Working Girl (8 page)

Instead of shopping, I direct my gaze out the window front of the store and my eyes immediately find him. My mouth drops open as I catch his smile. That perfect little smile, adorned with those damn dimples that I can’t stop thinking about.

Effin’ Emerson.

He puts his hand up to wave and I manage to close my mouth again.

My mind starts reeling as I look at him. He’s dressed to the nines: nice jeans, a dress shirt, the look completed by shiny patent leather shoes.

So far out of my league.

What do I do? Do I go talk to him? Should I just direct my attention back to Chrissy and hope he leaves? Chrissy.

Shit. Chrissy, my best friend, who just so happens to be a loud-mouthed hooker. I should run.

Definitely run.

Before I have a chance to act, Chrissy breathes down my neck. “Who’s that?” she asks, causing me to jump from being caught red-handed.

“Just a guy in one of my classes,” I retort quickly.

“Not just a guy, Presley. A
cute
guy.”

I click my tongue and turn away from his unrelenting gaze. “Whatever, can we just keep shopping?”

“Yeah, sure, but it looks like cute class guy is coming your way.”

My fickle heart flutters in my chest, and I curse under my breath. I don’t need Emerson muddying up my life right now. Not that I think he is . . . well, maybe I do. Running my fingers through my hair, I attempt to straighten myself up a bit. My efforts are in vain, because deep down I know it’s too late. I look frumpy, and I hate myself for not taking the time to primp. Shrugging off my moment of weakness, I attempt to fake nonchalance.

I don’t care
.

“Hey, Presley,” he calls to me; walking through the door looking like he stepped straight out of GQ.

Okay, so I might care just a little. Pissed at myself, I take a deep breath before directing my attention in his direction. “Oh, hey, Emerson.” I don’t know why I feign surprise, because I know he knows I’ve already seen him.

In just a few steps he’s next to me, and I can smell his cologne. As if his pull wasn’t already magnetic enough, I find myself fighting the urge to move even closer to him.

Unfamiliar with this kind of situation, I briefly wonder if it would be inappropriate of me to sniff him deeply in the middle of the store?

Shut up, Presley!

“Doing a little bit of shopping?” he asks.

I know he’s making small talk, and it makes me uncomfortable knowing that Chrissy is right next to me. Unpredictable at the best of times, I never know what is going to come spilling out of her mouth and I don’t really feel like explaining myself. “I don’t shop, I’m just keeping my friend company.”

“Yeah?” He looks in Chrissy’s direction. I suppose I should introduce them.

“Emerson, this is my best friend, Chrissy. Chrissy, this is Emerson, from Bookkeeping 101.”

Chrissy sashays in front of me and slides her hand into his. “Well hello, Emerson from Bookkeeping 101.”

She can never turn it off. Always looking to turn her next trick, I swear. The discomfort I feel knowing this brings out a physical reaction and I slap her on the shoulder, bringing her back to reality. Emerson is not some Joe. He’s a guy. A guy who I have to go to school with. A guy who I’d really like to keep in the dark. She looks at me, slightly confused, before I shoot her a death glare and she immediately gets the hint, chancing a quick glance back at Emerson. He clears his throat before answering, “Nice to meet you.”

And then his attention is back on me and he smiles. “So do you have anything important planned for today?”

“Just mall trolling.”

“Well, that’s boring,” he quips back.

I glare at Chrissy. “Tell me about it.”

“Well, I was just about to head to the movies with some friends. You guys should join us.”

Movies. I haven’t seen a movie in ages, and I could use a little entertainment right now. Even though I’m not much of a moviegoer, the distraction would be welcome.

But do I want to travel into this grey area with him?

Before I can think about how to respond, Chrissy answers for me. “That sounds great!” she says, and the answer is obviously acceptable to Emerson because, with a nod of his head, he gestures for us to follow him, and Chrissy goes . . . without hesitation. I, on the other hand, am frozen in place. This can’t possibly be a good idea. Chrissy notices I’m stuck in place and looks over her shoulder at me. Rolling her eyes, she takes a few steps back to me and sighs. “It’s just a movie. It won’t kill you.”

She’s right. A movie never did anyone any harm. Like I thought earlier, it could probably do me a little good right about now. “Fine,” I snap. “But if this gets weird, I’m out.”

She nods before linking arms with me, dragging me at pace in order to catch up to Emerson, and as we walk I realize I’ve just made a big mistake. My heart races, which causes my head to swim. This isn’t part of my life plan. I don’t have time for this sort of thing. Pretending to be a normal twenty-one year old isn’t for me. It’s stupid. I’m acting like a silly teenager and I can’t believe that I’m going to allow it. My inner voices argue with each other. I deserve the chance to be carefree—even if I’m only pretending.

Chrissy and I link arms as we follow Emerson, and I begin to relax when he laughs and chats casually as we navigate our way past store after store.

“He looks familiar,” Chrissy whispers into my ear.

I shrug. He does have that All-American boy next door look. Surely he just looks like someone we know? I don’t think about it for long because my thoughts immediately shift when I see a crowd of people up ahead. One of the girls looks and waves to Emerson, and he waves back just before she starts whispering to the girl standing next to her. Both of them are gorgeous, and dressed in their Sunday best. Chrissy and I can’t be bothered to dress up on our days off. It’s high-waisted shorts and grungy tees for us.

But those girls. Those girls give a shit. They’re out to impress, and they’re doing a fine job of it.

I swallow, intimidated just by their presence because I know all about girls like them. Catty girls. My very own proverbial hell.

High school girls can be downright evil, as Chrissy and I found out. It started when we were young. Once it was discovered that I lived near the brothel, it didn’t take long for the news to spread amongst the parents, who then urged their kids to keep their distance. Once we got into high school people made the connection between our address and our parents’ ‘careers’ and Chrissy and I were labeled whores, simply because of where we lived. It made us targets for pretty much everyone at school, thus meaning our time in high school was ever more hellacious than it is for most.

Chrissy and I weren’t in the “in-crowd” and we were tormented. The reason was simple: we were seen as a threat. We were pretty and mysterious, guys talked about us, and it didn’t help our case that Chrissy kept sleeping with them. It wasn’t the way I chose to handle things, but it made Chrissy feel better—like she was sticking it to the bitches that made us miserable by fucking their boyfriends. Needless to say our high school experience was anything but typical. I didn’t go to prom. Boys didn’t ask me out on dates; they asked me for blowjobs. Except for Simon. Simon had been different.

Or at least so I thought.

Simon and I met during our senior year. He was a foreign exchange student from Australia and his accent alone was enough to make me fall head over heels in love. With him being in almost all of my classes, we talked every day and, eventually, we both started to feel things. I trusted him, he made me feel human and I told him my deepest and darkest thoughts. But I never went
there
. He didn’t need to know about my home life. As our feelings developed, our talks shifted from being casual to him asking me out on a date.

Preparing for that date was the most blissful night of my life. I had hope. Thoughts of finally knowing what a real relationship might be like intoxicated me. Chrissy and I trawled through my wardrobe, looking for something for me to wear. None of the clothes I owned could match what the popular girls wore, but that’s what I liked about Simon; he liked me for me.

But as always my excitement was short-lived.

Simon and I met at a little coffee shop, where he rushed me through my drink and dessert. We left and started walking towards a secluded park and although he was touchy feely as we walked, I didn’t think anything of it until we got there and he pushed me up against a tree and began to kiss me with a force that caught me off guard. His hands were all over me, and I kept asking for him to stop. He laughed, leaning in to whisper in my ear, telling me how much I wanted it. And all the while I was trying to convince myself that none of it was happening; that I was imagining his heavy breaths and the feeling of his hips pressing against mine, pinning me against the trunk of the tree. When he started to unzip his pants, I panicked and jerked my knee into his crotch and sprinted as fast as I could the minute he dropped to the ground. As I ran back up the path toward the bus stop I could hear him shouting to me, telling me how much I was going to regret what I’d done. That he’d let everyone know what a tease I was.

You see, Simon knew all along, and he was looking for nothing more than some easy sex. He tried to take something from me that night, but I refused to be held down. No one was going to tell me who I was, or what I was going to do.

No one.

As we approach the clique, I tighten my grip on Chrissy’s arm and she gives me a reassuring look. “Fuck them,” she whispers, sensing my apprehension. “We’re here to watch a movie.”

We join the circle and Emerson acknowledges his friends. Once everyone quiets a bit, he gestures toward us. “Hey guys, this is Presley and her friend, Chrissy.”

Raising my hand, I wave awkwardly to everyone as they nod in my direction. Chrissy immediately starts working the guys in the crowd and, fighting the urge to smack her, I ball my hands into a fist. She should know better, she’s only adding fuel to the fire. And sure enough, out of the corner of my eye, I see the two girls whispering again.

“Well, shall we?” Emerson asks, opening the door to the theatre, and the group heads in, everyone buying their own tickets. Chrissy spots me the cash since today was her idea in the first place. Every cent counts now so I’m thankful for her stepping up, knowing I wouldn’t have been able to swing it otherwise.

Forgoing the popcorn and sweet treats, we head into the theatre and I try to remember the last time I went to see a movie. It’s been years for sure. Life keeps getting in the way of me being a typical teenager, so movies are pretty much out of the question.

From the corner of my eye, I see one of the girls vying for position. She’s obviously into Emerson, and is lagging between us, pretending to casually chitchat with him as we walk down the aisle to our seats. He laughs at something she says just as we slow to head into the row that they’ve picked and both of them stop, waiting for the other to go first. Emerson nods for her to go ahead. “I’m gonna hang back and sit next to Presley.”

She huffs and heads in to sit next to her other bitchy little friend. Emerson smiles gently at me. He has no idea. He’s clueless as to the pull he has on the opposite sex. His confidence is intoxicating, and it makes him irresistible to most. With his eyes on mine, he lets a couple of the guys pass him, letting Chrissy take a seat with them. I walk into the aisle and take a spot next to Chrissy. Emerson plants himself next to me.

Seconds later the lights flash, indicating that the show is about to start. Chrissy nudges me with her elbow, and I glare in her direction as she laughs and turns to talk to the guy on her right, leaving me offering up a silent prayer that we can make it through the show
without
Chrissy offering to bang one of them in the bathroom.

THE LIGHTS GO DOWN AND
I my heart beats somewhere in my throat.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Taking a deep cleansing breath, I attempt to get comfortable in my seat, realizing that the only thing preventing me from completely relaxing is the fact that I have nowhere to put my arms. Chrissy and Emerson are apparently armrest hogs, so I eventually decide to just cross my arms over my chest.

Pictures fill the screen, but my mind’s too busy to really take in what’s happening in front of me. Maybe that’s the real reason I never bother with movies; it just gives my mind time to think, and I hate thinking. Thinking equates to feeling, and I’ve spent years attempting to keep my feelings at bay.