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“Okay, if not dinner then what about drinks?” Mike continues to press.
I’m next in the line and I shoot the barista a smile as I answer Mike. “No, I’m good, thanks. Uh, same again, please but can I have extra caramel with the mocha? Thanks.”
The barista nods and sets to work. Mike leans on the cart next to me, his eyes never leaving me. “Emma, I’m trying to ask you out. So, what do you want to do?”
Something about the way he looks at me, and continues to press even after I’ve said no, just unlocks something in me. It’s like the final press of a button before an explosion. The gate opens and all the frustration and fear from the disaster with my car mingles with the irritation that I’ve had to reject Mike three times now.
“No!” I snap, raising my voice much louder than I usually would. Even the barista jumps slightly. “I don’t want to go out with you, Mike. I don’t know how many different ways I can say that since the word no apparently isn’t clear enough, but no, I don’t want to date you. You’re not my type and I’m not interested in you. Understand?”
An awkward hush falls over the remaining few students lingering around the car. My heart pounds in my chest, and as I stare into Mike’s eyes, guilt begins to swell.
I could have been kinder. That was definitely fueled by the pent-up frustration of everything that happened yesterday and Mike is a nice guy. He doesn’t deserve me exploding at him in public like this but I couldn’t help it. An apology rises in my throat as Mike straightens up from the cart and tugs at the bottom hem of his shirt.
“No need to be such a bitch about it. I pitied you Emma, but I won’t make that mistake again.”
My mouth drops open as Mike turns on his heel and strides away, crossing the street and melting into the crowd on the other side.
I’m the bitch? He pities me?
I can’t even process that fact and I’m still in shock when the barista sets down the coffees and recites the total to me. I pay him with a handful of dollars, then stumble back to our table.
“What the hell was that all about?” Ana asks before my ass has even hit the chair.
“Mike asked me out again. I guess twice in quick succession.”
“So you yell at him in front of the crowd?” Meghan gives me a disapproving look as she takes her fresh coffee. “Girl, that’s cold.”
“I’ve said no like three times. He tried to kiss me at the club last Friday, and I told him no then, too.” I pass Ana her coffee. “I didn’t mean to yell at him.”
“I would have,” Ana says. “You only need to tell someone no, once. Also, it’s gross that he only went after me in the club because you rejected him. I’m not a fucking consolation prize.”
“I think he’s sweet,” Meghan replies. “He seems genuine.”
“You date him then,” I snap immediately, then I catch myself. “Sorry. I just mean, if you think he’s so genuine, then the next time he wants to take me on a pity date, I’ll direct him to you.”
“A pity date?” Ana bursts out laughing. “Oh honey, you have the worst luck.”
“Tell me about it.” As we sit and drink and the conversation moves onto classes and timetables, Mike returns to my thoughts. I could have been kinder to him, that’s true. It’s not his fault that my interests lie with real men who are much, much older than the average college student.
Older men who don’t notice me, either.
A vibration in my pocket pulls my attention from the conversation, and a new email flashes up while sharp, bitter coffee sweeps over my tongue. In all the pain of family dinner and my car, I’d completely forgotten that I’d booked in time at the local photo studio for the weekend.
Excellent. That’s the perfect way to take my mind off things.
7
EMMA
“Just lift your leg a little higher for me…that’s it.”
This is where I am at peace. A camera in my hands, a model in front of me, and the gentle notes of smooth jazz filling the air. The outside world melts away and nothing else matters but the bubble I create for myself; and this studio does an excellent job of making sure each room is so secluded that you really are in your own little world.
My model does as I instruct, lifting her leg just an inch higher. Stepping forward, I grab the corner of the silk robe and drape it wider across her torso, then I turn down the light by one notch. At a glance, she’s naked with only the robe to cover her, but lowering the light creates enough shadows that she becomes an illusion. A beautiful, sexy shadow posed in just the right way that when I lean back and start taking pictures, it looks like the shadows are pouring off her like water.
“That’s it,” I encourage her as I snap. “You look absolutely beautiful. Just a few more.”
Straightening up, my eyes drop to the camera, and I run through a few of the pictures to make sure I get what I need. On camera, she looks dipped in ink—beautiful.
