked arms on the table.
“Well, maybe it’s because you’re so boring,” I tease with a grin, stirring my Long Island iced tea with my straw. We’re in a quiet bar with dim lighting and small lanterns on each table. Music plays from a jukebox in the corner near the restrooms and we have a platter of mozzarella sticks, jalapeno poppers, and hot wings in front of us. It’s not usually my kind of scene—I like more glitz and glamour with a more sparkling atmosphere, classy music, fancier food, and top-shelf drinks. But I’m enjoying it for some bizarre reason, maybe because I feel heavily subdued. Or maybe it’s because of Ethan. “You’ve barely said two words to me.”
“Actually, I think it was five,” he says indifferently, but the corners of his lips quirk. He picks up his glass of ice water and takes a sip.
“Since when do you drink water?” I remark and wrap my lips around the straw, taking a swallow of my drink.
“I think I need a break from drinking.” He ogles some blonde wearing a tacky leather skirt and a bright pink tube top at the bar and I have to resist the urge to slap him against the back of the head. “It’s getting exhausting.”
“I hear you,” I say and he crooks an eyebrow, staring at the drink in front of me. “No, not about drinking. About other stuff.”
“Like what?” He picks up a mozzarella stick and dips it into the cup of marina sauce.
“Like stuff,” I respond vaguely, and then reach for a jalapeno popper. It took me a while to actually try one, because the idea of eating something that had the word “popper” in it seemed repulsive. But they are really good. Way better than the appetizers at the restaurants I grew up eating at.
“Care to share the stuff?” He has a string of cheese on his chin from the mozzarella stick.
Biting my lip to restrain from smiling, I extend my arm across the table and pick it off, letting my fingertips graze the stubble on his chin, pretending it’s by accident, when really I just like touching him.
His brown eyes widen and his lips part as I lean back. “What are you doing?” he asks.
“You had cheese on your chin,” I explain, flicking it to the ground. He quickly wipes his chin with his hand and I laugh. “I just got it off. Duh.”
He rolls his eyes. “I was just making sure you got all of it.”
I dip a stick into a cup of ranch. “I got it all, so relax. I would never let you walk around with cheese hanging off your face,” I tease. “Although, it would be kind of fun to watch you go hit on the slut over at the bar with cheese on your face.”
The corners of his lips quirk as he watches me chew and he leans back in his chair. “I’m sure I could still get her to let me fuck her.”
I throw a mozzarella stick at him, but he ducks so it misses his head. “You are such an ass.”
“Why? Because I say the truth.”
“In the foulest ways.”
“What? Saying fuck is foul?” he asks. “Would you rather me say let me screw her? Bang her? Let her ride me? Give her the hottest, sweatiest, lip bitingest, best orgasm she’ll probably have?” His voice is getting louder and people are watching us, which seems only to amuse him while it embarrasses me.
“Ethan, please keep it down,” I hiss, glancing at the tables around us, embarrassed, but a giggle escapes my lips. “People are watching us.”
“Do the dirty nasty with me?” he continues, unbothered, his brown eyes darkening as he leans back in his chair, watching me with an arrogant grin on his face. “Fuck her brains out? Or should I just make the noises for you so you really get the picture?” He tips his head back, his black hair falling back out of his eyes, and he starts making little moans. Even though it’s embarrassing, it’s also turning me on. Especially how his lips hypnotically move and the way the light reflects in his eyes and makes them look lustrous.
Stop thinking about him like that. He made his rules for a reason. Shaking my head and the near-orgasmic feeling out of my body, I lean over the table and cover his moaning lips with my hand. “Okay, I get the picture. Will you stop now?”
His grin broadens against my hand and I withdraw, sitting back down in the chair. “I win,” he says and winks at me.
I shake my head, but smile brightly. “For the record, fucking her and fucking her brains out are pretty much one and the same.”
He covers his mouth with his hand, containing his laughter, because he always seems to think it’s funny when I say the F word. In fact, he blames it on his bad influence on me. “Oh, I completely disagree. A lot more effort goes into fucking someone’s brains out.”
I want to argue with him, but I stop myself, because even though I’ve had a lot of sex, I’ve had a lot of meaningless sex, which doesn’t make me an expert. I’ve often wondered what sex would feel like if I wasn’t high on alcohol and/or pills. Would it feel different? Would I feel different, less worthless, or would I feel more? Would it finally feel good for once? Hot, sweaty, and lip biting? I wonder what it would feel like with Ethan…
I dive into the wings, eating one after another, trying to contain my sex-driven thoughts. Ethan devours the jalapeno poppers and continues to check out the slut at the bar, who’s now noticed him, probably because of his moaning and groaning. She looks interested and he’ll probably go home with her, which is fine. I’ve seen him do it a ton of times.
Ethan finally tears his attention off her and it looks like he wants to say something but is wary about it. I figure he’s probably about to ask if he can go do his thing with her and I prepare myself for the stomach punch I always feel when he does this sort of thing.
He blows out a breath and wisps of his hair flutter to the side of his face. “Did you ever get your rent thing taken care of?” he asks, completely blindsiding me.
“Um… what… oh, yeah I did,” I lie, licking some barbecue sauce off my lip.
He cocks an eyebrow at me with skepticism on his face. “Lila.”
“Don’t Lila me.” I sound whiney and I clear my throat, reaching for a napkin. “Okay, so I haven’t yet, but I’m working on it. I just need to get a job, but they’re really hard to find.”
He hitches a finger over his shoulder, pointing at the bar, where a guy is wiping down glasses with a towel. “They’re hiring here.”
I eye the bar as I wipe the barbecue sauce off my fingers. “Yeah, for a waitress.”
“So?”
“So, I can’t be a waitress.”
“Why? You could end up being good at it.” He inclines forward, resting his arms on the table, and amusement dances in his eyes. “And think of all the tips you’d get if you wore a short, low-cut dress that showed off all your goods.”
I roll my eyes. “You know I don’t dress like that.”
“Well, you could always wear that towel of yours,” he says in a husky voice. “You looked good in that.”
It feels like I’m falling, air gets trapped in my lungs and my heart flutters at the hooded look he’s giving me. I’m about to ask him if he liked the towel, because I would seriously put it on for him right here, right now, when he sputters a laugh.
“Relax, I’m just messing with you.” He scoops up a wing and takes a large bite. “I’d rather you not dress like that out in public.”
I swallow hard, feeling like an idiot. Of course he’s just teasing. He always is. And that’s how it’s supposed to be between us. Just friends. But then what the hell was that hyperventilating, falling-off-the-cliff feeling then? “I knew you were,” I lie, sounding pathetically disappointed and feeling strangely conflicted inside.
His expression falls a little and he forces the bite of chicken down his throat. “Are you okay?”
“I’m perfectly okay.” I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear as I lean forward in the chair and dunk a wing into the ranch, biting my tongue hard as I struggle to keep the tears back. Stop it. You don’t ever get upset over a guy like this. Get it together. “I’m just thinking that you’re right and I do need a job, but not here.” My heart is aching inside my chest and I don’t know why, but I feel furious. “And just because I like sex doesn’t mean I’m going to use my body for money.”
“I told you I was just joking about the towel.” His eyebrows lower as he studies me. “I’ve already told you I don’t think of you that way.”
“What way?” I snap, dropping the wing back into the basket. “A slut. An easy lay. A whore.” I hate the word whore. Hate it! But it sums up what I am really well.
He throws up his hands exasperatedly. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you. I’m just trying to help, but clearly I’m not doing that so I’ll back off.”
“Well, I don’t want your help because I don’t need help.” I shove away from the table, my heart racing. Is it time for another pill yet? I feel like I’m crashing. I wind around the table, picking my purse off the back of my chair, then storm for the exit and shove out the front doors, stepping out onto the street. I start to walk down the busy sidewalk, searching the streets for a cab since I didn’t drive here. I start twisting the platinum ring on my finger as my emotions take over and the need to medicate burns inside me. I know I’m acting ridiculous and probably look nuts because of my abrupt switch in moods. I could try to blame it solely on the fact that I need a pill, but it’s much deeper—like the fact I have so many bills and no money left, that I’m proving my parents right and I can’t take care of myself, that I’m going nowhere with my life and have no idea how to change it. And then there’s Ethan. God damn him for being so sexy. Seriously. I’ve liked him since the first day I met him and it gets harder to be around him when it’s clear he doesn’t want me, at least not how I want him. He just teases me. Plain and simple.
I reach the corner of the sidewalk and look left and right before I step off the curb. The evening sky is cloudy and there’s the faintest scent of rain in the air. I hope it doesn’t start raining because I don’t have a jacket on and I’m wearing opened-toed satin high heels and water will ruin them.
“Lila!” I hear Ethan shout as I reach the other side of the street.
Having no desire to talk to him right now, I pick up the pace. I hear the sound of his footsteps rushing after me, but I only walk quicker, balling my hands into fists, and the platinum ring digs into my skin. I clench them even tighter, hyperaware of the pain as the metal indents into my skin and of each scar on my body, all linked to the damn ring.
“God damn it, Lila.” He’s getting irritated. “Slow the fuck down.”
“Ethan, just leave me alone,” I call out over my shoulder, wrapping my arms around myself. “I’m not in the mood to talk right now.”
The sound of his footsteps get closer as I zigzag around a group of people standing in front of one of the older casinos. “I know you’re not, but that doesn’t mean I should leave you alone walking down the fucking strip by yourself.”
I pause near the street post beside a mob of people waiting to cross and I deliberate if I should turn around. I don’t move as his footsteps arrive beside me, but I don’t turn my head and look at him either.
“Look,” he says, panting. “I have no idea what the hell happened back there, but whatever I did or said to make you mad, I’m sorry.” In the year that I’ve known Ethan, I’ve never heard him give a genuine apology.
With my arms crossed over my chest, I peek over at him, feeling the slightest bit embarrassed over my outburst. Ethan looks sincere, his eyes dark and slightly wide underneath the flashing florescent lights, and his chest is moving rapidly as he works to regain his breath.
“You don’t need to be sorry.” I sigh as uncross my arms. “I’m not mad at you.”
He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Then why the heck did you take off?”
I shrug, shuffling my shoes on the sidewalk. “I don’t know… I guess I’m just feeling a little down lately and I was taking it out on you.” I put my fake, pill-induced game face on and smile at him. “It’s really not a big deal.”
He takes a deep intake and releases it. “Stressed out over bills?”
“That among many things.” I push my finger against the crosswalk button on the pole.
“Is it your mom again?” He folds his arms over his chest, and I can’t help but notice how his muscles flex beneath the vibrant artwork on his skin. “Has she been hounding you to move home? Or is it your dad? He’s not being a douche to you again, is he? I swear to God, Lila, you need to just tell them to fuck off if they are. They don’t deserve to even know you with the way that they treat you.”
I bite down on my lip, trying not to stare at his lean muscles or his luscious lips or the fact that he just told me one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard. “No, I haven’t even talked to him in months. My mother’s been calling me all the time to come back home, but that’s not what’s wrong.”
“Did you finally tell her off?”
“As much as I always do.”
“Was she mean to you?”
I shrug. “It doesn’t even matter. At this point it barely affects me.” I’m such a liar and I think he can tell.
His forehead creases as he studies my face. “Do you want to just tell me what’s bothering you or should I keep guessing?”
The light flashes to go ahead and cross the street and I step off the curb. He walks with me, keeping close to my side as we maneuver through the crowd coming at us. I want to tell him what’s wrong, but I’m not one hundred percent sure what’s bothering me just yet. If it’s money, the loneliness I’ve felt for the last month, the fact that I need a job but don’t even know how to get one, or if it’s the feelings I have for him.
“Did you know that Ella and Micha are engaged?” I say, changing the subject and stepping up onto the curb.
Traffic rushes by us as we walk past the towering, uniquely shaped buildings that glimmer and shine. Each building is so different from the other: a replica of the Eiffel Tower, a massive pirate ship, a pyramid—you name it and it’s probably here. Neon lights flash across billboards and marques, trying to entice people to come gamble their money away, see flamboyant shows, or drink drinks while staring at tits. There are a lot of people whisking around and the heat, the dancing, the skimpy clothing, and the music playing make the atmosphere erotic and steamy. The combination makes me want to dance and have fun, instead of thinking about stuff.
