Page 17 of Unhitched

Chapter nine

Kace

“I can’t remember the last time I was at the mall,” I admit, leaning forward to peer through the windshield.

I knew they still existed, but I didn’t realize people still go to the mall.

I’m pretty sure I haven’t been since I was sixteen–the year I refused to accept any back-to-school clothes from my mom unless they were graphic tees from Hot Topic or Spencer’s.

As much as I love the tech industry now, it has its flaws. Besides the whole black hacking industry, there’s nothing like having to buy memes as bunny stickers instead of opening an app on your phone to see them everywhere.

“Well, you can’t say that anymore,” Mya’s peppy voice comes from the driver’s seat. How is she so fucking happy all the time? I’ve never been one to catch sickness from anyone around me, but the way she exists is starting to make me wish she was contagious. “Come on!”

I groan, getting out of the car and following her through the automatic glass doors leading inside.

Today has already been a day, and while I’m growing comfortable around Mya at a concerning rate, I’d rather not be in public dressed this ridiculously.

Besides the fact that Mya looked like she wanted to rip my clothes off–in a good way–there is nothing attractive about this outfit.

But truthfully, her planned activities could have been much wors– “No.” How I have any clue what’s next is beyond me.

But I do, and I refuse. I stare up at the giant white JCPenny letters above the entrance to the department store. “I’m not doing this.”

Mya spins on her heels to face me, the skirt of her short dress flaring.

I didn’t purposely find one that short. I didn’t even look that hard.

It was like the third thing I saw on the rack.

It’s not like I wasn’t playing along. I got lucky.

If any article of clothing screams the bright bundle of chaos that is my new roommate, it’s this dress.

And for how retro it is, she pulls it off–especially with her new hair half tied up in Princess Leia buns on top of her head.

Her grin widens, and it’s annoying that I find her so cute. “Fine. Just forfeit now, and let me pay.”

Here’s the two things: Without being privy to Mya’s entire financial situation–not wanting to ask and not knowing how much crafting pays on a consistent basis–I’m not sure she makes enough to cover half of my rent.

I don’t want to assume or sound like an arrogant asshole.

I’m not rich by any means, but my place is not cheap.

When Ruby and I moved into it a year ago, we both had well-paying jobs.

The second issue is that I still feel responsible for her predicament.

It’s insane to deal with that guilt by taking in a complete stranger, but here we fucking are.

I didn’t see a better option then, and I don’t see one now.

It’s only short-term anyway, and all of this will be a blip in the matrix of my Groundhog Day life.

Regardless, this date day is absurd. Who even thinks of this?

Groaning, I press my hand against her lower back to nudge her forward.

“Let’s go.” I’m not one to half-ass something, even if it’s something I don’t want to do.

And Mya is right. I should at least try to have a good time if I want any chance at winning this bet.

She glances over her shoulder with a smile that makes me simultaneously feel more at ease and on high alert. This girl is a walking contradiction. Calming chaos. Is that a thing? I sure as shit wouldn’t have bet on it.

We approach the JCPenny Portraits counter, and Mya sweet-talks her way into squeezing us in between appointments.

Of course she didn’t call ahead. Between this and her out-of-date registration sticker I noticed before our fast and furious drive here, I’m wondering if this girl ever truly plans anything in her life or if she just flies by the seat of her pants.

“Follow me,” the photographer says, leading us to a private room.

This is insane. Ruby made us take professional pictures a few times for Christmas cards, so it’s not like I can’t make it happen.

I’m more than capable of following guidance and mustering all the patience I possess for thirty minutes.

“So, what vibe are you going for?” the lady asks Mya.

“Well, you see. Kace and I have known each other since we were in high school. For our graduation, we took silly pictures for our yearbook–something fun to look back on, you know?” The lady nods with an appreciative smile, and Mya continues.

“I was hoping to recreate it now that we’re older.

Keeping the spark and memories alive and all that. ”

“That’s so sweet.” The photographer clutches her hand to her heart. “I can’t wait. We’ll get you the perfect shots. I have a few ideas from when I did this job in the early 2000s if you don’t mind me taking the lead?”

“Not at all,” Mya replies, linking her arm with mine.

“Just don’t be disappointed if this one doesn’t smile.

It might be best if we go for those creepy straight-face looks, so it’s one less thing he has to worry about.

He’s mastered staring at me in a way that gives no emotion. It’s actually quite impressive.”

This entire story is made up, but the last part…

does she think I stare at her? Have I been staring at her?

It’s possible. Besides my working lunch breaks, I don’t get out much.

And since I was in a committed relationship for nearly a decade, I wasn’t actively looking at women.

But Mya is hard to avoid. Yeah, she’s beautiful.

But she’s also captivating in every sense of the word.

The way she’s unapologetically herself. Her energy–it’s charismatic, magnetic and annoyingly enigmatic at the same time, even to someone who would rather be left alone and is content not talking to anyone.

Mya is the sun. She’s bright in a way that makes you want to both step closer or hide in the shade.

She’s tempting in a way that melts your icy heart or burns you.

I just don’t know which side of the sun I’m standing on, and worse, I’m not sure which side I want to be on.

All I know right now is that I need to get through the next thirty minutes, and then I’ll go from there.

“I can work with that,” the lady says, guiding us toward the light blue backdrop.

The setup looks like it followed her here from the 2000s.

“Okay, how about we start with a traditional prom pose? What a cute nod to the original pictures!” She’s downright giddy about this fabricated story. “Oh, I wish I could see them!”

“You would love them,” Mya gushes like she’s in love with photos that don’t exist.

The lady clasps her hands under her chin like this is the dreamiest fucking story she’s ever heard in her life.

“Alright, you two. Let’s get you situated.

Mya, you stand right here, honey.” She points to a small “x” on the blue backdrop that extends straight from the wall and onto the ground.

Mya walks into place, glancing up with a grin and awaiting the next direction.

“Okay, Kace. Now, why don’t you stand right here.

” She taps her toe in the space directly behind Mya.

Knowing that if I complain or argue this will only take longer, I oblige the woman, stepping behind Mya and leaving a few inches of space between us.

“Okay, now put your hands around her.” She grabs my wrists and places them on Mya’s waist. My hands slide over the satin of her bow until they’re resting on the layer of lace right beneath them.

Fuck, this dress is short on her. It doesn’t fall much past where my palms rest, and my natural urge to do something else with my hands is strong.

Luckily, in the next moment, the photographer adjusts Mya’s hands so they rest on top of mine, holding them in place. Thank fuck for that. Who knows where they’d end up. My entire life feels surreal right now, like I’m hovering outside of my body, watching it be possessed by someone I’ve never met.

I can’t quite figure out how I feel about that.

As much as this is not my idea of a good time, I don’t hate being around Mya.

She feels like the friend that drags you to the pool when you’re convinced it’ll be way too cold, and then you have a blast. I need a friend like that.

I can drag myself to lunch every day, but that’s not enough to live .

But on the flip side, there is a level of attraction here.

Whether it’s because I haven’t had sex in months or specifically because it’s Mya is still up in the air.

Her hands are warm against mine as she brushes her thumb over my knuckles, and I hate that I like it.

“Perfect.” The lady picks up the camera that hangs by a strap around her neck. “Absolutely perfect. Mya, honey, stop smiling. Give me the best straight face you’ve got.”

With my face next to Mya’s, my eyes nearly cross trying to catch her expression.

I barely see it attempt to change, but I’m not sure this woman could keep a straight face if her life depended on it.

I mean, she accidentally hacked her hair off and wasn’t bothered at all.

“It’s so hard,” she murmurs, glancing back at me slightly.

I lean in to whisper in her ear. “If you don’t want to give this your all, you could quit now.”

Mya spins in my arms, my hands automatically locked on her waist. Her palms fall to the minimal space between us, landing on the chest of this puffy fucking vest. Her wide eyes meet mine, and I can’t help but smirk as her mouth opens and closes again without saying anything.

“Don’t underestimate me, Levitt,” she snaps back.

She’s trying to be sassy, but her smile gives her away.

“Oh my god,” a voice comes from behind Mya, and I glance up to find the photographer swooning. “You two are adorable.”

I refocus on Mya, sarcasm dripping from my tone when I mutter, “I think she meant to say, ‘terrific actors.’”

“This is almost the perfect shot. The only thing that would make it better is if you kiss,” the woman says.

With my eyes on Mya, I watch her flip through thoughts as fast as a kid clicking through images on a View-Master. She turns back to the photographer. “No, it’s okay. Kace isn’t big on PDA.” Turning back to me, she gives me an apologetic smile.

“Oh, come on,” the woman presses. “There’s no one else around, and these photos are just for the two of you anyway.”

Mya looks at me, eyes begging like I’ll come up with a better out than she will.

I want to tell her no and leave, but Mya is determined to help with rent because she wants to stay at my place.

The vision of her packing her bags when this becomes something that doesn’t work for her because I won’t play along for five fucking minutes keeps me in place.

While it seems like Mya has a better relationship with her parents than I do with mine, she was adamant about not moving home.

I can’t imagine going backward, and while I’m sure Mya would find another solution, our current arrangement works for her.

At least for now. “It’s fine.” I sigh. “It’s just a kiss. ”

“But we’re not dating.” Her voice is low enough that I’m the only one to hear her.

I hold firmly to her waist. “Have you never kissed someone you weren’t dating?” Suddenly, I’m curious to know if Mya had a bachelorette phase the way I had mine.

She nods. “I have, but…”

There’s no thought to follow, just her eyes searching mine for sincerity or maybe a sign that an alien has possessed me. “It’s fake, Mya. Just like this date– ”

And then her lips are on mine.

Shock vibrates through me as her hands slide up my neck and into the ends of my hair. She presses up on her toes to level us out, triggering me to kiss her back. My fingers dig into the lace at her waist, and all the space between us disappears.

Neither of us press for access, but I can already tell this is all wrong.

It’s weird. Unfamiliar. Foreign. I hate it.

She’s not Ruby. I don’t want her to be. I don’t want to be kissing Ruby either, but after not touching anyone else for eight years…

eight fucking years… it’s too fucking weird.

Especially with someone I’m afraid to let into my space more than I already have.

Dropping my grip on her, I hold my hands up in surrender, breaking our kiss and stepping back. I watch Mya’s eyes go wide and only take in her shock for a moment before I shake my head. Overwhelmed, I make a break for the exit, needing air.

I vaguely hear Mya apologizing behind me, then she’s calling my name. Her voice gets louder with each pass until she’s nearly screaming when we reach the car.

“Kace! Stop!”

I spin to face her, my fingers threading through my hair and linking on top of my head. “No, Mya. You stop. Let’s just go.” I reach for the passenger door handle, yanking on it to no avail.

Instead of walking to the driver’s side, she invades my space.

“What did I do wrong? I thought you said it was fine if we kissed?” Her brows pull together, and I think it’s the first time I’ve seen her so genuinely concerned.

But her worry isn’t strong enough to pull answers from me.

I’m not mad at her. I’m angry at myself for being fucked up over this.

Of course I want to kiss Mya. How could I not?

She’s beautiful, interesting, and the brightest light in my dark fucking world lately.

A real kiss would probably feel like a jolt of electricity waking me from death.

But it’s weird or too soon or something , and I don’t know how to fix that.

“I don't want to talk about it, Mya. Just drop it. We’re not going to have a fucking heart-to-heart about our past relationships because of one half-ass kiss.”

If her heart were outside of her chest, I’d swear it just dropped with all her hope. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry,” she says quietly and defeated.

“Let’s just go home, please.”

“Of course,” she whispers, digging her keys from her fanny pack clutched in her hands. Making her way to the other side of the car, she drives us both home with tension so high I’d rather be listening to her excessively bubbly pop shit on repeat.