Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
I may or may not have put peanut butter on my shoes. I wasn’t sure how else to get this skunk to like me. And I really need this job.
“Right!” CUPCAKELOVER’s voice is bright, and he seems genuinely…happy. He’s attractive and my age, with styled blond hair, blue eyes, and tattoos all up and down his arms. The arms that are currently caging a skunk that, if I didn’t know better, is sizing me up.
I’m not getting wearing-my-skin vibes, but then again, do you ever?
In fact, I’m getting very different vibes watching CUPCAKELOVER evaluate me. His presence makes me light up with awareness. The kind of awareness I swore I’d never explore again.
I clear my throat, shifting, heat crawling up the back of my neck. The anger follows immediately. I said I’d never do this again for a fucking reason.
“Make yourself at home.” CUPCAKELOVER waves at an adjoining living room. A fancy living room with white couches that probably cost more than my rent. There’s also a fancy multicolored rug over the marble flooring, which just pisses me off more until I remember that maybe he can help me pay my rent.
“So tell me about your parents’ skunk!” Rich bad boy says. “How long have they had them?”
“A few years,” I answer as my body is frozen between taking my shoes off and leaving them on. This place is fancier than anywhere I’ve been. What if I track dirt inside? Or peanut butter?
“That’s so cool, man!” CUPCAKELOVER’s voice is cheerful, and I realize I don’t actually know his real name.
He keeps talking; meanwhile, the skunk is making a beeline for my shoes.
I realize I can’t have Princess licking my shoes while we talk, that might give me away.
So I slip them off and tuck them behind an ornate umbrella stand. Who has a fucking umbrella stand?
“So, uh, what can I call you?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry! Duh, I’m Micah.” He throws me a blinding smile, and his bright blue eyes bore into the dark parts of my soul, making me feel bare. Lying out all my weaknesses on a platter for him to dissect.
Immediately, I look away.
“You can have a seat. Do you want a drink?”
Micah walks to the kitchen, grabbing some glasses out of the cabinets. As he does it, I can’t help but notice how pretty his hands are with veins bulging softly under the skin. Because of course they are. Why does he have to have pretty hands?
Then I realize it’s taken me too long to respond and mentally kick myself. “Sure.”
“I have orange juice, sparkling apple juice, milk, water…”
Micah continues talking, and that’s when I notice a stamping sound. Looking down, I see Princess rear up on both back legs, then stamp her feet down. Then, she charges, running at my feet.
Suppressing a yelp, I pick up the foot she’s closest to. At the last second, she backs off, rearing up again.
I scoot back to the kitchen island, glancing at Micah to see if he’s noticed. She fucking hates me. I’m ruined.
Princess charges my feet again, and I sit on the barstool, tucking my feet up on the rungs of the barstool. Only then does Princess back off.
Then, a glass is being slid across the counter. I look up at Micah, who gives another dazzling smile. “You seem like a sparkling apple juice kinda guy.”
His smile is white, and his teeth look clean and are mostly straight. It’s a pretty smile. Because, of course, he has nice teeth. Rich people shit.
Then, I remember I’m benefiting from said rich shit and plaster my own smile on, then take a sip of the drink. It’s sweet and bubbly and…not my style. But sure, whatever Mr. Toothpaste commercial says.
Micah leans across the counter, swirling his own drink, and as he does, I notice a silver flash in his mouth.
Does he have a tongue piercing?
“So I guess we’ll start with the basics. Princess is a boy.”
I blink.
Micah rubs the back of his neck. “Long story, but he’s a rescue, and the people I got him from mixed him up with his sister, and well, I didn’t think to look until…well, it was too late.”
Of fucking course. Backyard breeders who don’t care enough to research their exotic pets or even pay attention make me fucking rage. My parents being one of them.
I glance up at Micah, and he’s looking at me with such intensity it’s like he can see my thoughts. He has this warmth in his eyes, like we’ve been friends forever.
Immediately, I feel like my throat has been gripped by someone who just soaked their hand in ice. My heart starts racing, and my stomach turns.
No. I dig my finger into the skin around my nail, sucking in a deep breath. I’m safe. I’m okay. This means nothing. Micah is no one to me.
I straighten, feeling the apathy wash over me. Micah continues talking, and I just take in the information. The more he talks, the less I feel, which fills me with a mixture of both deadness and pride.
This is just a job. Get in, make the money, and get out. That’s all.