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"Work keeps you pretty busy?" I guess.
She laughs. "That's an understatement. I like working though, it keeps my mind off other things."
I wish I could throw myself into work and forget all my problems.
"What are you majoring in?" Chantal takes a sip of her Diet Coke.
"Not sure yet," I shrug as I play with the straw in my water. "I thought I would have it figured out by now, but I haven't found anything I like well enough to spend my life doing it. How did you end up in marketing?"
Chantal let's out a nostalgic sigh. "I was obsessed with commercials as a kid. I liked the jingles and slogans. I would memorize them and sing along every time they came on TV. I took a marketing class my second semester of college and knew that's what I wanted to do. Is there something you're passionate about? Or good at something that other people aren't?"
I let out an unattractive snort. "Let's just say it's a miracle I even got into college. So far, I'm not flunking anything, but it's been hard for me. The only thing that I'm currently good at is doing Kyle's books."
Chantal's face widens in surprise. "You like numbers?"
"I don't hate them," I admit. "I like the way everything balances in QuickBooks. Whatever's on one side of the balance sheet, has to be on the other side."
"Have you thought about taking an accounting class?" Chantal suggests.
I hadn't thought of that. Can people actually major in organizing money? If so, someone please sign me up!
"It hadn't crossed my mind," I honestly answer.
We spend the rest of our lunch talking about all kinds of things. Chantal's travels. She spends a lot of time in Denver, but has to travel to Los Angeles and New York sometimes, too. She loves high-end fashion but would never wear it. She asks me about growing up with Kyle, what it's like to have siblings because she has none. We laugh about the time Tommy locked me in the basement for half the day and forgot I was down there. Mom grounded him for three weeks. Chantal never got grounded. She was always too afraid to get in trouble. I tell her I'm saving up to buy a car because driving Danny's truck is humiliating. She didn't ever have to drive anything as embarrassing as the monstrosity parked a block away, but she did have to share a car with her grandmother when she was in high school. The conversation is light and easy and natural. When lunch is over, it feels too soon, and we drag our feet as we head back to the Gallery.
We exchange numbers and, for the first time in a long time, I feel reenergized after our lunch.
—
I knock lightly on the open door to Kyle's office, the evening light casting shadows across his desk.
"Hey."
He looks up from his textbook, his eyes drooping, his dark hair a ruffled mess atop his head.
"Hey baby," he exhales.
I walk over to him, watch as he sits back in his chair.
He works too hard.
"How was class?" I ask as I run my fingers through his soft, luscious locks.
He scratches his chin. "Fine."
I grab the arm rest on each side of his chair, slowly push them back before climbing into his lap.
His hands find my waist as I straddle him. I try to decipher the look on his face as he peers up at me. But I can't tell if he's tired or mad or upset. Maybe it's a little of all three.
I lean forward and press my lips to his. He kisses me back, slides his tongue into my mouth, his lips mold to mine.
My hands float down his chest, over his toned stomach, and find the button on his jeans.
"No," he shakes his head as he jerks out of our kiss.
Stunned, slightly dejected, I swallow hard. "No?"
"I'm not in the mood, Jenny," he responds, mechanically.
