Page 18 of Just for the Cameras
“That’s, uh—”
“Oh, and the one with the sixteen on her band? That’s Martha Stewart.”
This ought to be good.
“Let me guess, because she teaches the other flamingos how to garnish their krill with lakeweed and make swans out of a simple stick and dollop of mud?”
Maple looks me up and down with insult written all over her face. “No, because she likes taking thirst traps while lounging in the water.” She rolls her eyes and then moves away from the fence, as if I’m the insane one. “This way.”
I follow her, glancing back at the flamingos that, let’s be honest, smell fucking terrible, as she walks into the flamingo building. For a brief moment, as we make our way through the small hallway, my eyes fall to her backside, where her khakis cling to her heart-shaped rear and cinch around her waist, meeting her unflattering, tucked-in polo. A worn black belt is wrapped around her waist, keeping her pants in place, while the hem of her pants sits just half an inch off her hiking boots, making them almost high-waters.
It makes me chuckle. I don’t really know anything about her other than it seems like the flamingos are her friends, she doesn’t seem to take much shit, and she has one hell of a nice ass. Deceptive almost with her small frame, but she has a lot of curve in her backside. The perfect amount to grip onto.
To fucking ride.
To spank.
To…
“This is where we clean—um, hello?” Maple says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Were you just looking at my butt?”
Shit.
“No.” I casually lean against the wall, lying through my teeth, because yeah, I was looking at her butt. Her really nice butt. Although because I’m not one to show my cards—ever—I say the first thing that comes to mind. “I was looking at your high-water pants.”
Her cheeks flame red as she looks down at her pants, pressing on thefabric like she thinks it will make them grow longer, but failing as she adjusts them. “They aren’t high-waters.”
“Sure,” I say, feeling slightly bad about calling her out on her pants. I’m sure she gets paid shit for writing fan fiction about flamingos and feeding them, so she can’t afford many pants, but before I can attempt to find the words to apologize, she clears her throat and moves toward the sink.
“Um…what was I saying?” She clears her throat again, looking out of sorts…and embarrassed.
Shit.
I’m an asshole, I know this, but making someone feel bad who doesn’t technically deserve it is not the kind of asshole I tend to be.
“Maple—”
“You know what, let me just, um…” She spins around in a circle, looking every which way but at me. She’s so flustered, her cheeks burning red, her hands fidgeting while attempting to find something to do. My apology is on the tip of my tongue because I can tell I hurt her, but she says, “Oh yes, these, um…these are some dishes that need to be cleaned. Use soap and water and rinse thoroughly.” She brings me toward the sink, placing me right in front of the washing zone.
Uh, hold on one goddamn second.
She starts to step away, but I stop her. “You want me to clean these?”
She looks back at me, her eyes glistening. “I do, because they’re not going to clean themselves, and I have more important things to do than wash them.”
With that, she takes off, leaving me alone with a sponge, some soap, and the disgusting smell of bird shit.
CHAPTER 4
MAPLE
“He thinks I’m a dork,”I say as tears fill my eyes, attempting to hold them back, but now that I’m off duty and in the comforting presence of a friend, I know it’s impossible.
“What?” Everly, my good friend, says as she sets down her milkshake with a stern look crossing her features. “Did he say that to you?”
I shake my head as I twirl my straw around the chunks of Oreos in my drink. One of my favorite days of the month is Milkshake Monday with Everly. We meet every second Monday of the month at the Milkshake Bar and catch up on everything that’s going on in our lives. Funnily enough, she’s married to my ex-boyfriend—long story short, they are perfect for each other, and I don’t think I could be happier for them. But that’s how I met her, through my ex-boyfriend, and it’s a friendship I’ve clung to ever since moving back to the States, especially since my college friend Polly moved out of San Francisco.
“He didn’t say it, but he implied it.”
