Good Girl(22)

I wasn't that kid.

I think it was the cookies. I never needed to play store because I got to do the real thing selling cookies. The real fun for me was the forms. I loved the paperwork. I loved calculating how many more boxes I needed to sell to reach my goal. I loved ensuring all the orders were fulfilled correctly and making a sweep of highlighter across the order form as each order was delivered. I loved that part.

So I'm thrilled to get the day underway. Thrilled when I open my schedule and realize I've been assigned policy training. I really wasn't paying attention on Friday, was I? I love policies. Policies are my jam!

This is going to be the best week ever.





Twelve





LYDIA



It wasn't the best week ever. It wasn't the worst either, it was just meh. I was anxious about bumping into Rhys. Scared I would, terrified I wouldn't. Butterflies in my stomach every time I thought I might. Constantly on the lookout for him, like a lovesick teenager hoping to get a glimpse of the homecoming king in the halls between classes. Dumb. It was torture. Agony.

Pathetic.

I saw him four times. He ignored me all four. Well, to be fair he only saw me twice. I don't think he even noticed me the other two times. As I said, pathetic. I should give up. As if this man is thinking twice about me during what presumably must be the biggest moment of his career—getting this resort opened. As if he'd think twice about me even on a random Tuesday.

So I do my job. I conduct orientation after orientation after orientation. I answer endless questions about insurance plans and benefit packages and the correct number of deductions to claim on a W-4. I steal glances at Rhys every chance I get and file away everything I learn about him. He looks good in striped ties. And solid ones. He drinks the espresso from the fancy coffee machine in the break room. He makes me wet and needy just being within twenty feet of him. I guess that last one wasn't really a revelation.

Outside of work I make myself familiar with half a dozen Goodwill stores and their ever-rotating stock of old sheets. Payton surprises me by arriving home one evening with a Jo-Ann Fabrics bag stuffed full of felt and sequins and buttons and glitter pens. She's taken to badge-making with a passion greater than I'd have thought possible, and with enviable skill. Which is how I end up on a dating app talking to guys I don't really want to talk to. But Rhys doesn't want to talk to me either, so I might as well earn the dating app badge, am I right? It's a really nice badge too. Payton went all out with the glitter pen and some buttons, and all I had to do to earn it was install the app on my phone and open the messages.

Which I have, and survey says, I'm never going to lose my virginity. Honestly, I thought virgins were in higher demand than this. If I'd known it was going to be so hard to get rid of I'd just have given it to Mark Novak after prom because I'm beginning to feel like a carton of soon-to-expire milk. The one that people dig past to find a better carton, or just leave on the shelf altogether in favor of the fancier, sluttier milk, almond.

On the plus side, I've decided if I ever become a stripper my stripper name will be Almond. It's good to have backup plans and strippers never use their real names so I think this revelation was one well worth having. And I could use Ally for short when I want something a bit more playful. Almond for the serious customers with commitment issues.

I wonder if Rhys even knows what a dating app is? I decide he probably doesn't. He doesn't look like a guy who would need to swipe left, right, up or down to get a date. Which makes the fact that I offered myself to him on a silver platter all the more frustrating. Or maybe it should make it less frustrating? It should make it less, I suppose. If he was desperate to get laid and still didn't want to have sex with me that would be way worse than him having endless options and not wanting to have sex with me. Somehow this does nothing to make me feel better.

I do my best to test the theory that I'm mistakenly enamored with Rhys and could want someone else just as easily. It's never happened before, but maybe I haven't tried hard enough? So I try. I keep an open mind on that dating app. I open the messages I'm sent. I read them. I think about replying. When Josh—I remember his name now—when Josh asks if he can take me out for dinner I don't say no. I don't say yes, either. I dodge the invite with a 'maybe next weekend,' because I don't know, maybe? Maybe I'll snap out of this spell I'm under. Maybe my heart will stop beating faster whenever Rhys is nearby. Maybe I'll stop creating imaginary scenarios where Rhys and I are alone in an elevator. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Maybe not.

I want Rhys. And he must want me at least a little. He did make me come, after all. I can't imagine men make women come if they're not at least a little interested. Plus one of the times he saw me his gaze lingered on my lips. I think. I can't exactly be trusted when it comes to Rhys so I can't be certain but I'm pretty sure it happened.





"I need a Rhys badge," I declare as I set my lunch down and slide into a seat next to Payton in the employee cafeteria. It's been two weeks since he rolled me off his lap and left me with the parting words that we weren't happening. I still think we are.

"Are you really sure that's what you need?" Payton answers, fiddling with a straw wrapper and avoiding my eyes.

"Well, what I need is a plan, and positive reinforcements have always done wonders to motivate me. Why do you think I sold so many freaking cookies?"