Julia

It’s Wednesday, and I’m stuck handing out samples of sushi made with some kind of organic tofu, and now Joe is back and looking at me like I just tried to hand him poison.

“What are these again?”

I sigh inwardly. “It’s sushi. And these are vegan sushi made with tofu and avocado.” I place a little container in Joe’s meaty paw. “Try it. They’re good.”

They’re not good—and I like sushi, I should add—but I can’t say that. Joe stares at the circular bite of food and then back at me. Then he pops it into his mouth and chews for what seems at least an hour.

He chews, and chews, and chews. He furrows his eyebrows in concentration. I’m about to ask if he needs a glass of water when he swallows in one loud gulp.

“That was not good,” he says in a disappointed voice.

Story of my life, I want to say, and I hate that I’m feeling sorry for myself. I’m healthy. I have reliable work. I even got to jam with Ryland Masters a couple of days ago, after I’d accepted his invitation, and it had felt so incredibly right to play a guitar and sing again, period—let alone with a genuine rock star. Yet all I can focus on is my misery over Bastian. Of course, I don’t tell Joe that. Instead, I just reply, “Well, it’s not to everyone’s tastes, I know.”

“When are you going to have chicken wings again?”

“No idea. I don’t get to choose the samples.” At Joe’s sad look, I add, “Sorry! But I’ll try my best.”

He takes this as best he can before pushing his cart down the aisle. I feel like I just killed the guy’s dog, and all I did was give him some crappy sushi. I look down at the sad array of tasteless samples, and I feel like it’s a metaphor for my life. Boring, tasteless, mediocre.

Oh, sure, I thought I’d gotten some prime-time sushi lately. But then that sushi had to turn out to be a real jackass, and now I’m stuck with the shitty stuff.

I rub my forehead. I’m losing my mind, I think.

After Bastian’s phone call yesterday—and me hanging up on him—I fumed and stomped and yelled things while Samson watched in confusion until I felt a little bit better. Not only was he a jackass to ignore me, but then he calls, acts like it’s no big deal, and thinks buying me a steak dinner will make me forget? Hell no.

He’s gonna have to try a lot harder than that to get back into my good graces.

The sad thing is? I’m not sure I’m worth that much work to him.

It’s a depressing thought. I slump down at my stand, gazing out at the customers milling about Cooper’s. A young guy in sweatpants is furiously looking through the vitamins, while an older woman seems intent on finding just the right kind of fiber for her diet. I feel the monotony of everything press down on me. It’s a terrible feeling.

I thought Bastian was different. After he apologized that first time, and then the concert, and then the sex…But he’s no different than any other guy. He just wanted some ass, and I sure did give it to him, didn’t I?

I slump down until I’m almost eye level with the sushi. “Only you can understand me,” I tell the samples.

“Rominger!” She-Hulk yells.

I stand up, knocking over a few samples as a result. I scramble to pick them up.

“Can you at least try to look like you care?” she asks, hands on her hips. “Recently, every time I come by, you look like you’ve been run over by a train.”

I throw the sushi that fell on the floor into the trash before standing up. “Sorry, Sheila. Just been preoccupied.”

To my astonishment, she steps closer to me and asks in a low voice, “Is it man trouble? You wanna talk about it?”

No, I do not! Not with you! I stare at her, my mouth agape. “Uhhhhh,” I say helpfully.

“Did he hit it and quit it? Happened to me a few weeks ago. Picked up this great, big wrestler at a bar, and we had a night to remember.” She thinks back, and I’m struggling not to imagine She-Hulk having sex. “But then he never calls again. So I made sure to blacklist him from the store. Now he has to drive ten miles to get groceries.”

“Uh, great,” I reply.

“Well, if you ever need someone, I’m here.” She pats my arm—a little too hard, and I wince—before she tromps down the aisle, barking at some other unsuspecting employee.

My life has officially hit a new low. She-Hulk giving me relationship advice while I hand out crappy, tasteless sushi to people who don’t even want it.

“Julia.”

I hear the voice. It’s the voice. My heart pounds instantly, and my body perks up, and I feel like Pavlov’s dog because dammit, am I that easy?

Then I see him: Bastian. Walking toward me. He’s as handsome as ever, but when he stops in front of my stand, he looks at the ground, then at me, but he doesn’t say anything. His awkwardness inadvertently makes my awkwardness melt away. Where did the confident, sexy Bastian go? This side of him is unexpected, but it’s more endearing than I care to admit.

He glances down at the samples. “Are these supposed to be sushi?”

“Yeah, vegan sushi with tofu. You should try one.”

“So they’re good?”

“Not at all.”

“Right. Do you guys ever give out samples people want to eat?”

“Hey, some people like cardboard sushi and granola bars.” At his look, I shrug. “Well, maybe some people. I just haven’t found them yet.”

“Look, I know you don’t want to see me or talk to me, but give me one more chance.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Let me take you out to dinner?”

Seeing him standing there, unsure, tired, and yes, still sexy and delicious, I feel myself softening.

“Look, Bastian, I think that’s a bad idea. We had fun, but we really have nothing in common.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh really. Tell me what we have in common. Besides a burning need to dispense financial advice, I mean.”

I try to resist his smile. Try to resist the flurry of feelings inside me, and the voice shouting with joy that he’s in front of me, wanting another chance. But I give in because I’m weak and I missed him.

“Okay, I’ll go. But no more ghosting, all right? If you don’t want to see me anymore, just tell me.” I smile a little. “I’m a big girl; I can take it.”

His tired eyes brighten at my acceptance. “Good, good. I’ll pick you up at seven. It’ll be somewhat fancy, so dress up.”

“It might have to be the same dress I wore last time,” I say wryly. “I’m not much for dress-wearing.”

“Works for me. I know exactly how to get you out of it.” His words are low, smoky, and they send a thrill through me because I am easy.

Considering he’d just asked for my forgiveness, the statement is pretty ballsy. I guess confident Bastian is back. He’s apparently calculated the chances that he’s going to see me naked tonight and likes his odds.

Oh well. There are worse things to be easy for than a sexy man like Bastian Rich.

“Be forewarned,” I reply, “I might order the most expensive thing on the menu in revenge for you ignoring me.”

“Order whatever you want. I like to see a woman eating something other than salad and air.”

I laugh. “Challenge accepted.”

Bastian then leans toward me and gives me a light kiss on the lips. It’s over before it begins, and I find myself pressing my fingers to my mouth when he murmurs, “Thank you for giving me another chance. I’ll see you later,” and walks away.

I’m staring after him, heart-eyes and all, when She-Hulk comes back my way.

“Oh, so that’s the guy,” she says, nodding approvingly.

I jump. Then I stammer, “Who’s the guy?”

“The guy you were mooning over,” she says, like I’m an idiot. “He has a nice ass. If you weren’t tapping it, I would.”

Oh God, now She-Hulk is lusting after Bastian. Can’t I catch a break for once?

“Uh, well, he’s taking me out tonight, so I think his ass is busy.” I sound like an idiot, but for some reason, another woman looking at Bastian fills me with jealousy. It’s not like She-Hulk would be any competition, but still. It makes me edgy.

“Good for you, Rominger. Remember to use protection.” She nods sagely, and then barks out, “Dorsey! Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning up aisle five?”

After my shift, I bike home as fast as I can, as I only have a little time to get ready before Bastian said he’d pick me up. I feed Samson, who meows plaintively, and then go to my closet and start tossing clothes out onto my bed. Why don’t I have one sexy thing—other than the dress I already wore—to go to dinner in?

“No, not this top. No, this skirt is ugly. Ugh, why do I still have these pants?” Looking through my clothes, I realize that I have the fashion sense of a middle-aged schoolmarm with a few pieces that scream I’M EASY! to mix things up. I guess I could always wear my knee-length black skirt with the backless, purple sequin halter top.

I finally settle on a black dress I wore to a wedding two years ago. It’s not sexy, per se, but it’s not frumpy. I pair it with some chandelier earrings and try to make my hair behave. Glancing in the mirror, I wonder if I should put on Spanx. But then if we get busy, Bastian will see that I’m wearing giant granny panties…I look at Samson.

“Should I wear them and hope he doesn’t notice, or brave the muffin top?”

Samson swishes his tail against my dingy carpet.

“Well, I probably shouldn’t sleep with him again so soon anyway. So, Spanx it is.” I curse as I get the elastic fabric up and on, but the effect is nice. Thank God for whoever invented these things!

When Bastian arrives, I try to act cool. I give him a light kiss and then let him guide me to his car, his hand on my lower back.

“I thought I’d take you for tapas at La Mariposa,” he tells me as he opens the car door for me. “That sound good to you?”

I freaking love tapas, but I force myself not to sound too excited when I reply, “Sounds good to me.”

Glancing into the side mirror, I tell myself: Don’t be easy. Don’t let him off the hook completely. And try not to get sangria on your dress.

But as Bastian gives me his sexy smile, I have a feeling the first two things aren’t going to happen.