3
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Charlie
He’s gotto be fucking kidding me.
No, I didn’t get his text because I smashed my phone to shit when that fucker Brady wouldn’t stop texting me after I kicked his ass out this morning. The kicking out was temporary, of course. Sadly, his name is also on the lease. But I guess I was mad enough that he took my threat seriously, though, and left. Too bad he didn’t stay gone. His car drove by three times today, as he kept texting, and he even sent one of his bandmates over to see if I was leaving for good or just for the holidays. Then he went as far as to check and see if I was leaving a check for next month's rent before I headed north.
I am over it. All of it. Every little piece of it.
I am over stupid selfish Brady. And stupid clueless men. And stupid fucking questions.
So that’s probably what prompts me to answer my boss like this, “Uh, no. No, I didn’t get your goddamn text.”
My swearing doesn’t faze him in the least.
“And I’m guessing you didn’t check our Facebook page or our Twitter or check the news for closings?” He smirks.
Sweet Mother of Mercy, save me from men and their asinine questions.
“No, genius, I didn’t. Because if I had, then I wouldn’t be here. And also no, because who in the hell closes for three inches of snow?” I’m yelling now. In an empty bar with an audience of one, who happens to pay my salary. But I can’t stop myself. It’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience. I can see me--all 5 feet, 5 inches of me-- standing here, dripping wet in the middle of my work place. I can hear the words fly out of my mouth. I can feel my cheeks getting red. If I had long hair, I’d probably be pulling it out in frustration. Because I cannot handle any more bullshit...any other guy stupidity...I’m BEYOND done. But my hair is a close-cropped pixie, so, of course, I’m shit out of luck.
Seems to be a theme these days.
Trick disappears for a minute, and I have the urge to sneak out, get in my car, and drive out of the state of Maryland while the roads are still passable and the getting is good. But, I’m here. And I’ve made a mess. So I need to wipe up the floor and then give my notice. I’m off all next week anyway, but if Trick needs me to come back and work in January, I will. I mean, I hope he doesn’t, but he’s one of the best guys I know and I’d never want to leave him short-staffed.
A second later, he’s at my feet wiping up the mess with a bar towel, the mop at his side.
Well, this is awkward. And kind. But also awkward. I mean, my boss is kneeling in front of me, but...sadly, not like that.
It should be noted that Patrick Cavanaugh is one fine-ass specimen of a man. He’s hot. He’s got that whole tall, dark, and handsome thing going for him. And that whole the-sleeves-of-my-tee-are-too-tight-for-my-muscles thing. And he’s one of the sweetest, funniest, raunchiest people I’ve ever met.
And he’s got one of those magnetic personalities, you know? He’s sexy and charismatic and yeah… I’ve learned my lesson about guys like that. Brady was charismatic once, too. Now, he’s just an asshole. It’s probably not fair to lump them in the same category, but if the past twelve hours have shown me anything, it’s that life is far from fair.
Have I had a few fantasies that involve Trick kneeling in front of me? Hell yes, I have. But now is not the time or place to think of those. He’s mopping up the floor, for shit’s sake.
“Here, let me.” I step back to grab the mop, but his hand grips my wrist to stop me.
“Stay still, I’m almost done.”
I stay put until he lays another towel out next to me. “Step out of your shoes and coat and put them here.” I do as he asks, though, really, I should be getting on the road. Still, my Docs are soaked and my coat is, too.
“Jesus, Charlie, how did you get so wet?” Any other time, and I’d never let a comment like that slip by without a joke. But I’m just not feeling the comedy right now. “Because I parked at the far end of the lot because I am fucking considerate. And then I slipped three times in that godforsaken slush you people call snow! Real snow has traction, dammit!”
Wisely, he does not respond. He takes my wet things and walks over to the fireplace, carefully draping my old peacoat across a chair, as though it’s worth more than the eight bucks I paid at Goodwill. He then sets my trusty black Docs near the hearth and turns back toward me.
“Look, I get you’re pissed. And I am sorry, but I called and texted. And I can’t believe you came in to work. It’s a goddamn blizzard out there.”
Wait a second. Is he for real right now?
“Fucking Maryland.” I roll my eyes. “This is not a blizzard. There’s this thing meteorologists call snow. Sometimes it falls from the sky when the weather turns cold. It’s pretty to look at, and if you get a couple of feet, you can build a fucking snowman. It makes roads a little messy and it’s a pain in the ass to shovel, but it’s not a reason to lose your ever-loving mind!”
“Fucking sue me, Charlie, for being concerned about the weather.”
“Would you close down in a rainstorm? Does thunder shut the damn state down? This,” I flail my arm toward the window, “is not a blizzard. I’m from Syracuse, and we know major weather events. And this is not one of them.” I huff.
“Of course not. Because Maryland sucks and Syracuse is better than everywhere.” He rolls his eyes like he’s heard me say these words a million times before, and to be fair, he probably has. But that’s because they’re true.
