“Didn’t know you were my pimp, Gray Cap.”

He kept calling me Virgin Mary and Gray Cap, because he had no idea what my name was. The thought was depressing, but I held his gaze.

I didn’t know why, but having him look at me didn’t feel so horrifying. Maybe because he looked directly into my eyes, as opposed to being distracted by my scar.

“C’mon, she needs to save face,” I whispered. The combination of ‘save’ and ‘face’ made my stomach churn.

West turned back to the girl. She looked like she was holding her breath.

“The answer is no. The humble pie is on the house and so is the free slushie.” He handed her my slushie. I ground my teeth together. The girl took it, lowering her head dejectedly.

“Is it because I’m seventeen?” she asked, trying to keep her tone careless and flirty.

“Sixteen,” her friend coughed into her fist.

“No, it’s because if I indulge your underage ass, fifty schoolgirls will be lining up here tomorrow. I can’t afford the gas, the trouble, or the pissed-off daddies. Not to mention, I’ll get nothing out of this deal, since I don’t mix with jailbait. I’m not Netflix. I’m not made for your entertainment. Now beat it.”

“You givin’ lessons in etiquette in your spare time?” I groaned, pressing the back of my head to the food truck’s wall as I closed my eyes.

West kicked a crate around on the floor, moving it out of his way of the grill.

“Depends. You buying?”

I shook my head. “You were dang rude back there, St. Claire.”

“I’m their parents’ worst nightmare, the reason their daddies buy baseball bats and put on extra locks. They see me as an exotic animal, a rebellious phase. I’m not a pony they can ride in turns,” he spat, sounding surprisingly heated.

“That’s not what the rumors say,” I mumbled, eyes still closed.

Now I was the one making sexual innuendos? What was I saying and why was I saying it? His reputation was none of my business. Not to mention, even I was starting to see Karlie’s point. I was terribly out of line.

“Wanna know what the rumors say about you?” he taunted, but his heart wasn’t in it. His tone was stony. Emotionless.

“No.”

“Good, because you’re not interesting enough to be talked about.”

Turning my face to the window so he wouldn’t see me blush, I dropped the subject. He was right. He was being objectified. If he were a woman, I’d be offended on his behalf. But because he was a guy, I assumed he enjoyed the attention. I also owed him an apology for bossing him around. For a lot of things, actually.

“I may have overstepped,” I offered, after a few minutes of absentmindedly scrubbing lettuce from the window crack with a rag.

He didn’t answer. I thought maybe he hadn’t heard me, or chose not to accept the apology, but then he spoke.

“I may have been a dickwad about that ad. I just wanted the job.”

I turned around at the same time he threw me a smirk behind his shoulder.

It scared me to think Karlie was spot-on.

That I objected to working with him because I was intimidated.

That the world frightened me so much, I didn’t want to do anything that forced me to take one step out of my comfort zone.

“I don’t actually know your name.” He turned off the grill, throwing a dishtowel over his shoulder.

“Grace.” I cleared my throat. “You’re Warren, right?”

We both chuckled at that.

“Wallace,” he corrected.

“Cool.”

There was a beat of silence, and then …

“Truce, Grace?” He offered me his pinky. His raspy voice sent shivers down my spine. My whole body tremored. That couldn’t be good.

I clasped my pinky against his, feeling silly and dangerously not unhappy.

“Truce.”

When I got into my pickup, there was a message waiting for me from Karlie.

Karlie: Well? Do I need to fire him?

Me: He can stay.

Karlie: I KNEW IT. ADMIT IT. HE IS NICE. I KNEW HE WOULD BE.

I thought about his exchange with the girls. I wouldn’t call West nice. Hell, I wouldn’t even call him civilized. Fair, maybe.

Me: He is fine.

Karlie: Girl, he IS fiiiiiine. Just don’t fall in love with him. That’d be a total cliché, and he is the type to break your heart.

Me: That’s not a thing you need to worry about unless I’m a victim of a massive head injury, followed by a lengthy concussion. How’s the school load?

Karlie: It’s whatever. How’s your grams?

Me: Surviving.

Barely.

I put my phone down on the passenger seat and closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, I saw West on the other side of the parking lot. He was sitting there on the curb alone, the dusk framing him in furious orange, red, and gold, next to his motorcycle. He chewed on his awful candy stick, blankly staring at nothing, deep in thought.

As I watched him there, I didn’t see the most popular guy in college.

The sex god.

The illegal fighter.

I saw the loneliest boy I’d ever laid eyes on.

Sweet, confused, and lost.

And I thought, bitterly, he didn’t even know that across the parking lot sat a girl just like him.

Grace

The next couple weeks passed in a blur.

Between exams, attending lectures back-to-back and trying to keep up with my university assignments, I barely had time to breathe.

I’d ignored Professor McGraw’s request to secure an acting role in A Streetcar Named Desire, biting my nails down to the bed each rehearsal as I envisioned her blasting through the double doors, kicking me out of the course publicly. This, of course, never happened. The reality was Professor McGraw hadn’t gotten back to me with an answer on whether or not she was going to give me another extension on the performance part, which meant she fully expected me to contact Cruz Finlay for the role.

Which I didn’t.

I felt like I was suspended in the air, my feet on the last inch of a cliff, bracing myself for a fall.

It didn’t help that Grams was a handful. Marla said she was extra forgetful. That during her shifts she barely recognized her anymore, and that she was constantly in a sour mood.

Surprisingly, the one thing that wasn’t a total disaster was working with West. Not that we’d become best buddies or anything. Ever since he’d started working at That Taco Truck, waves upon waves of new customers began knocking on our window. It had gotten so bad we had to put up a sign advising people they had to make a purchase in order to get a selfie with the Almighty St. Claire.

But Karlie was right. They did.

Twice, I’d had to call Mrs. Contreras to get more ingredients because we’d run out, and most days, we barely had time to breathe, let alone engage in small talk. But the shifts passed quickly, and by the time I went home, every bone in my body ached.

West worked with his shirt off the entire first week. The second week, he brought a portable A/C. It looked brand-new, and dang expensive. He pretended that it was no big deal that he’d just bought (stole?) an air-con that was probably going to save our lives. He put it smack-dab between us, turned it on blast, and stood beside it casually. It was the day I realized not all heroes wore capes. Some were clad in dirty Diesel jeans, Blundstones, and shirts that had seen better days.