Don’t get me wrong-- Charlie is more than capable of taking care of herself, and she’d kick me in the balls if she ever heard me voice otherwise. But it was bad enough when she was dating that asshat, Brady. Now that they’re broken up, but still living together? Yea, I worry. I worry that he’s still taking advantage of her. I worry that he’s still talking down to her. And I worry that he’s going to convince her to take his sorry ass back.
It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened. Because, for some bizarre reason, she takes an insane amount of shit and douchery from her needy ass ex. And despite the fact that she’s a badass and is always ready to toss a snarky comment or call someone out for being a dick, she continues to put up with him instead of telling him off, once and for all.
He’s such a tool, that guy. A couple of months ago, before their final break up, Charlie came to me and asked if Brady and his band could play at the bar. We’d never had live music, so it was an odd request. And I could tell it hurt her pride to even ask. She’s not one to ask favors-- she never misses a shift or wants any special treatment. Of course I said yes, knowing full well that his music sucks and the patrons would hate it, but I couldn’t say no. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing Charlie would ever ask of me that I wouldn’t give freely.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your perspective, he and his bandmates never showed. I played it off like it was no big thing. And for me and my bar, it really wasn’t. None of the customers that night came in just for them, so it wasn’t like we lost any revenue. But I could tell Charlie was pissed and hurt-- and she had every right to be. She stuck her neck out to get those assholes a gig, and they had the audacity to ditch without even giving a heads up.
I nod to Nolan. “I’ll text Charlie.” She was probably napping before her shift when I called earlier. “You should get out of here before the sidewalks freeze over,” I tell him.
“Yea, I’m gonna head out. But check on Charlie, ok?” he says as he shrugs on his coat.
As directed, I shoot off a quick text to Charlie, asking her to let me know she got my message. After all, I’m her boss and that’s the responsible thing to do. I’m also her friend.
But I’ve gotta be honest. Responsibility and friendship have little to do with it.
Because I’m halfway in love with her.
It’s not appropriate or convenient, but there it is.
She was off-limits when we met. She moved here with Brady, the asshat, three years ago, and at that time, I was happily dating my way around the Eastern Shore. But Charlie and I clicked immediately. She’s so genuine, so real that you can’t help but be drawn to her. Everyone at Trick’s is and it’s not difficult to understand why the customers and the staff love her. She’s my favorite person to work with, hands down. We get into a rhythm together and it all just flows, which makes things fun. She laughs at my jokes and is always ready with a witty retort of her own. She’s tough as hell and both sassy and sweet. And it hurts, not even a little bit, that she’s got this hot, tight little body. She’s like Tinkerbell’s badass cousin, with her short dark spiky hair and shiny silver nose ring.
I don’t know when it happened--when I went from liking and hanging out with her to wanting her with me all the time. It wasn’t one moment or one instance, like it is on TV. You know the scene: the girl lets her hair down or the guy takes off his glasses and the other person sees them in a whole new light. It wasn’t like that for me, not at all. She didn’t need to change anything to get me to notice her. It’s just a million little things that add up to her being everything I want in a partner.
But, it’s complicated. We’re friends. I don’t want to lose that. And we work together. And it’s more than likely that I’m about to become not only her boss, but the owner.
So, sure, it would probably make life a lot easier if I could ignore the attraction I feel for her. Ha. As if it’s that easy. Hell, I’ve been doing a decent enough job of it for the past few years, but it just keeps getting harder.
Pun fully intended.
I head downstairs to check inventory. I usually save that task for the morning, but now is as good a time as any. I’m too restless to settle in for the night. That’s the thing about working in this business-it’s a struggle to settle down before 2 a.m. And it’s not even dinner time yet.
I make it two steps down when I hear the door swing open. Figuring Nolan forgot his phone or something, I double back, only to see a very pissed off Charlie, dripping ice and snow onto my clean wood floor.
“You closed? You motherfucking closed? This day has been one shitastrophe after another. I make it all the goddamn way here in a fake blizzard and you closed?” She’s raging mad. I’ve never seen her this pissed off before, not even when a bunch of frat boys from the college said they’d tip her extra if she unbuttoned her shirt a little. Needless to say, I kicked them out before she could kick their teeth in. And let’s be clear--they deserved to have their teeth kicked in, but Charlie didn’t need the hassle, nor did she need her precious Doc Martens scuffed up.
“So, I guess you didn’t get my text?”
