“I have a job interview tomorrow morning,” I announce as I walk into the apartment, shutting the door behind me, feeling a little proud of myself, despite what position the interview is for.
Ethan glances up from the book he’s writing in at the kitchen table. His hair is swept back out of his eyes and sticks up everywhere. “Oh, thank God. Finally. I was beginning to think I was going to have to kick you out on the streets.” He grins, amused with himself, but there’s an underlying pain in his expression, almost as if he’s forcing his humorous self to come out to disguise something else.
I’d ask him about it, but after the whole truck fiasco I’m deciding it’s better if we keep a little bit of distance between us, until I can figure out where we stand.
“Rude much?” I toss my purse on the couch and chuck the keys at him. He ducks, laughing, and the keys miss him and hit the wall behind him. “And I know you would never put me out on the streets.” I grin as I enter the kitchen. “You like me way too much.”
“Do I now?” He sits up straight and humor dances in his eyes. “But I’m glad you finally got an interview. You’ve seriously applied for, like, a hundred jobs.”
“I know.” I sigh and head to the kitchen, opening the fridge. “But apparently if you’re twenty and have never worked before, no one wants you to work for them.” I grab a can of soda out of the fridge and bump the door shut with my hip. “They all kept looking at me like I was worthless, and I’m not.” I tap the top of my finger against the can as I sink down into the chair. “I’ve got skills, you know.”
“Mad finger skills?” He laughs as he eyes my finger tapping insanely against the top of the can.
I flip him my middle finger. “You would be very surprised at what I can do with my fingers.”
He clenches his fist and places it in front of his mouth. “Oh, I’m sure I would.”
We both go silent. I can hear the loud roar of an engine outside and the clanking of the refrigerator. It’s an awkward silence, which is becoming more common the longer I live here with him. I’m not sure what’s causing it. Sexual tension? Probably from me, but I’m assuming Ethan’s managed to maintain his playboy lifestyle, bringing his women home late at night and sending them home as soon as he’s done with them, because that’s what he’s always done. I haven’t actually seen any of them, but none of them in the past have stuck around very long anyway. I’d be disgusted by his behavior, but I’ve done the same thing time and time again, only I’m usually the one leaving the house in the early hours of the morning.
Ethan clears his throat and then shuts his book, shoving back from the table. “So should we go celebrate?”
“Celebrate what?” I take a gulp of my soda to cool down my body.
He scoops up the keys without taking his eyes off me. “The job interview.” He stands up straight, closing his fingers around the keys. “By the way, where is it at?”
I set the soda can down on the table. “It’s at that bar.” I try not to go into the details on purpose because I’m not sure how he’s going to react.
“What bar?” He pushes the chair in and tucks the keys into the back pocket of his jeans.
“The one down on that street by the old section of Vegas,” I say evasively, pushing away from the table. I collect my can and head for the hallway. “I’m going to go to bed early, so I can get some rest for tomorrow.” I glance over my shoulder as I step through the doorway. “Rain check on the celebration? I only want to celebrate if I get the job.”
He scans me over quizzically. “Where’s the job interview, Lila?”
“Nowhere.” I walk quickly down the hall to avoid any more questioning. Once I make it to my room, I shut the door and breathe in the silence, but as soon as I step away from the door it opens and Ethan comes walking in.
“Where’s the interview, Lila?” he repeats, standing in the doorway, looking vexed.
I place the soda can down on one of the boxes I haven’t unpacked yet and then cross my arms. “Why is this bothering you so much? I thought you were just happy I finally had an interview.”
He shifts his weight and then sweeps his fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. “Because… you’re not…” He’s struggling and I’m twistedly finding it amusing. “You’re not applying to be a stripper, are you?” His gaze locks on me and fury burns in his eyes.
Without taking my eyes off him, I sit down on the foot of my bed. “Why would it matter if I was? I thought you loved strippers.”
He shrugs, casually leaning against the door. “It doesn’t matter, but it’s not the place for you. You’re too…” His gaze skims my entire body, making even the coolness of the air conditioning feel stifling.
“Too what?” I press.
His attention lingers on my chest and then he blinks, fixing his eyes on my face. “It’s nothing… you just don’t fit in a place like that.”
I bend my knee and unfasten my sandal, wiggling my foot out. “I think a lot of people would disagree with you.” I shake my chest and then roll my eyes. “What else am I good for?”
He remains by the doorway, grasping on to the doorknob. “You’re good for a lot of things, you just don’t see it.”
Okay, so that was a little bit sweet. “Like what exactly?” I toss my sandal into the closet without getting up. “I can’t do anything by myself. I mean, you had to teach me to work the dishwasher for crying out loud.”
He lets go of the doorknob and sits down beside me on the bed while I take off my other sandal. “So what? Everyone has to learn sometime. You’re just learning a little bit later than most people.”
“Because I’m a spoiled brat who had a maid.”
“You don’t any more, though. You’re becoming an independent, strong Lila.” He winks at me and gives me a lopsided grin. “And that Lila doesn’t belong in a strip club.”
I think I may have just fallen in love with him. No one has ever said something so nice to me or put that kind of confidence in my character. In fact, I’ve been told the opposite for as long as I can remember. Lila, you’ll never make it. Lila, you’re worthless. Lila, you’re messing up this family. No one will ever love you if you don’t change into something they can love. Be perfect. Be beautiful. Because no one will want you if you’re not.
“Even though I know you’re to going to get annoyed with me for saying it,” I begin, slipping my foot out of my sandal, “you’re seriously really sweet when you want to be.”
He frowns with annoyance. “I’m not sweet. I’m actually really, really mean.”
“You’re so full of it.” Once I get my shoe off, I flop back on the bed, not bothering to tug my shirt down when it rides up over my stomach. “I have to take more of my clothes down to that store tomorrow because I’m running out of money. Can you give me a ride? Or can I borrow your truck?”
He lies down beside me on the bed, surprising me, and turns his head toward me. “You say that like it’s the most tragic thing that’s ever happened to you.”
“It kind of is.” I pout with my arms overlapped on my stomach and my gaze fixed on the ceiling. “As shallow as it’s going to sound, I love my clothes.”