Page 24 of After All This Time

Can you come in tonight?

AMELIA

Sure, just send me the location.

I'm excited.

Do I need to work? No.

One phone call is all it would take to have money wired into my account faster than you can say "spoiled brat." Butthat's exactly what I don't want. I want to be independent in everything, including financially.

Yeah, our apartment is paid for, and yes, my mom deposits money into my account every week, treating me like I'm some kind of kid needing an allowance.

I won't pretend I haven't used any of it, because I have and hate it. It just feels wrong to spend it like I'm some pampered princess who can't take care of herself—someone who's just coasting through life without having to lift a finger—when, in reality, I've spent years using every muscle and every tendon, trying my hardest to perfect this thing I love, fighting for it in ways my mom will never understand. It's blood and sweat and aching joints, chasing a dream she still calls a "hobby," no matter how much I've bled for it.

I wonder if Tobias ever sees me like that—some fragile girl who can't get by without her family's money?

No. He knows me better.

He knows I've been working my ass off to get to where I am—he may not have really seen me dance before, but he knows how much time I used to put in at the studio and how many late nights I would spend pushing through the ache in my muscles and the pain of my blisters just so I could better myself.

People’s opinions don’t usually get to me, but his? Yeah, that one hits different.

After a long shower, I pull on a pair of denim cutoffs and a white T-shirt—effortlessly casual but still cute enough to feel put together. My hair dries in soft, natural waves, and I throw on just enough makeup to look alive.

Grabbing my keys and phone, I shove them into my back pocket and approach the door, colliding straight into Tobias as he strolls into the apartment.

"Hey, you going somewhere?"he asks.

"I'm going to see someone about a job."

"You serious?"

"Yeah, why?" I bite back, crossing my arms defensively over my chest.

"Do you even need a job? I know you get your lifestyle paid for."

"My lifestyle?" I spit the word back at him like venom. "Are you fucking serious?"

"I'm just saying you don't need to worry about food or anything else you might need. Don't take offense, Mills."

"Well, maybe as a twenty-two-year-old living away from my parents, I don't want to rely on their money. Maybe I want to do a little something for myself." Now I'm just frustrated because, of all people, I thought he'd understand.

"Where is it?" His curiosity is barely masked as he leans against the doorframe.

"It's a bar. Dawson's Tavern."

"Never heard of it."

"This guy I met, Logan—his family owns it," I say as I pull out my phone to check the time.

"Who the hell is Logan?"

I roll my eyes so hard I'm pretty sure they might fall out of my head, already over this whole overprotective big-brother thing. "I met him the night I went to that dance meetup."

"Is he a nice guy?"

"Well, he's helping me out with a job, and he doesn't have to, so yeah, I'd say that puts him in the nice-guy category. Low bar, I know, but I'll take what I can get."

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