Page 7 of Bean
She laughed softly and kissed my cheeks one after the other. “How about I offer you a job instead?”
She’d been trying to get me to come work for her for years. She ran an organization that worked with trans youth who’d been kicked out and were living on the streets. It focused on trans healthcare, vocational training, and job and housing placement.
It was a good idea, but I wasn’t sure I was entirely qualified.
“You really want some washed-up corporate reject on your payroll? I mean, I’m a finance manager.”
She sighed. “If you keep talking about my best friend like that, I’m going to have to kick your ass, and I won’t even break a nail when I do it.”
I laughed, which felt strange because it was so genuine, but it also felt very good. “What’s the job?”
“Finance manager. Sort of.” She bit her lip, then said, “I’m kind of winging it here, but we need funding for the kids, and you’re good with money.”
She was right. I had always been good with money. And I could easily figure out my role once I got my foot in the door. That wasn’t the problem. “The pay sucks, doesn’t it?”
“For now, it does, but things are starting to pick up, and our funding has been increasing every year, and with your help, it could be even better. It’ll be enough to pay your bills and let you do a few shopping sprees a year if that helps.”
The truth was, so long as it didn’t leave me broke, I’d be happy. I had my severance and enough savings to float me for at least five years. My family and I had never been close.Their love language had been to teach me how to balance a bank accountand cook without burning my kitchen down before setting me free at the ripe age of eighteen and three months.
But the best lesson I learned from my dad was how to put money away.
Maybe I wouldn’t be taking any more trips to Rio, and I certainly wasn’t going to buy a yacht, but fuck that life. That was Gio’s dream, not mine. I just wanted to be happy, and I was pretty sure that being rich wasn’t my path to that goal.
“I know that look. Is that a yes?”
I sighed, but eventually, I nodded as my gaze caught the pile of papers on my coffee table.My divorce decree and the severance package information that had been in the box of shit from my desk. They were facedown and had a coffee stain on the back sheet from Ivy’s attempt at making me feel better with a hot drink.
“But I need at least a week, okay? To wallow.”
“And maybe meet someone?” she offered.
I grimaced. “There’s not a chance in hell I can date while in this condition. What good would I be to anyone?”
“First of all, you’re amazing even when you’re at your worst. Gio is a dipshit, and he’s eventually going to come crying to you because he’s not getting any younger, and that man doesn’t make enough to keep a supply of hot, young sugar babies.And we both know he’s too damn old and obnoxious to be one. Second of all, you don’t need to date right now. You just need a gorgeous human who isn’t your best friend that wants to play with your dick.A couple of orgasms will do you good, my love.”
She was right, and I’d been telling myself the same thing. The only problem was that I’d been planning to ignore that advice. But maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing. A couple nights where I could feel important to someone without all the complicated strings of a relationship?
I just needed to meet the right someone who wouldn’t ask me for things I wasn’t ready or willing to give.
“Eddie’s?” It was the rainbow-painted bear bar right by her work, and plenty of our friends had met casual hookups there.
She smiled. “I’ll be your wingwoman. Let’s go on Thursday.”
A few days to wallow and look like shit with enough time left over to shower, shave, and make myself into something resembling a man who had his shit together. Not ideal, but not the worst place in life I’d ever been.
I sat back and made grabby hands. “Give me your foot. I’m going to get good at this if it kills me.”
“Whatever floats your boat, babe.”For the first time in quite a while, I felt…well, maybe not better, but like there was a light at the end of this tunnel.
CHAPTER THREE
BEAN
My stomach was in a thousand knots as I watched Zayd take a bite of my fish taco. Had I gotten it right? The right amount of sriracha was hard since it was such a personal preference. I tended to add too much heat, probably because Tameron’s spicy cooking had fried my taste buds.
I once watched him put half a jar of cayenne pepper in his chili without blinking an eye. I faked an upset stomach and ate a sandwich because that level of heat would’ve eaten straight through my stomach lining.
But hopefully, the cotija cheese in my tacos would balance it out. I loved the crumbly texture, and it wasn’t as salty as feta cheese.