Not After Everything by Michelle Levy

you mind?” She elbows at me not meaning to make contact, but she hits me in the stomach, which I flex. (What? It’s instinct.) Her ears flare red again when she realizes I’m still shirtless. Her whole body stiffens and I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. But I
am
kind of regretting not putting on another shirt now. I mean, she does have a hot iron in her hands, and my bare chest might make an awfully tempting target.
    I take a few steps back and clear my throat. “You gonna show me how to do this, or do you just want to play maid today?”
    She sets the iron on its end and gestures for me to take it, meeting my eyes with the best “fuck you” glare I’ve ever seen.
    I pick it up and await instructions.
    â€œOh, please. You really expect me to believe you’ve never ironed before?” she says.
    â€œI didn’t say that.”
    â€œIt was implied.”
    â€œI told Henry I suck at it. And that’s true.” I set down the iron and go to get my evidence.
    She quickly picks up the iron and places it on its end, looking at me exasperatedly as I hold up a white shirt to show her the triangular scorch mark on the back near the left armpit.
    She slowly shakes her head at me.
    â€œSo you see why I might be a little gun-shy?” I say.
    â€œWell, maybe if you didn’t set the iron on the fabric and walk off, you wouldn’t have a stupid-looking burn on your armpit. And you obviously don’t learn from your mistakes.” She glances at the iron she just picked up.
    And now I feel like an idiot.
    I scoot past her back to the ironing board and accidentally brush against her, taking absolutely no pleasure this time when my nakedness makes her bristle. It’s just not fun anymore. When I finish, I make a show of setting the iron on its end.
    â€œYou’re not finished.” Jordyn grabs my arm. I tense, partially because I’m uncomfortable having her touch me while I’m still half naked . . . but mostly because I’m . . . not.
    â€œYou really think I’m ready to tackle buttons?” I gesture at my white shirt for emphasis, hoping she didn’t sense my temporary lapse in judgment.
    â€œOh my god. You’re such a
guy
. It’s not rocket science. Here.” She pushes me out of the way and picks up the iron. Then she gently brushes the pointy tip between the buttons. The clacking of iron hitting plastic makes me nervous.
    â€œWon’t the buttons melt?” I don’t think she understands just how much I can’t afford a new shirt.
    â€œOnly if you set the iron on them and walk away.” She bugs her eyes out at me, and I laugh.
    When I finish the blue shirt, I pull it over my shoulders and quickly button it, feeling a huge sense of relief that I’m no longer half naked—I should have just grabbed another shirt to begin with.
    I think Jordyn will leave me to finish the other shirt alone, but instead she pulls herself up onto the counter and watches me. She obviously doesn’t trust me not to start a fire or something.
    But I must do okay, because she doesn’t intervene. She doesn’t even make any comments about what a moron I am. When I finish that shirt and go to hang it back on the hanger, she’s examining the suit and the tie.
    â€œI think you’re done. This looks okay. Actually, it looks like it’s never been worn.”
    â€œJust the one time,” I say, mostly to myself. But she hears. And she gets it.
    â€œDon’t go thinking we’re friends or anything. And don’t think I’m not still pissed at you. Because I’m pretty sure I’ll resent you forever for the jacket.” She hops off the counter and heads back to man her station.
    I smile watching her walk away.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Henry positions me in my newly pressed blue shirt against a plain white backdrop, then against the black one. Then he has me change into