Page 46 of Dear Mr. Brody
“Fine… I’ll play. Who did you see last night?”
“Oh… I never thought you’d ask,” he said with a shimmy of his hips. “None other than the hottie creative writing professor you think about when you’re jacking off with your little friend from Pegasus.”
If it wasn’t for my curiosity about Mr. Brody, I wouldn’t have continued the conversation. “Where?”
“Hemingway’s.”
“That hipster restaurant?”
“Yeah, he was there with your author crush.” Marcos gazed at me, waiting for a reaction I refused to give him.
“Cool, can I go now?” I asked with as much nonchalance as I could muster.
Was I curious about Mr. Brody? Absolutely. Did I think he was one of the most attractive men I’d ever seen? Definitely. But it was of no consequence. He was a hot guy, who happened to teach something I loved and nothing more. I was invested in James. Our chemistry was undeniable, and I couldn’t wait to find out if it would translate beyond the screen. I wanted to know him. Unravel him. Mr. Brody was fun to flirt with, but he was my professor, unattainable, and there were some boundaries that couldn’t be crossed.
“You’re jealous. I can tell.”
“Yup. I’m dying inside,” I deadpanned and he visibly deflated.
“Go to work, asshole.”
“Bye, baby.” I puckered my lips and blew him a kiss as I walked backward out of the room. “See you tonight.”
“If you’re lucky,” he called out, and I laughed as I closed the front door.
By the time I got to work, I was well over an hour late. I set my bag at the desk I used in the main office and headed back to check in with my manager. Rachel was a chill chick, and I didn’t think she’d be too pissed since I was always on time, but when I found her at her desk, with a glower on her face, I stopped short. Her usual friendly smile was nowhere to be found. Her russet eyes, tired, stared absently at the screen of her computer.
“I’m sorry… I know I’m—”
“I don’t care,” she said in an uncharacteristic snappy tone. “You missed the morning meeting. Everyone is flipping out.”
“Because I was late?”
She shot me a glare that silently said, “No, dumbass.”
“They’re restructuring Pride House.”
That didn’t sound good. And by the sullen look on most of the staff when I’d walked in, it sounded downright devastating.
“Is that code for shutting down or something?”
She huffed out a humorless laugh. “Or something.”
“Hey, Park.” One of the residents gave me a sad smile as he walked toward the kitchen.
“Hey, Jake.”
Rachel wiped her eyes with one hand, while handing me a slip of paper with the other. Her tears stained her dark cheeks, and it was surreal, watching her cry. She was always happy.
“What’s this?” I asked, my chest suddenly tight.
“The director’s new plan… he’s retiring.” She exhaled a wet breath and leaned back in her chair. “He sold Pride House to a non-profit out of Florida, and they want to make it a national company.”
This was huge, but I didn’t understand why she thought it was a bad thing. “Doesn’t that mean we’ll get more money to help the residents?”
“Sure, but at what cost? This is a home, not a business.”
“But there could be more homes… across the country. Rach, this is great news.”