Strut the Mall (Love at Westbrook Mall #4)

16. Clarifying Before Commitment

16

Clarifying Before Commitment

Flames crawled up my chest. That wasn’t what I meant. I didn’t want him. We’d barely re-met. I tugged at my shirt. “F-for content. Like I said.”

Zack stared at me, those thick eyebrows askew. “Are you talking about sex tapes or–”

“No.” I whipped around to make sure no one else speculated on that suggestion. Even my feet pics didn’t have guest stars in them. “I meant on my regular social media. Nothing scandalous.”

He frowned. “You’re not making any sense. If someone was bothering you online, you could just block them.”

Was he being purposely obstinate or was my suggestion so out there he couldn’t grasp it?

I rolled my eyes and shimmied past him to grab a few boxes. “It’s not about guys. I can handle internet creeps. This is about branding. My current image hasn’t exactly been working out for me.”

What was one more humiliating admission to the guy who saw me throw lemons over Zeezy’s?

For some reason, people didn’t like me for me. Or at least not the version of me on social media. Guys were generally more interested in pics of my feet than my face. Girls didn’t seem to care about my accessories and selfies. At least in the video with Zack, people related to us. It must’ve been because of that magical something that made him so popular in high school. If only I could get it to rub off on me.

I walked my fingers across cardboard boxes as I ambled down the aisles. “It’s probably stupid. But I thought if we could do a few more things together, even if you were talking off-camera, people would enjoy it. Then, from the comments, I could figure out how to drive my channel when it’s just me.”

Once I had people’s attention, I could probably keep the momentum going. The algorithms would change. And so would I, maybe.

I stuffed a box between two others. “At the very least, Theo would be more likely to believe we were dating and stay away from Fancee’s.”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed his neck, frowning at me through the grated backs of the metal shelving. “It seems kinda weird and, uh, unnecessary.”

“Right.” He didn’t need to hang out with me, nor did he want to, apparently. Working together was one thing, but as he implied to his cousin, forced proximity in the break room didn’t equal camaraderie. His number was only for emergencies.

I catwalk-strutted toward the sorting shelves for the next batch of boxes. “I’ll figure it out. Although you should probably leave before Andre asks you to move inventory. No one should be stuck back here without getting paid for it.”

“Hopefully, soon, I will be.” He chuckled.

Damn. Even his little laughs tweaked something in my chest.

I flashed him a weak smile over my shoulder. “Say hi to your cousin for me.”

“I will.” He cleared his throat and stood straighter. “Thanks again for the recommendation.”

“No problem. I hope it works out okay.” I’d thank him again for the Theo situation, but I’d rather not rehash it. He had to get on with his life and change into looser pants.

His grip lingered on the doorframe. “For what it’s worth, I think your page is probably great. With or without a fake boyfriend.”

Clearly, he didn’t have social media. Or any frame of reference. I rolled my eyes. “Thanks.”

Were we going to endlessly toss gratitudes back and forth until they were meaningless, like Theo dropping ‘baby’ every other second? I hated having any sort of reference to his bullshit. We were done with that. Two years was enough. Of course, two minutes ago, I’d tried to work out a transactional non-relationship. With the quarterback. Who just rejected me.

Once he left, I groaned and leaned my forehead against the edge of a box like some droopy, stupid wallflower.

Did the breakup make me super impulsive and pathetic? Or was my essence from high school repelling any cool factor?

The bell dinged.

I bolted upright and peeked into the shoe window.

Zack leaned over the desk and deadpanned, “Just wanted to make sure you were awake in case Andre came back.”

“Ugh, would you go home already?” I snatched a foam clog and marched out to him, brandishing the shoe like a baseball bat.

He squatted like he expected a tackle, his clothing straining to keep him contained. “Wow, first a lemon, now, a slipper?”

“Shut up .” I faked a warning swing at him.

His dodge and laughter made me chuckle.

“Oh my gosh, Zack. If we weren’t on camera…”

The security team was probably getting a kick out of the whole situation. It’d be another hit video.

Best not to think about that.

I waved with the clog. “Get out of here before you split your pants, Mr. Muscle Man.”

“Hey, you should be nicer to your fake boyfriend,” he said, sauntering off with a heavy dose of side-eye.

Heat shot from my cheeks to my toes. “You’re not my boyfriend. Or my fake boyfriend. You’re…”

He grinned over his shoulder. A silent, happy dare. Say it.

I swallowed back a few choice options and settled on, “Obnoxious.”

He rolled his eyes and vaguely waved. “Yeah. Thanks again, Nic.”

No. No more thanks. From now on, I wasn’t doing anything nice for him. No holding the door. No compliments. If, and when, he did that for me—as he was obsessed with being such a gentleman—I would pretend I didn’t notice.

If only he wasn’t so damned big.