By a Thread

by Lucy Score

Was grumpy and rude suddenly the new hot? My vagina seemed to think so.

“Don’t even think about stiffing me for my paycheck, buddy,” I told him. “I know where your mother lives.”

The last snow had been pretty for all of five minutes. But the traffic snarls and gray slush defied whitewashing.

“Can Charm—your son fire me?” I asked. Her smile was feline. “No. Dominic can’t fire you.” “Okay, then. Do I have to be nice to him?” She leaned back in her chair, considering. “I think you should have the relationship you feel most comfortable having with my son.”

“You got me fired,” she yelled. “And I need the money, you buffoon!” No one in my entire life had ever called me a buffoon. At least not to my face.

“So I’m at the bus stop trying to figure out what to do before my bartending shift⁠—” “Ally is poor,” Gola explained to Ruth. “Got it.” Ruth nodded.

“Poor little gold-digging dumbass,” Gola scoffed.

“Your vagina must be made out of steel,” Ruth guessed. “Aren’t they all?”

“You know, you’d be a lot prettier if you smiled once in a while,” she mused, fluttering her lashes. No wonder women hated it when men said that.

I was an Ally sandwich with very handsome bread.

“We sell a fantasy. Clothing that reminds readers about illness or disabilities isn’t fantasy. It’s real life, and they’ve got enough of that.”

Her brown eyes were wide. She looked scared, and I decided I fucking hated that look on her.

Me: Are you drunk? Or do you only sprout a personality after dark? Or wait, is this Greta?

“Now go be productive and drop some hints that your supervisor has her eye on the new Marc Jacobs bag in case Linus needs to rehome it after the shoot tomorrow.”

“Be gone, woman.”

Ally smiled up at me, and I forgot about the coat and Linus and the cold and the dog tongue.

It bothered me that I felt compelled to take an inventory of every item she wore.

Harry was silent, and I looked up. He was sniffing the air. “You smell that?” he asked. I knew where this was going. “I do not.” “I do. It’s strong. Here. Let me waft it toward you,” he said, flicking his hands at me. “That’s the smell of bullshit.”

“There’s a fine line between annoyance and ‘damn, I really want to get that naked,’” he pointed out. “When I met Delaney, I spent fifty percent of the time wanting to murder her and fifty percent of the time wanting to get in her pants.”

You big, dumb lug of tattooed grumpiness.

You held the door for Nina in advertising last week, and she got a standing ovation. I’m not making this up.

I hated it when she walked away from me. It always felt like she took the light and heat with her.

Dominic had ditched his jacket and was rocking the rolled-up sleeves and suspender look. I finally felt like I understood what it was like to swoon.

It was blindingly unfair that a man who didn’t want to want me could get me in a sexual lather just by standing next to me. It had to be the cheese. I seriously needed to cut back. Everything Dom did felt like foreplay.

I wondered if I was leaving a trail of body glitter behind me like I was a Questionable Life Choices Tinkerbell.

“You kidnapped me!” “You’re an adult. It’s called abduction.

“You can’t carry me around like a bride,” she insisted. “Yeah, well, a few hours ago, I would have said you couldn’t jack me off in a strip club. I guess we’re both wrong.”

The urge to pull her to me and hold her was overwhelming and pissed me off all over again. So I picked a fight instead.

I wanted to believe in my bones that he was doing this as some stupid mind game, that he got off on playing puppet master with my life. But deep down, I was worried that it was something much, much worse. Dominic Russo was trying to take care of me.

“Don’t play dumb. You’re not pretty enough for that,”

“It’s a little ironic, isn’t it, that what’s harassment from one douche would be welcome coming from someone else?” Gola mused. “Consent makes everything sexy,” Ruth said. “To consent,” I said, raising my glass.

Poor Jersey bumpkin comes to the big city and catches the eye of the gorgeous, grumpy boss who refuses to fall for anyone. But there’s something special about her. Something he’s never seen before in a woman.”

Of course she’d look like that in fucking couture. Half angel, half devil in siren red. But I’d still be compelled to watch her from across the room if she’d showed up in sweatpants and an I Heart NYC sweatshirt.

“What are you doing?” My words were muffled against his chest. He stroked a big hand through my hair a little harder than he probably intended. His fingers snagged clumsily on bobby pins. “Hugging you.” “I can see that. Why?” “I’ve always wanted to,” he confessed.

“Who’s the most handsome boy?” Ally crooned, ruffling his ears. “I am,” I insisted. “But Brownie’s okay too.”

“Why are you so nice to me?” I wondered out loud. “I’m an asshole, and you’re all like ‘I’ll walk your dog.’”

I did as my Angel Ally asked.

“Only you can be surrounded by hot guys who clearly want to tear your clothes off yet still end up fully clothed and home alone on a Friday night.”

“Don’t push your privileged guilt off on me. I never asked for⁠—” “Anything. You never asked for any fucking thing. I can make all of your problems go away. I can fix all of this, and you won’t let me!”

I was asking her to trust me when I hadn’t ever given her a reason to. But I needed her to have faith in me.

“I hope you don’t see him trying to resign as him choosing me over you.” The bonds between parents and their children shouldn’t be so fragile. She turned to face me, a smile playing on her lips. “Darling, I think this is the first time that Dominic chose himself. I’m ecstatic.”

“That’s your mean, behind-your-back nickname bestowed upon you by the lovely and never-wrong Delaney,” he explained. Harry had once lost a bet with Delaney. The stakes had been he had to refer to her at least once a day as “The lovely and never-wrong Delaney.”

I forced your secrets into the open, while refusing to tell mine. It was never an even exchange. You always gave more.

I don’t ever want a life without your name in it.

I didn’t know how to forgive. I knew how to move on. And that’s what I was doing.

Maybe it was as simple as that. Loving someone, forgiving someone. Maybe it was about showing up and being strong enough to take the hurt.