His rejection lances through me with a twisted barb, but its sting is dulled by my outrage. The audacity of this man. Next time, I won’t bother checking in on him. Clearly, he doesn’t need my help.
Although…if Icouldhelp him, rubbing that in his face would feel really good. Mom always says kindness is the best revenge.
Hanging in the window where he stood is a Help Wanted sign with “urgently” scrawled between the words with a thick marker.
That’s strange.
Why didn’t he go here? If he did, why didn’t they hire him? Maybe that’s why he was in such a bad mood. I’d be pissed off too if I were in his shoes.
The smell of fresh coffee rams into me with the force of a tidal wave as I walk into the shop. By sheer force of will, I repress the urge to gag and keep pushing forward. Coffee has never been one of my favorite smells; it’s too strong—like bleach or, God forbid, leather—completely overwhelming my senses.
How am I supposed to function when all I can do is smell? It’s awful. But I’m not doing this for me—I’m doing this to be the bigger person. There’s a wait to get up to the counter, and by the time I do, the young guy at the register looks beyond frazzled. On a second glance, it becomes clear he’s the only person working behind the bar.
“What can I get started for you?” His smile is strained and, paired with the bags under his eyes, looks more manic than friendly.
“Nothing, actually. I saw the sign that you were hiring. Is that true?”
“Yes”—he breathes out a relieved sigh—“my manager will be here in half an hour. You are more than welcome to wait until she gets here to talk with her.”
Ah. That makes more sense. He wasn’t rejected, just never got a chance to interview.
“A man came in here before me, yeah? A big guy with a scary-looking face? But he couldn’t wait?”
A look of confusion falls across his face. “Yeah…how did you know that?”
“He’s a friend. I’m actually out here helping him find work. Did he leave a résumé with you?”
When the guy nods, I put on my best attempt at a flirtatious smile and bat my lashes at him.
“Do you think I could have it?”
If Gage can’t interview for himself, I’ll have to do it for him.
***
Not to toot my own horn, but I crushed Gage’s interview. Mr. Broody Danger should be receiving a call with the news any time now.
The warm glow of satisfaction burns in my chest as I walk back to my room with a spring in my step.And he thought I couldn’t help him. I’ve never been happier to prove someone wrong. Maybe this will show him that I’m not some annoying kid wasting his time. Then he might actually give me the time of day.
I can’t rub it in his face if I never see him again, though. The fates showed their hand, but I have no guarantee they will intervene again. If I want to pursue this, I need to take the reins from here on out.
The name on his shirt—Double Teep—pops back into my head. That could be the connection I need. Maybe he will be more receptive when work isn’t involved.
“What do you think, Daisy? Would it be weird if I looked it up?”
Almost certainly, but that doesn’t stop me.
It doesn’t take me long to find it. The first search result is for an MMA gym about a mile north of campus. I don’t know a ton about him, but fighting fits. His face looks like it’s taken enough hits. Knowing they were likely sanctioned makes me like him even more. Everyone thinks they want a tough guy until they try to start something with some random person who looks at them funny on the street. It’s different when it’s a sport—at least in theory.
The big red Request More Information button beckons me to click it. It would be so easy for me to show up and pretend it was another act of fate. But what would I say if he asked me why I was there? Lying isn’t my strong suit, and I’ve never had any interest in trying martial arts before now.
“This crosses the line from weird into obsessive, right?”
Judgmental plastic eyes stare back at me.
Yup. She’s right. Pressing that button would be crazy.
I close the tab before I do something to embarrass myself. There are other ways I can go about making our paths cross. It wouldn’t bethatweird if I showed up at the bar again. That’s what people do on Saturday nights. And if he wants nothing to do with me, maybe I’ll have some luck making other friends.
