Free Not After Everything by Michelle Levy Page B

it’s nice of you to offer, but . . .”
    â€œI told you. I need to test the new kit. You’re doing
me
the favor. Now, go get your stuff and don’t make me ask you again.”
    I feel like such an asshole.
    Jordyn’s face contorts in confusion when I return from my car with my clothes. I can tell she wants to ask, but she’s still too pissed.
    I hope she doesn’t come investigate while he’s taking pictures.
    Henry smiles widely. “You remembered about the blue, I see.”
    I nod. But actually I didn’t remember him saying anything about blue. I just like blue.
    â€œStart with the blue shirt.”
    I shrug, pull my T-shirt off, and put the blue shirt on.
    â€œYep. Looks good, but did you dig it out of the bottom of your hamper or what? We’ve got an iron back in the kitchen.”
    I feel my face get hot. I’m not sure how to tell him that the one time I tried ironing after my mom died, I ruined my shirt. It’s not that I don’t know how to use an iron, it’s that . . . Okay, whatever, I don’t know how to use an iron.
    All of this must be transparent on my face, because Henry bellows, “Jordyn! Help us a minute?”
    Great.
    She stomps out from the front and awaits instructions, making sure to only acknowledge Henry.
    â€œIt seems this poor boy here needs a lesson in ironing. Maybe you can educate him while I set the lights?”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI’m testing out the new kit, and my friend Tyler Blackwell here doesn’t have any senior pictures. I can’t allow him to use those generic crap pictures in the yearbook. So he’s doing me a favor letting me test my new toys, and I’m doing him a favor so he doesn’t look back twenty years from now and curse himself for not getting real pictures.”
    I didn’t think Jordyn could look like she hated me more than she did with the jacket thing, but I was wrong. If she were able to make my head explode from one simple look, I would be blissfully out of my misery.
    Jordyn makes a gross throaty noise but she doesn’t decline or question his request. She glares at me the entire way to the kitchen. Before I can overthink it, I find myself following.
    Jordyn shoves me into the cabinet to get me out of her way. She retrieves the iron from the nearby closet. Then she slams the iron onto the ironing board and throws the cord at me. I catch it, much to her disappointment, and I search around until I locate the nearest outlet.
    The moments until the iron is hot are spent in awkward, silent hostility. I’m afraid to look at her. Occasionally Henry grunts or makes an excited noise in between clicks from the next room.
    I see Jordyn shuffle closer to the iron in my peripheral vision so I finally look up. She gives me a look that says,
Well?
    Apparently the iron is ready. I turn toward the studio to get the rest of my clothes, but her voice stops me. “You didn’t think to get your stuff while you sat here staring at the floor for the last five minutes?”
    â€œI just . . . I . . .”
    â€œOh. I forgot I’m dealing with a football player.” She turns back toward the iron.
    As soon as my shirt is unbuttoned, I playfully throw it at the back of her head, hoping I might snap her out of her bad mood. She grabs blindly, somehow managing to catch the shirt before it falls to the floor. Then she turns to glare at me, but when she sees my state of undress, her cheeks and ears turn the faintest shade of pink, and as she attempts to lay my shirt the proper way on the ironing board, the material slips through her fingers. Her discomposure is killing me and I’m trying so hard not to laugh. At least she doesn’t seem to be pissed at me anymore.
    After retrieving the rest of my stuff, I get uncomfortably close to her so I can see what she’s doing. I’m sure I’ll be expected to take it from here.
    â€œDo