Chapter 2 #2
I tell Jared this and then finish off the story. “When I confronted Giselle about it, she pretty much told me she didn’t want me interacting with her clients because, according to her, luxury retail was about selling fantasies and I’m now too much reality.”
I still can’t help wincing every time I remember that conversation with Giselle.
“Darling, you know I love you, but this isn’t really the look I want for my brand.” She waves a vague hand to encompass my whole body, but the way her gaze lingers on my scars makes me understand that to her, I’ve gone from asset to liability.
“You’re a smart boy. I’m happy for you to keep working for me, but I don’t want you interacting with the clients. You’ll scare them off.”
“The thing is, she never even gave me a chance to try,” I say quietly. “I would have accepted it if clients had actually complained or if my sales dropped, but she just assumed I’d become some kind of retail repellent without any evidence.”
I can’t believe I’m spilling my guts about all this to Jared.
But I guess you could say that spilling my guts has been my mojo with him right from the beginning.
“Isn’t there an employment law to protect you in these circumstances?”
I shrug. “It didn’t seem worth the fight. Besides, after the accident, Carlos started a Givealittle page for me that raised enough money that I could afford to take some time off work and go back to studying.”
I’d had mixed feelings about the Givealittle page Carlos had insisted on setting up after my accident. “You might as well find a silver lining in all this, babe,” he’d said.
I’d hated being the object of people’s pity.
And it seemed like some of my supposed friends thought they could buy their way out of guilt rather than offering the support I actually needed.
But then I’d had an anonymous donation of twenty-five thousand dollars.
I suspected the money was from one of my wealthy ex-clients and was motivated by pity, but it had been life-changing because I could now afford to retrain. So it turns out pity is profitable.
“I’ve always liked animals, and I figure animals won’t judge me based on what I look like,” I finish up.
I manage not to tell Jared how it’s been a struggle to go back to studying, which has never come easy to me due to my mild dyslexia.
I also don’t say I’ve since discovered a large part of the job of a vet nurse still requires you to be people-facing, and I worry that no matter how good I am at my job, clinics will hire people without scars ahead of me.
The poor man doesn’t need all my insecurities dumped on him in one day.
“Your boss is an idiot,” Jared says finally, with the kind of conviction usually reserved for religious declarations. “But fashion’s loss is the veterinary world’s gain.”
“Plus, cats already think humans are hideous naked creatures who can’t even lick their own butts properly, so my face probably doesn’t even register as a problem,” I say.
Jared laughs, and I grin.
The great thing about Jared is that I don’t have to explain to him about my accident.
That’s the problem with meeting new people now.
They all want to know what happened to my face.
At first, it was amusing to come up with tales of shark attacks, bear-wrestling incidents, or insisting I got into a disagreement with a very vindictive cheese grater.
However, after a while, it became exhausting to have to explain what happened again and again.
But Jared was there with me. He knows exactly what it was like to be stuck in a car down a hole.
And he’s a medical professional. He can probably guess the many surgeries it took to get my face to the state it currently is.
Although I still look like someone tried to make a Picasso painting out of Silly Putty and gave up halfway through. If New Zealand didn’t have a free public health system, I would definitely be asking for my money back.
Instead of talking about my accident, Jared asks me more about my course, which then turns into us exchanging funny stories about the vet and paramedic professions.
We discover that both humans and animals have an alarming tendency to eat things they shouldn’t, though at least the Labrador who swallowed three socks had the decency not to claim he was doing it for TikTok views.
I love watching Jared’s eyes sparkle, and the way his large hands gesture as he tells me the story about the man who got his toe stuck in a bathtub faucet while trying to prove to his girlfriend he was still flexible enough to do yoga.
When it’s my turn to tell him funny stories from the vet clinic, he listens to me like nothing is more entertaining than discovering veterinary medicine is basically just working with creatures who eat their own vomit but somehow still manage to make humans look like idiots on a daily basis.
I remember this about Jared from when we were down the tomo. How he seemed actually interested in my answers, like my random thoughts mattered.
And who doesn’t like a man who remembers my cat’s name is Patches? And who laughs when I tell the latest story about how she dragged an entire rotisserie chicken through the cat flap and tried to bury it in my laundry basket like some kind of feline serial killer hiding evidence.
I suddenly realize the bacon and eggs are long gone, we’re on our second cup of coffee, and I’m potentially lingering longer than glitter after a craft project.
“I guess I better get going,” I say.
Jared stands and starts to clear the plates away from the table. “Yeah, I guess you better. Do you want me to order you an Uber?”
The fact that he’s prepared to pay for my ride home shows what an upstanding guy he is. Although I probably should already know that, given he risked his life to climb down a tomo to help me.
And now I’m about to show that I’m not quite as upstanding a guy as he is.
“Um…this is the part where I tell you another coincidence you might not believe.”
“What’s that?”
“I…uh…just moved into 2D down the hall.”
I manage to resist saying “surprise” and bringing out my jazz hands yet again. I really have to work on my impulse control when it comes to theatrical gestures.
The news that I’m his new neighbor doesn’t land how I want it to with Jared. He blanches, and I’m fairly sure the look in his eyes right now only has one name.
Panic.
He turns abruptly to the sink, dishes clattering louder than necessary as he dumps them in.
“So…um…I get it if you think it would be weird to hook up again,” I say quickly. “But I’ve just moved to Auckland, and I could really use a friend. If you’re open to auditioning for that role.”
God, I sound desperate. I’m not sure if that’s the best tactic for making him want to be friends with me.
He stops his assault on the sink and slowly turns to look at me.
“What’s the auditioning process like?” he asks finally. “Is it arduous?”
A small smile slides onto my face. “The audition itself isn’t too bad, but there’s a quite intensive training period that follows,” I say. “I’ve waived the final exam, though, because the pass rate was so low.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Okay, that’s good to know. Does my cooking you breakfast count as part of the training process?”
“Feeding me is definitely a good start.” I nod enthusiastically. “I’ll give you extra credit for making my egg yolks runny.”
“Good to know my runny yolks have secured my position. I was worried I’d have to break out my special pancake skills.”
“Oh, trust me, I saw enough of your special skills last night,” I say.
His eyes widen, which forces me to stammer. “Wait, that came out wrong. Or right. Actually, I’m not sure whether you want me to retract that or not?”
He laughs again.
If Jared’s voice is chocolate cake, his laugh is one of those amazingly gooey lava mud cakes with all the chocolate sauce in the middle.
Okay, I need to stop this analogy now to prevent myself from drooling. Because I get the feeling that excess saliva won’t help my cause of getting Jared to be my friend.
“I’m happy to take the compliment,” he says.
For a second, the air between us turns heated, like someone’s cranked the thermostat up to sexual tension and forgotten where the off switch is.
And I can’t help my pulse starting to race. Does this moment mean he’s still attracted to me? Or is it just the memories of last night when we were both riding the high of good sex and questionable Star Wars roleplay?
Jared’s gaze moves from my eyes to my cheek. He swallows hard and turns his attention back to the sink.
I guess that gives me my answer.
“Right, so I’ll be off then,” I say brightly. “I’ll just grab my Yoda costume from your room. Are you okay if I return your clothes after I’ve washed them?”
“Ah yeah, that’s fine.”
When I emerge from his bedroom, he’s hovering by the front door.
“So, um…thanks for the great night,” I say.
“It was my pleasure,” he says.
He goes to move toward me like he might give me a hug, but pulls back at the last minute, rocking back on his heels.
“See you round.” I give him my best smile, clutching my Yoda costume like it’s emotional support laundry as I leave.
At least my walk of shame is the shortest in existence, only about thirty feet.
My apartment door closes behind me with a click.
Okay, I’m not going to focus on the way that Jared looked at my face and it completely ruined the mood.
Instead, I’m going to focus on what he said about being friends.
Did he mean it?
I really hope so.