I shake my head to clear it, but I can’t help myself. “You could’ve gotten caught. Fired, even.”
“I didn’t.” Yeah, there’s something super off about him right now. “And I’m pretty sure you would welcome my termination.”
My brow furrows, and as he pushes off the wall to step around me, I quickly jump in his way. “I don’t want you fired.”
“Aww, that’s sweet.” His joke falls flat, and concern pulls at my heartstrings. “If you really mean that, you’ll let me clock in.”
“But… I need to—”
“No offense, Candace, but I don’t have the energy or the time to help you become, what was it? Badass?”
I want to correct him. I wouldn’t say the a-word, even if it’s attached to another word. But since he doesn’t seem in the mood, I keep that comment locked in my brain.
“I won’t take too much of your time or energy,” I say, rushing my words as he scoots around me. He plucks his time card from the pile hanging on the wall and slips it in to punch. “I only need some tips. Maybe someone to help me through the more difficult stuff.”
I’m desperate. Images of last night’s art class start floating to my brain, the edges hazy as I try to stay in the hallway with Pete. I don’t want to admit to him what a walking, talking joke I am. He probably already knows.
He puts his time card in his slot and shakes his head. “Seriously, Candace, I can’t. I just got a dump loaded on my plate, and I’ll most likely be working day in and out for the foreseeable future. My free time is gonna be for eating, sleeping, and peeing.” A small smile cracks on his face, and I’m happy to see some of the usual Pete is still in there. “Like a wittle baby.”
He makes a cradle motion, and it gets a laugh out of me. I follow him out of the break room, jogging to keep up with his long strides toward Wheel Zone.
“You need overtime?” I ask.
“And then some.”
“What if I paid you?”
He stops in his tracks, and I skid to a halt. His brow lifts above his light brown eyes. “You want to pay me to hang out with you?”
“Don’t say it like that.” I playfully swat his arm that is annoyingly showing off his tattoos instead of being covered like it’s supposed to. “I need a tutor. I’ll be paying you to teach me the skills you’ve perfected over your years of flouting the rules.”
He lets out his signature laugh, and I’m happy to hear it, especially after his unexplained moodiness. A group of kids run past, and he lightly grabs my elbow to move us out of the way. We get to the hallway leading from the arcade to the 3D room. The place has stone walls, only lit by dim theater lights. The ambiance is completely appropriate to how much I do not want to talk about this.
“How much?” he asks, and I perk up at his sudden change of attitude. He’s considering it, so I don’t want to lowball him.
Dad paid private tutors around two-hundred a lesson, depending on what the subject was and how long it was taught. That should be fair for a good ol’ lesson in rebellion.
“Two hundred.”
He scoffs and turns. “Pass.”
“Hey!” I yell at his back. “Two hundred a lesson is completely fair if you ask me,” I spit, anger rising up my spine. What does he want? I may have money, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be taken advantage of.
He stops dead in the dark hallway, his eyes slowly meeting mine over his shoulder. “Two hundred a lesson?”
“That’s what I said.”
“I thought you were saying two hundred total.”
“Well, at two hundred a lesson, three lessons a week, that would be twenty-four hundred for the month, which is all I’m asking for.”
He makes a noise that sounds an awful lot like he’s choking on his own spit. A few more teens pass through the hallway, and he doesn’t move an inch to the left or right, making the group part around him like the Red Sea.
“You… you got that kind of money?”
“I’m good for it, if that’s what you’re asking.” I tap my hat, my fingers shaking at the possibility of him actually taking me up on the offer. “I can pay you half now, half when the month is over.”
I can’t see the details of his face, and I really wish I could. I wish I knew what the heck he was thinking. Does he think I’m absolutely nuts? Honestly, I don’t even care if he does think that.
He takes a step toward me, his face coming into the dim light. His lips are slightly parted, his breath coming out in fast wisps. His eyes are on me, not leaving as he makes his way to just within reach.
His shirt is untucked. I’m trying to be okay with that.
“Why?” he asks.
“Huh?”
He takes another step toward me. I stand my ground. “Why is this so important to you?”
I dart my gaze to another group passing. I’m not one for lying, even when the truth is so darn embarrassing. I can already hear Pete’s laughter once I admit what happened. But I suppose as my teacher, he should know what he’s up against.
“You know Zach?”
“The guy you attempted to woo, yes.”
His voice is teasing, and I try to use that to bolster my confidence. “He’s the model for my art class, and I like him… you know that already… and we’ve been painting his upper body mostly, since that’s where his tattoos are and my teacher was like, well, let’s get into detail painting. I love detail painting for sure, and with how many tattoos he’s got, it’s a good assignment, and I’m not complaining about the art process or anything, but I’m not too awesome at the realism stuff—”
“Get to the point, Candace,” he says with a smile, and I stop my babbling and take a deep breath.
“Up until last night, we were painting waist up. Then Zach came in with a robe on, and our teacher said—”
“Ah…” Pete nods knowingly, his eyes closing for a brief second. “Have you seen a naked man before, sweet innocent Candace?”
I smack him again. “Yes. Kind of.”
“Meaning?”
“I saw the end of Midsommar.” My face twists as I remember the movie I was promised was not a horror by Amber, but it totally was. “The thing was flopping all over the place.” I wave my arm around like the penis did in the movie, nearly knocking the 3D glasses off some girl walking by.
His shoulders move in silent laughter, and I squeeze in tighter by the wall.
“Anyway.” I lower my voice. Pete leans in to hear. He smells strongly of floor cleaner. “I kind of ran out of the class before I saw him—”
“Naked.”
“I was going to say disrobed.”
“Of course.”
“I waited around after, though. I wanted to… well, ask him out.”
“How’d it go?”
I tilt my head. “What do you think?”
He leans back, pushing his shoulder against the wall. There’s a look that’s similar to pity resting in his light brown irises, and no, no… don’t want that.
I blow out a breath and give the stone wall some great eye contact. “He said I’m not his type.” I gulp hard, swallowing away the crack in my voice. “He knows me all of three seconds and already figures I’m not”—I drop to a whisper—“bad-a enough for him.”