Page 12 of Hot Girl Summer

“I’m serious. I need some cream or something...for my fine lines.”

“Your fine lines?” I scoff. “Did you read that in GQ, or something?”

“No. Men’s Health.”

There is no doubt in my mind that this guy is still most definitely an asshole, but that shouldn’t stop me from earning commission on what will most likely be an easy sell. From the look—and the smell of him—he likes nice things, and I’m sure as hell going to try my best to bleed his credit card dry. I cock my head towards a vacant beauty counter.

“Have a seat.”

He complies as I navigate the store, filling a basket with tester pots whilst still contending with my raging hangover. Every now and then, I sneak a glance in his direction, and in my territory, he looks completely out of his comfort zone. To my surprise, Mr Cocky is actually starting to resemble a human being.

Awhile later, I take a seat beside him, and proceed to ask the relevant questions regarding his current skincare regimen, water intake, exercise and skin type.

“So, these are your three basic items. Moisturiser, retinol and serum. Are you allergic to nuts?”

“Nope. Are you?” he asks, with a glint in his eye.

I deadpan. I am neither amused, nor impressed.

“Luckily, no. Otherwise I would probably be dead.”

As I explain the directions of each product, my curiosity steals a glance towards his hand, but there is no ring on his finger. Its absence completely throws me off my game, making me think that he’s playing some obscure version of spot the difference.

I find myself repeating steps of the recommended regimen, and generally getting muddled with my advice. Once I finish stumbling over my words, I finally close the sale. “Give it six weeks, and make sure you use factor fifty. Any problems, come and see me.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I mean, not just for your help.”

There it is, the reason for the missing ring. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s hiding in his pocket so he can fool me into being hit on.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for last night. I acted like a complete dick. I wasn’t in the best mood, and I took it out on you.”

“It’s okay, I’m used to being judged. Thank you, though.” Keep it short and sweet.

“It’s not okay. I should never have made assumptions on who you are because of the way you look. I was wrong, because you clearly have a lot going for you.”

He leans towards me, and Summer, my reckless alter ego, welcomes him into my personal space. I don’t completely hate it.

“I mean it.”

I have to hand it to him; this guy is pretty good.

We share a fleeting moment of awkward silence, and I’m not quite sure how to feel when his gaze lands on my mouth. I bite my lip, and he suddenly straightens his posture.

“So, how do you know all this stuff?” he asks.

“It’s my job, for starters. But mostly training and experience, like everyone else in this industry. Beauty and skincare has always been my passion. Ever since I was little, I used to raid my mum’s makeup bag, and...” I trail off, pulling myself back from where he’s leaning in, listening. “And I don’t know why I’m telling my life story to a total stranger, especially when I just told you I didn’t want yours.”

Most people I know have zero interest in what I have to say. People don’t listen; they wait for their turn to speak. So, I usually keep my thoughts to myself. It’s a quiet existence, but I’d rather not waste my words on someone who doesn’t care.

“For what it’s worth, I find you interesting.”

“Thanks,” I say, quietly. For whatever reason, I find it difficult to accept compliments when they aren’t aimed at my appearance. Maybe it has something to do with a lack of attention when I was young. Ever since I can remember, I have always been praised for my looks, but never anything else. I’ve never been super smart or talented, I don’t know how to play an instrument or knit or play golf. I was always that kid in the background, never really excelling at anything but what was only skin deep. My looks are the only reason people want to get to know me. On that awkward note, I change the subject. “Anyway, I’m sure I couldn’t do whatever it is you do, assuming you have a job outside of music?”

“I’m a wealth management advisor.”

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