24 The Friendship of laborers

Gemma's POV.

Men always seem to recover from breakups faster than women.

While I'm still feeling down, Luke's life is already moving forward at full speed. One weekday morning, a beautiful woman wearing sunglasses shows up at the car dealership. She's dressed in a brown trench coat, a mini skirt, and high boots, with long, wavy hair cascading over her shoulders.

I recognize her face. She's Luke's previous blind date.

But she doesn't recognize me. When she sees me in uniform, she stops me and smiles politely, "Hey, is your boss here? I have an appointment with him."

I point her in the direction of the office and then return to selling cars to customers.

But today's customers are especially difficult. One has test-driven five times and still haven't made a decision. The other keep pushing for a discount. And the last one is in a rush, wanting to pick up his car tomorrow, as if cars could be manufactured, shipped, and delivered overnight.

After work, I'm exhausted and head to the café next door to buy a dessert to boost my energy.

I sit by the window, trying to find some happiness in a junk food, when suddenly a shadow falls over me.

I look up and see Jacob sitting across from me.

He's off work, his cap removed, revealing a head full of wild curls. He's wearing a black T-shirt with some exaggerated graffiti on the front.

"Hey, I saw your boyfriend with another woman here today having coffee."

I nod emotionlessly, "I know."

He raises an eyebrow and leans in closer, his eyes gleaming with gossip. "What's going on? You guys broke up?"

"Uh-huh."

Hearing that we've broken up, he chuckles, "Weren't you acting all smug before? How come you got dumped so fast?"

I swallow the dessert in my mouth. "If my misfortune makes you a little happier, then in some way, that's a good thing."

Jacob grins even wider, "If I were your boyfriend, I'd dump you too."

He eyes me critically, "You eat so messy."

"Uh-huh." I keep eating.

"And you have a bad temper. Always giving people bad reviews. Are you that free?"

I'm surprised he remembers something from so long ago, but I don't feel like arguing, so I nod, "Uh-huh."

"You're also petty. You even went through the trouble of getting a few dollars back for a teddy bear."

"Uh-huh." I nod again and keep eating, stuffing large bites into my mouth.

But as I eat—

"Hey! Are you crying?!" Jacob suddenly stands up, his chair scraping the floor with an ear-piercing screech.

He looks around and then lowers his voice, leaning toward me. "You're not trying to get me in trouble with the manager again, are you?"

I don't want to cry, but the tears fall on their own, landing in my dessert, creating little craters in the cream.

Jacob sits back down and hands me a tissue. "Could you stop crying? I'm terrified of women crying."

"Or is it that you just can't handle the truth? Did I hurt your pride?"

I take the tissue and keep crying. The more I cry, the more tears fall. Soon, even my dessert tastes salty.

Jacob lets out a long sigh. "I really can't deal with you."

He stands up and grabs my arm. "Come with me."

I have no idea where he's taking me. He's tall, and his strides are long. He pulls me along like an eagle catching a chick until we stop in front of a motorcycle in an alley.

"Get on," he says, throwing one leg over the moto and turning to look at me.

Through my tears, my voice comes out a bit shaky. "I... don't have a helmet."

"Such a hassle." He frowns, hands me his helmet. "Now it's fine, right?"

The cold wind makes me shiver slightly. I point at his head. "What about you?"

"At worst, I'll get a fine and lose some points. Don't worry, I won't die."

With that, he puts the helmet on me and fastens the strap under my chin.

The motorcycle roars through the cold late-winter night. I thought I'd freeze, but Jacob stays in front of me, blocking most of the wind.

We stop in front of a barbecue restaurant. I jump off the bike and follow Jacob inside.

The place is warm and crowded, but Jacob seems to know the owner, and we find two seats without waiting.

"Eat up. Today, it's on me," Jacob says.

When the owner brings the food, he winks at Jacob. "Did the sun rise in the west today? You actually brought a girl here?"

"Shut up," Jacob says. "We're just friends."

"Alright, alright." The owner looks at me. "Miss, have you been crying? Your eyes are so swollen."

"She just got dumped," Jacob answers for me.

"Dumped?" The owner shakes his head, walks to the counter, and returns with a bottle of vodka.

"If you've been dumped, barbecue won't be enough. You'll need this."

Jacob frowns. "Can you stop adding to the chaos?"

"What do you mean chaos...?"

The owner is about to argue with Jacob when I reach out to unscrew the vodka bottle cap and say to the owner, "Thanks."

It turns out alcohol is a great way to bond.

After a few drinks, I say to Jacob, "Actually, you're not as annoying as I thought."

Jacob clinks his glass with mine. "And you're not as old as I made you out to be."

"Why did you guys break up? Of course, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

I tilt my head back and down my drink. "It's nothing I can't talk about. I pursued him, but he likes someone else. That's all."

"You? You went after him??" Jacob repeats my words, sounding a bit incredulous.

"What?" I raise an eyebrow.

"In my mind, women who chase men usually end up in a weaker position."

I've had too much to drink, and my head is spinning. When I look at Jacob, it seems like he has eight eyes on his face.

So I laugh. "See? Even a kid like you knows the truth, yet I'm clueless, acting like a tail, following him around every day."

After saying that, I pour another small glass of vodka down my throat. The burning liquid makes me want to cough.

"Actually..." Jacob is tipsy too, squinting as he looks at me. After a long pause, he says, "That kind of persistence of yours is admirable. Honestly, if you loved a guy who knows how to appreciate you, he'd probably think you're a treasure."

"Thanks for the compliment." I smile.

"It's true," Jacob says. "These days, very few people are willing to give everything so selflessly, without holding anything back. Even married couples are always on guard against each other. It's exhausting."

It sounds like he's speaking from experience.

We drink way too much, so riding his motorcycle home is out of the question. Jacob leaves it outside the restaurant and calls a cab to take me home.

"Can you still walk? Should I help you upstairs?"

The taxi stops at the entrance of my apartment complex. Jacob rolls down the window, resting his chin on the ledge.

If it's any other man, I would suspect he had ulterior motives. But with Jacob, who's on the verge of falling asleep, his tone is genuinely concerned—just a sincere question from a young guy.

So I wave my hand. "Don't worry about me. Just take care of yourself and try not to throw up in the car."

He has drunk much more than I have.

The taxi drives off.

I take a deep breath of the cold late-winter air and stagger toward my apartment building. The lights are dazzling, and the numbers in the elevator are blurry. Leaning against the wall, I carefully count the numbers three times before pressing the button for the 4th floor and closing my eyes.

When the elevator doors open, I can't seem to open my eyes. The cold air from the hallway makes me shiver, and soon after, I feel like I'm being lifted, warmth surrounding me.

My consciousness fades in and out, and before long, I feel myself lying on a soft bed, wrapped in a cozy blanket.

Later, I feel something warm and soft touch my forehead, almost like a kiss.

I want to open my eyes, but the alcohol is too strong. After struggling for a moment, I fall into a deep sleep, unaware of anything else.

When I wake up, my head is pounding, and my temples throb.

Half-asleep, I sit up and realize I'm at home.

I grab my phone—it's already 11:50 a.m.

Which means... I've skipped work!!

I hurry to get dressed and rush to the dealership. The first thing my coworker says to me is, "Gemma, are you feeling better?"

The second thing she says is, "It's still cold out. It's easy to catch a fever."

The third thing she says is, "You should really wear more layers."

I stare blankly at her, asking in confusion, "Fever?"

"Yeah, you asked for sick leave yourself. Don't you remember?"

I pull out my phone and sure enough, there's an email sent to my coworker.

It must be a scheduled email. The timing is precise—sent at exactly 8:00 a.m.

Even though I was that drunk last night, I still manage to send a clear and organized email?

I try to piece together what happened, but my headache is too severe to think straight.

Jacob, meanwhile, also has a rough night.

He ends up throwing up in the cab, and the cleaning fee is $200. His already tight financial situation just gets even worse.