Strut the Mall (Love at Westbrook Mall #4)

25. Heart Emoji

25

Heart Emoji

When I got home, I strutted to my bedroom and hung the red mesh dress in the closet. It was a magnificent, wearable trophy of the day Zack Turner and I became a team. With a triumphant smile, I turned on my heel and grabbed some cleaning supplies. Something about the day had invigorated me. We were going to be sensational. I could feel it in my bones.

I cleaned the apartment and rearranged the lighting for future hangouts and filming. Everything was going to be perfect. My fingers itched to post our protein shake video. However, I’d promised Zack to soft launch his family into our relationship without the suggestion of PDA.

I propped my phone on my vanity and watched some reality shows while I washed up for my bedtime routine. Those people were effortless in front of the camera, dramatic and entertaining. Zack and I were fine in that capacity. It was the family-friendly content and his aversion to smiling at my phone that were holding us up. Maybe I could sneak in a candid. Something that said something about him and his personality.

High-school-Zack merged with adult-Zack in my brain, forming an imaginary reel of my ‘beefcake’ playing touch football in the park with his friends. He’d wear bright green shorts and a white tee with tasteful finger-printed dirt stains possibly caused by me.

Only he didn’t play anymore. Plus, there was still snow on the ground. Adult-Zack liked other stuff, I just had to play into that.

I texted my fake boyfriend.

Me: Hey, when does your band play next?

Zack: At the bar? We do it about once a month, so prob a few weeks

That was too long to wait. We had to ride our New Year’s Eve video’s popularity, push the algorithms, and keep posting.

Me: What about practice?

He didn’t respond right away, so I presumed he was checking his schedule.

I sat on my mattress and took a video of me putting lotion on my feet amid Egyptian cotton sheets with the caption, “Healing up fast thanks to all the love 3.” That’d give my clients a nice treat before bed. Their tips helped pay for my indulgence from earlier today. Heart emojis flooded my inbox. I returned a few messages, then propped my phone on the wireless charger. Maybe it was stupid of me not to stay up and make more money, but I needed my beauty sleep.

I hugged my pillow and slipped a foot out of my nest of sheets. Everything was so cozy. I bet Zack would conk out immediately after a long day of warehouse duties. At least we’d both had plenty of protein. As I drifted off to sleep, I kept thinking about fluffy sheep. In my mind, Zack ordered them to jump over the fence as if they were part of a football team. He’d blame his shepherd duty on me for trying on that peasant dress. I giggled and snuggled deeper into the sheets. It was a nice dream.

A text alert chimed from my phone. I sat up and squinted at the screen, assuming Zack finally responded to me.

Theo: Hey

Why was my ex messaging me at one o’clock in the morning?

Theo: u up?

Oh no. That kind of message meant he wanted to hook up or talk. He’d probably been emboldened by my blatant staring at the mall.

I groaned and silenced my phone. Theo had his Zeezy’s, and I had my…branding. We didn’t need to have a heart-to-heart in the middle of the night. Or ever. Part of me was tempted to ask him if Bigfoot had fallen asleep already.

I rolled over and grit my teeth. Two years. Now, we were nothing.

Or a potential booty call, apparently. I thought he’d at least be conscious of the fact that Zack could beat him up or prevent him from performing at that bar again. Not that I was rooting for him to enact my vengeance in that way. But if he did…

I sighed.

He probably wouldn’t. Zack was too much of a gentleman. He was too classy to do a lot of stuff, I imagined. He wouldn't cheat. Rubbing my feet together, I glanced at my phone. He probably wouldn’t date a girl like me. Except, for now, he was. Hypothetically. The next few months, we were committed to being happy, no matter how classy, funny, or embarrassing we were privately. Hopefully, he’d text me back.

I curled my hands into fists to staunch the adrenaline pounding in my veins, and eventually, I managed a restless sort of sleep.

By the time I trudged to the shoe desk the next day, Andre was pacing near the show window.

“Hey. You’re late,” he said.

By what, two minutes? I’d clocked in one minute past the hour, and part of that time was waiting for everyone else to scan in from lunch. “Traffic,” I said. I sipped from my thermos.

He wobbled his head with condescension. “You still had time to get coffee.”

“This is a natural energy drink from home, actually.”

“Well, clearly, it isn’t working,” he snapped.

There was no point in arguing with a self-righteous alcoholic. He was probably having withdrawal pains or saw his bank account after the latest divorce lawyer fees. I set my drink on the shoe repair table. “Sorry it took longer than usual today. There was a line at the clock-in station.”

“We need to see some hustle. Card memberships. Email captures.” He pushed up his glasses and frowned. “Cassandra is already on her lunch break. I need you in the window immediately.”

“Okay.” When I got there, no one was on the sales floor. No customers. Not even a passer-by. Good thing I got out there immediately. I crossed my arms and leaned against the counter. Andre could’ve covered the shoe window another two minutes. I’d been waiting all day for Zack to get back to me, and I hadn’t snapped yet.

Finally, some lady snatched a couple of display designer boots and dumped them on my desk. “Seven,” she said.

Was she ranking herself on a scale of one to ten?

I gathered her selection. “That’ll be a minute.”

“I want to try on every color,” she called to my back.

It wasn’t like they’d fit any different, but whatever. More stuff to put away later. I nabbed my drink from the shoe repair bench and checked my phone. No new messages. I stuffed my phone into my back pocket, then sipped my breakfast as I tracked down the customer’s shoes. One of the alternate colors was on a shelf that required a ladder. Shit.

I set my drink down, then dragged the squeaking ladder over. Stupid Miss Seven. Stupid shoes. Stupid men . I stacked the boxes in one arm and wobbled on my grumbling way down the steps.

“Hey. Hey .” Zack trotted over to steady the ladder, one hand firm on my hip despite the precarious stack of boxes about to tip onto the floor and spill my drink.

“What?” I stepped back and accidentally dug my elbow into the solid wall of muscle on his chest. Forget quarterback, he could’ve been a linebacker, a major defense.

He steadied the boxes by wrapping his arms around mine. “Be careful. This is a lot to carry.”

“I can handle it.” I inhaled deeply, surrounded by the faint musk of dust and old spice. Being trapped between him and a ladder must’ve made me claustrophobic or something because my heart pounded until my whole body was warm. “Aren’t you supposed to be moving inventory?”

“We’re between shipments,” he said.

I tried to ease him out of the way with my hip. “All good so far?”

“Yeah.” He swept some of the boxes covering my face out of the way.

I narrowed my gaze at him. “Not too tired , are we?”

“What are you talking about?” He chuckled, following me toward the shoe window with Miss Seven’s haul. “Because you made me go shopping?”

Part of me wanted to get snippy with him, but he hadn’t exactly disrespected me. The guy was carrying boxes to help me out. I shouldn’t be so focused on a text, especially since he wasn’t even really my boyfriend. I had to talk to him like a coworker and assert my expectations without douching it up like Andre.

“You never responded to my text last night. I thought you passed out,” I said.

He knitted his brows. “No, I—”

Ding. The bell chimed.

“Ugh, more customers. I’ll be back.” I loaded up my other arm with his half of the boxes and rushed to the shoe window before a second ring could summon Andre. By the time I was able to dart to the back again, Zack was gone, but my drink canister was on the shoe repair table, and I had a notification on my phone.

Zack: Tomorrow, 10:30 a.m. He sent me a link to an address. Be ready to rock.

I chuckled. Who rocked out mid-morning?

I double-clicked on a heart emoji and sent it. The red shapes flooded my screen like confetti. Inhaling sharply, I recoiled from my screen. Oh no. I’d triggered some kind of interactive thing. This was meant to be a casual ‘like,’ not a flood of feelings. I tried to cancel it, tapping anything and everything, but a checkmark confirmed it’d been delivered.

“Shit,” I muttered. I had to unsend the heart emoji before he saw it. Pressing the screen, I held down until the option surfaced, my thumb shaking from the effort. He couldn’t see this…thing.

Ice rattled and shoes clomped as someone quickly rounded from the warehouse hallway. “Hey, Ni-ni. Who ya texting?”

I whipped around and clutched my phone to my chest. “Cassandra. Don’t scare me like that. I almost had a heart attack.”

“Is Andre still grumpy?” Eyes wide, she sipped her extra-large iced coffee from The Bern, the mall’s hipster haven where Harvey worked. “Maybe I should hide this in the stacks so he doesn’t see. I can warn you if he’s coming.” She loudly tip-toed to the shoe window and peered out. “Whoops, someone’s waiting.”

“I can get it in a second.” I just had to send a normal heart emoji, but the idea of it exploding again unnerved me. Thumbs up was too noncommittal. There was a hand emoji with the pointer and pinky fingers up…that meant ‘rock on,’ right? I’d seen people do it before concerts. I sent that instead of my heart.

Zack: lol

Crisis averted.