If he’s meaner now than he was then, he’s probably right—it was probably the wrong move to be honest with him. For all I know, the minute I’m gone he’ll haul Valerie Johnson up to his bedroom and screw her brains out just to hurt me.
The lie I would forgive him for.
That? No chance. Especially not now that I’ve warned him.
He’s not mine to warn, though. I had hoped to leave his house today with a clearer picture of where he stood now that he’s back, but instead I’m leaving with even more uncertainty.
I guess no matter what happens, at least I’ll always know I didn’t bite my tongue out of fear of looking stupid. I was brave and honest, even though I knew it was risky. I put myself out there and told him where my boundaries were so he’d know where not to step if he cares about me at all.
I wish I had more confidence that he wouldn’t use my vulnerability against me, but I can’t control what he does, only what I do.
I don’t know if I’ll ever have any kind of relationship with Hunter Maxwell again, but he meant so much to me back then…
I had to give him a chance.
Chapter Sixteen
Riley
The aroma of freshly baked doughnuts wafts around me, bizarrely cut by the much less fragrant smell of strong cologne. The man standing in front of me in line put on way too much, and I find myself taking a step back just to get away from the stench.
I grimace to myself, dropping my gaze from the counter at the doughnut shop and looking down at the employment application clutched in my hand. I loosen my grip so as not to wrinkle it, then I go over it one more time before I turn it in.
My resume isn’t much, unfortunately. I’m still in school so I have limited availability, plus I have no real work experience to speak of. I’m on the school paper and I work as a volunteer four hours a week text counseling for a crisis hotline, but “I can calmly text people through emotional breakdowns” doesn’t seem to be the kind of work experience anyone in town is looking for.
The doughnut shop has a ‘now hiring’ sign in the window, though, and I’m really hopeful. I’ve never made doughnuts in my life, but I am a fast learner. My mom and I are frequent customers of this particular doughnut establishment, too, so hopefully they’ll see a familiar face and decide to give me a shot.
Once I get my first job, it shouldn’t be so hard to get them in the future—at least, I hope not. I really need to start putting away money for college in the fall.
I was optimistic at the end of junior year. I thought with summer coming, surely I could find gainful employment.
Wrong.
Mr. Cologne steps up to the counter so I take a couple steps forward, pasting my friendliest customer service smile on my face.
The bell over the door jingles, alerting everyone that someone else has stepped inside, but I don’t pay it any attention. I’m busy checking out the people behind the counter, trying to ascertain which one might be in charge of the hiring.
A hand lands on my shoulder. I start, darting a look back to see who is touching me.
Anderson.
I’m not happy to see him. We are in town together today, but I specifically asked him to wait outside while I turned in my application.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask, my practiced customer service smile waning.
“You weren’t answering your texts.”
“Of course I’m not answering my texts. I told you I was handing in an application.”
He glances at the man in front of me. “And that means you can’t answer your phone?”
“If the hiring manager is one of these people, do you really think she’ll be impressed and eager to hire a teenager who can’t even stay off her phone while she stands in line to turn in an employment application?”
He frowns. “I don’t know. I guess not.”
I feel my patience slipping as I glance anxiously behind the counter. The older blonde lady—probably the manager—is looking right at me.
I smile, but even to me it feels forced and uncomfortable, so I drop it and look down.
Dammit, Anderson completely threw me off.
“I wanted a doughnut,” he says in defense of his presence.
I tell myself I shouldn’t be mad at him, but I can’t ignore the stirrings of irritation. “And I wanted to avoid making a certain impression on a perspective employer, but here I stand, looking like some dumb girl who can’t even apply for a job without bringing her jock boyfriend with her.”
Somehow unbothered by my bristly remark, Anderson says mildly, “Why do you always say it like that?”
“What?”
“You always say jock like it’s a four-letter word. Most girls like jocks, you know. Popularity at school, athletic bodies, lots of stamina…”