Chapter 6
With a groan, I flopped back onto the camper's lower bunk and shared the unhappy news with my brothers. "I think I was fired today."
"Youthink?" Anthony said. "Like what? You're not sure?"
"Long story," I said. "But the way it's looking now, I'll probably be needing a new job."
Sitting across from Anthony, Steve gave a bark of laughter. "Again?"
"Oh, shut up," I said. "It doesn't happenthatoften."
Now, Anthony was laughing, too. "Sorry, but, actually it does."
I reached out and hugged the nearest pillow to my chest. It had no pillow case and smelled vaguely of stale pizza and even staler beer. Probably, I should've cared. But I couldn't. Not today.
I closed my eyes and sighed. "Yeah. I know."
After the scene at the restaurant, I'd been too embarrassed to head back to Jake's place. So instead, I'd barged in on my two brothers, who were in town for another huge construction project. Luckily, I'd caught them at lunch, eating pepperoni pizza at the small booth inside the camper.
Technically, the camper was a job-trailer, except it wasn't anything like the other job-trailers I'd seen over the years. Most looked like rectangular metal offices on wheels. But this one? It was a vintage, bubble-shaped camper that might've slept four sometime in the 1950s.
This month, it was sleeping zero. My brothers' latest construction job had come with a rare perk – free rooms at a huge, full-service hotel, located just a few blocks away.
In fact, it was the same hotel that was attached to the steakhouse where I'd been bartending for the last couple of weeks. I might've called the arrangement a lucky coincidence, except for the fact that my brothers were the ones who, earlier in the month, had told me the place was hiring – and now, firing, the way things looked.
At the table, Anthony was saying, "Look on the bright side. You won't need to dress like a cowgirl no more."
I lifted my head to look down at my work uniform – a thin, frilly white blouse and Daisy Duke shorts that were a tadtooshort.
On this, Anthony had a point. The way it looked, I wasn't a regular cowgirl. I was a slutty cowgirl with a poor fashion sense.
The uniforms were brand new and universally hated – well, by everyone except for the male customers. In fact, the uniforms weresohated that Rosalie had started a petition to get rid of them.
I let my head flop back onto the mattress. I hadn't even signed the petition, mostly because I hadn't wanted to get fired, not so soon, anyway.
So much forthatplan.
At the table, Steve was saying, "Hey, I like the uniforms." He paused. "Well, except for whenshewears them. I mean, you can see too much of your sister, you know?"
"No kidding," Anthony said. "If I want a trashy cowgirl, I'll buy a farm, get my own."
From the bunk, I was tempted to point out the obvious. Farms didn't have cowgirls. Hell, most of them didn't even have cows anymore. Did they?
Why was I even thinking of this?
With another sigh, I pushed myself up and looked around, taking in the discarded pizza boxes, crushed soda cans, and empty bottles of beer. "You guys really are slobs. You know that, right?"
Steve gave the mess a quick once-over. "You wanna clean it? Be my guest."
"Yeah," Anthony said. "We're busy."
I gave them a dubious look. They looked the same as always, like two lean, twenty-something guys who could probably change a spark plug, but wouldn't be caught dead at the opera.
Steve resembled our mom, with blond hair and blue eyes, while Anthony looked more like our dad, with olive-skin and dark hair. Right now, neither one of them looked remotely busy.
In fact, it suddenly hit me that it was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon. It wasn't exactly lunchtime anymore.
The trailer had a few tiny windows, covered in faded blue checkered curtains. I stood and shoved aside the nearest curtain. Outside the trailer, a dump truck rumbled past, while behind it, dozens of men in hard hats worked diligently under the hot, summer sun. Everywhere I looked, the site was buzzing with activity.