“Right. I get to eat all day long. It keeps my hands busy and my energy up, so I’m not complaining. It’s kinda expensive eating out so much, though.”
“You don’t cook?”
He shrugs and selects another fry. “My father taught me how to cook the essentials; beans and toast are a good protein boost. I can cook for sustenance, but not for flavor. So that’s why I visit Ginnie.” Turning with a grin, he accepts the tall glass of soda when she stops by our table and shuffles it in front of me when she sets a second down. “Thanks, Gin.”
“Welcome, honey. Ready for your dessert?”
“Yeah, bring some for Soph, too?”
“Of course,” she laughs. “I wouldn’t dare make you share. Back soon.”
“So, you used to dance, but not anymore. You eat a lot and visit the diner as often as I do.” He turns so his leg hitches up onto the bench and leans against mine. “What do you do for a living, Sophia Solomon?”
“I work in customer service.”
He lifts his soda and sips. “Care to elaborate?”
“If I must…” I grumble. “I work from home sometimes, and sometimes on location somewhere else. I take phone calls, usually complaints, and placate the whiner until they hang up.”
He sets his Coke down with a snort. “You’re in a call center and take customer complaints.”
That’ll do.“Yup. Seven days a week. I’m always working.”
“But not between the hours of five and six in the morning.”
“No.” I use my last few fries to mop up the ketchup that dripped from my burger. “I’ve usually already been up a few hours by that point, and by then, I need to eat again. So I come down to stretch my legs, then I get back to it.”
“You work before five in the morning?”
“Sure. The whole world doesn’t revolve around our country, and there’s always someone awake somewhere. There are whiners everywhere.”
“Do you speak other languages?”
Effortlessly, he extracts my story and makes it seem so easy. “None that are super helpful to my job. Most people in most of the countries I communicate with still speak English. Sometimes I have to work in a little Mandarin and–”
“Mandarin?” he cuts in. “Like, Chinese?”
“Uh-huh. I also speak Arabic. But my job mainly deals with English-speaking countries.” I pick up my Coke and fold my other hand over my bloated belly. “What do you do for work?”
“Me?” I swear, it’s like no one has ever asked him that before. Or maybe he was telling the truth about never speaking to women. I doubt Jay discusses his career while fucking. “I sell fridges.”
“You…” I choke on my soda and set the glass down. Accepting his offered napkin, I mop the mess from my chin. “You sell fridges? You’re joking, right? Like, if you’re going to lie, you should at least come up with something cool. You have the broad chest and shoulders, so you could say you work in a warehouse, or you’re a pro athlete, or maybe you stack sandbags or something. But you’re telling me you turn up to work every day wearing a tie and a pen in your breast pocket, and you sell fridges to every Susie Homemaker who walks in?”
Shrugging lazily, he hides a small grin and spins his fork between our plates. “The only thing I heard just now is that you think my body is sexy, so…”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” I turn back to face my empty plate and fold my arms over my stomach. “You’re delusional and a liar. You don’t sell fridges.”
“I don’t know who you think you are that you think you can call me a liar. But whatever, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”
“Fine,” I huff. “Why aren’t you at work now?”
“I took the day off.”
“Why?”
“Doctor’s appointment.”
I narrow my eyes, because he’s such a liar. “Why? What’s wrong with you?”