Strut the Mall (Love at Westbrook Mall #4)

20. Give Me A Break

20

Give Me A Break

We sat in relative silence for a good ten seconds. Did Zack want to talk? Or was he more interested in inhaling those smelly sandwiches?

I squirmed and removed one earbud. “How was your first day so far?”

“Fine.” He jerked his chin at my phone. “What are you listening to?”

“Nothing yet. I’m purging my ex from my playlist.”

He wiped his lips with his fist. “His set wasn’t that impressive.”

Yeah, and we broke up, so it was inappropriate to keep them.

Zack’s phone buzzed. He quickly replied to a text, then set it down and made a ‘come hither’ motion. “Can I see the rest of your playlist?”

“Uh, sure.” Why did he care? I turned the screen toward him, though he tugged it closer to get a better look.

His rough fingers brushed mine. My heart jumped at the contact. Jerking back, I dropped my phone, accidentally relinquishing it to him.

At his questioning look, I picked up my salad fork and raised my chin as if nothing happened. “Just don’t judge me for my most-played songs.”

“Of course I’ll judge you.” He flicked his thumb across my screen. “Huh. What is it with girls and Stylin’ Myles?”

Bristling, I speared some tomatoes. “Lots of people like him. He’s Top Forty because his music is catchy.”

“Nah, he’s just pretty.”

I laughed. “Why would that matter when we’re listening?”

He lowered the phone. “He’s playing the sad boy act, whining about love and heartache when he’s got money and hordes of women screaming for him.”

I squinted and leaned forward. “Are you one of those guys who’s afraid to talk about their feelings?”

“No.” He scrunched in his seat.

“I can tell that you’re lying.” I held out a forkful of chicken and lettuce as if it was a microphone. “Do you believe the only acceptable forms of expression are rock music and tackling?”

“No. My family doesn’t allow me to engage in toxic masculinity,” he said dryly.

“What does that mean?”

“That means I can shovel and do laundry.” He wagged his eyebrows.

“Wow, and you’re still single? That’s amazing. You must have a really terrible personality.” I bit down on my fork with a grin.

He huffed and nudged my knee with his. “Ah, shut up. Now, let me know what you think of this.” He picked an old song, something I’d mostly heard in social reels and movies.

I flexed my toes to the beat. “Shelby was a lot less disruptive when we were eating.”

“Yeah, well, she’s gone, and now you’re stuck with me.” He held my phone up as if it could transmit music better that way. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s good, but it’s not going in my favorites.”

He nodded and stroked my screen. “That’s fair. The rest of your playlist isn’t bad.”

I rolled my eyes and smiled. “Gee, thanks. Can I have my phone back?”

“Yeah.” He handed it over, then reclined in his chair to finish sandwich number one. His legs splayed into the aisle, leaving room for my feet next to him on the chair. In this position, so casually in each other’s spaces, it was almost like we were a couple. Or friends. But we weren’t either, so I shouldn’t get too comfortable.

This time next week, he’d probably be surrounded by the warehouse crew. They’d be his new ‘team.’ In high school, the football players would pack into the long tables in the center of the cafeteria. Loud. Mingling. Eating their body weight in grease. I’d be at a four-person table, sharing with other wallflowers who wanted to play on their phones or nap for forty-five minutes.

“This is weird,” I said.

He paused mid-chew, his eyes wide. “What?”

“Sitting in the cafeteria, having lunch with the quarterback.”

Zack snorted. “I haven’t played in years.”

“What about college?” As our alma mater’s star player, he’d definitely gotten some kind of athletic scholarship.

“Yeah, uh,” he tugged his ear, “I played at State, but I got injured sophomore year.”

“Oh.” The idea of anything ever hurting him seemed so out of reach. “You never played after that?”

His Adam's apple bobbed. “Coach had me benched. Campus docs recommended I stay off the field.”

“Well, shit.” That was serious. He probably lost his scholarship.

He shrugged his meaty shoulders. “It’s fine. My mom never wanted me to go professional, anyway.”

“Why not? The money would have been phenomenal.” Plus, he was good at it.

His glance skated across the table. “I could tear a hamstring, get another concussion—”

Another?

“—and it’s too much travel,” he said, taking another bite.

I gestured to my phone, which was still playing the song he’d picked. “But aren’t you a musician?”

“At the bar and my friend’s garage.” He chuckled, pushing his food into his cheek so he could talk better. “We’re not gonna go on tour or anything like that. I’d rather be here for my family than shooting up for the mainstage.”

“So, you want to make an honest living in the warehouse and stay close to them,” I concluded, though that reasoning was kind of beyond me. Celebrity didn’t automatically mean messy. Or alone. Plus, hadn’t he gone away from them to State in the first place? Surely, he wanted more from life than to get by.

“Um, yeah. For now.” He knitted his brows at the blinking notification on his old phone, then glanced at the clock. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you want to be a model?”

Startled, I sat up straight. “I-I don’t know.” No one had ever asked me. They just said that was cool or gave me a lecture about the industry and my ability to meet its standards. “I guess I want to know what I do matters.”

“So why not be a doctor or a teacher?” It didn’t sound judgmental coming from him, just his usual straightforwardness.

“I don’t like homework. Or most people, to be fair," I said. At his laugh, I cracked a grin. “When there’s a camera between us, that feels like…a good distance," I said.

“I’m sure it does.” He glanced at his phone, then narrowed his gaze on me. “Do you also hate kids?”

Was he asking if I wanted them? I shrugged. “No. I’m an equal opportunist.”

“Good to know.” He smirked and texted someone again.

I bristled and nudged his leg. “Who are you talking to? I thought you hated people and technology.”

“My family.” He cracked his back with a stretch. “They, um, they wanted to check in about my first day.” His lip twitched as he set his phone so the screen faced the table. “They’ve also been hassling me about finding a ‘good woman’ in this new environment, especially as Valentine’s Day approaches.”

I snorted and re-crossed my ankles. “They must be over-the-moon that you work with the highest concentration of straight, single men in the whole mall.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the thing.” He tugged his ear and glanced at the analog clock. “I’m not interested in dating somebody I work with. That could get messy.”

“Okay?” I wasn’t asking him to be my fake boyfriend again, so there was no need to let me down easy.

“But I think, if you agreed, we could maybe…” His face reddened. Taking a deep breath, he glared at the table and spread his stance. “Maybe we could pretend to date.”