4. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
"Whoa. I've never seen you look so happy after a shift. Please tell me you finally told Marco to go fuck a pineapple."
I'm still dazed from everything that I didn't even notice Blaise in the living room, laptop balancing on his crossed legs.
"I wish," I tell him, chucking my keys into the bowl near the front door. I kick off my shoes, stepping into the living room and gravitating towards the heater.
Rubbing my hands together, I throw Blaise a look. "I might have to tomorrow though. I got caught in flood water on the way home."
"What? Nath, I gotta go," he says goodbye quickly, closing the laptop.
I cringe, registering the fact I've just interrupted their Facetime. Blaise stands up, putting his laptop on the coffee table and standing up.
"Are you okay?" he asks, concerned.
I nod. "My car is still stranded — and with the window down. Fuck, I hope it doesn't cost too much to fix. Also, please apologize to Nathan for me."
"He'll be fine," he reassures me. "What happened?" Blaise moves towards me, crossing his arms as he waits for my reply.
"She just couldn't make it. I got swept into the road barrier and when I tried to open the door, water got in. Someone rescued me though."
I trail off, a smile crossing my face. I can't help it. Even after the worst day, Jordan was really something special. I'll never be able to thank him enough for what he did.
Blaise looks at me confused, perhaps wondering if I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I quickly wave him off, smiling. "I'm fine, I promise. A really nice man picked me up and gave me a lift home."
"Oh?" he mutters, surprised. "And is he the reason you're smiling like an idiot?"
"I am an idiot, but that's beside the point. But yes, he was just really sweet. And he got me a coffee."
"That's awesome, Sky. I'm really happy you are okay. You should have called me. I would have come and got you."
I wrinkle my nose. "No cell service."
"Ahh," he mutters. "So, it was a really big clusterfuck then."
"The biggest clusterfuck," I agree. "And that wasn't even the start of it all."
Blaise holds his hand up. "Pause that thought. Something tells me we're going to need liquor for this."
Laughing, I follow him into our tiny pale blue kitchen, watching him raid the cupboard. "Let's see what we have here," he says, shifting through opened bottles of various alcohol. "How bad on a scale of beer to tequila is it?"
"Tequila," I confirm, snorting as he gives me a horrified look.
"Tequila it is," he mutters, grabbing a bottle. "I actually think we might have some limes in the fridge."
I shake my head, grabbing the salt from the adjacent cupboard. "Let's do it old-school. Party like we're in the early 2000s again."
"Music," he says, putting the bottle on the counter. "If we're going 2000s, I'm putting my playlist on."
He disappears from the room, and it's not long until I hear the speakers in the living room come to life, Panic! At The Disco blaring through. Blaise wanders back through the doorway to the kitchen, spotting the two glasses I've pulled from the cupboard.
I go to reach for the tequila bottle but he beats me to it, popping the lid off before filling a shot glass. He hands it to me, repeating the same motion on his own glass before we both sprinkle some salt along the tops of our hands.
"Right," he says, holding his glass out. "To telling bosses to fuck off?" he suggests strongly.
I nod, clinking his glass with mine. "To telling bosses to fuck pineapples."
We throw our shots back, my face twitching and convulsing as I quickly lap up the salt. Perhaps tequila wasn't the best option after all. I rarely drink at the best of times, and we're going from zero to one-hundred.
"Urgh," I mutter, doing a small jiggle on the spot. "I was much better at taking shots in the 2000s. Now, we're just old."
"Excuse you," Blaise says, refilling our glasses. "We're twenty-nine and fucking fabulous."
I wearily glance at the shot glass, picking it up. "You're fabulous, yes. I'm a hot mess."
"But a hot one," he adds, motioning for me to drink up.
Slamming the empty shot glass back onto the counter, I finally tell him the full story — about Marco scolding me for being late, putting me to work in the bridal section, and elaborating on the details of my yellow submarine adventure.
"That motherfucker," Blaise snaps.
"I know," I nod, leaning against the counter for support as I feel the effects of the tequila slowly entering my bloodstream. "But let's be realistic, I need the job."
A dark expression crosses Blaise's face. "A job is not worth your life, Sky. I don't give a shit what Marco Barfo says. Look, I'll cover the rent and food for a bit. Hell, you can even help out with some admin work for me."
"I couldn't ask you to do that," I whine. "I really, really love you for it and you're the best goddamn roommate. But that's your business and livelihood. We don't mix that."
"Yeah, it is my business," Blaise argues. "Which is why I can do it. If I'm being honest, admin stuff is boring and I have a lot of work coming in. I was considering hiring someone anyway. Just trial it for a few weeks — it's a win-win for both of us. You do my boring admin work which frees up my time to focus on clients' needs. And in return, you don't have to work for an asshole who would rather you sleep on a dirty warehouse floor or drown in the creek."
I consider his proposal, weighing up all the pros and cons. Except, the list is moving in my head. I don't hold liquor well.
"I need to write this all down," I tell him. "I need my lists. But I can't do it right now. Let me sleep on it and we'll see what the rest of the week is like. The storm cell is meant to pass in a few days."
Blaise nods, knowing that's as far as he'll get with me right now. "Okay. But this conversation isn't done yet. In the meantime, I'm throwing a frozen pizza in the oven and you can fill me in on this Jordan guy."
I manage to stumble to my room after dinner. Thankfully, we didn't do any more tequila shots but I did let Blaise talk me into one light beer. I know, mixing alcohol is just as bad, but at least I can stomach it a bit better.
We shared a pizza and I told him about Jordan before we realized it was close to midnight. I was still in my work clothes, the crinkled fabric molded to my frame now that I was dry.
Our tiny two bedroom house was cozy, the two of us sharing a bathroom. Blaise was kind enough to give me first dibs, heading into his bedroom across the hall from mine. The bathroom was at the end of the hallway between our bedrooms, and I relished the feeling of the hot water cascading over me after feeling way too much cold water on my body today.
When I finished, I gave his bedroom door a quick knock, letting him know I was finished. He yelled back a thank you, the sound of Nathan's voice in the background. At least he was able to resume his Facetime. Thankfully, Nathan worked at a restaurant, so they were used to having late night calls and dates. Blaise was flexible in his own schedule, something I was envious of. I know he often went out of his way to work around Nathan's schedule as well as making sure he had time to hit the gym during the day. I have no idea how Blaise fits everything into his day, but he's a master of organization and planning. He gets to live his dream life, something I am incredibly happy about and inspired by.
He's currently saving up to buy his own house and I know that he and Nathan have discussed moving in together at some point. I'll be sad when that day comes, but hopefully by then, I'll be on my own two feet, also kicking ass.
I trip over a discarded heel as I enter the bedroom, cursing as I quickly shut the door so Blaise doesn't come to investigate. I kick the stiletto to the side, crossing the room to my double bed that's pressed against the wall on the other side.
Laying on top of the bed, I glance around the room, wishing I could change the hideous light pink walls. I'm not sure what the landlord was thinking when he got this house ready for renting, but it's clear he didn't have an interior design bone in his body. He wanted quick and easy money, and when people are fighting for housing, you take what you can get.
Blaise was living here before me and when his previous roommate moved out, he advertised for a new one. We clicked straight away and I moved in the following week.
I've only been in St. Devil's Creek for about fourteen months. I moved here just before I met Jake, originally being offered an office job. Unfortunately, as luck would have it, a month into my new role, I found out the business was going bankrupt and they had hired me just to help tie up loose ends before they closed the doors. At the time, I was commuting back and forth to my hometown which was an hour away. I had fallen in love with the town and decided to take the plunge and stay.
I worked a few small casual jobs until finally ending up with Marco. At times I regret not going back home, but now that I had finally gotten out of that town, I couldn't turn back.
We grew up in a small town with little job opportunities. As much as I missed my family and friends, I knew there was a bigger world out there for me. And maybe, one day soon, I'll find it.
For now, here I am.
I stare at the television on the wall across from me, deliberating putting something on. My eyes trail to the desk below it, my closed laptop enticing me to open up Google and search for new jobs. But it's late, there's plenty of time for that tomorrow. I'll have to sort out my car then too — provided she's still there. I dread thinking about how much water is probably inside now, ignoring the rational thought that she might be a goner.
I can't even fathom the idea of not having a car at the moment. I don't own much, but I managed to buy her a few years ago. I saved for years at my boring cashier job back home. She was the first real achievement I ever had.
Reaching for my cell, I go to check the time when I notice a text message notification on my screen. Clicking it open, I frown, not recognizing the unsaved number, until it dawns on me.
Unknown: Hey stranger. How are you doing after today?
My heart starts racing as I quickly type back a message, not even pausing to consider it's late.
Me: Jordan, I presume?
Before I can close my cell, accepting the fact he's probably asleep, I see the little bubbles pop up on the bottom of the screen.
Unknown: Well, of course. How many people did you give your number out to today?
I laugh, smiling at the screen.
Me: Only two. But he was really questionable. I'm pretty certain he was just after one of my kidneys.
Unknown: I don't blame him. Do you know how much they are worth on the black market? And feet pics.
I choke momentarily, coughing to recover.
Me: Feet pictures? Is this an insight into your hobbies or line of work?
Unknown: Only sometimes. I don't like my toenails. You probably wouldn't either.
I have to bury my head into my pillow to hide my smile. No one can see it, but I'm taken aback by his playfulness, my cheeks flushing scarlet.
When I lift my head to start typing back, I find another message waiting for me.
Unknown: Oh no. I've scared you off. If it helps, I'll paint them whatever color is most relaxing. Maybe a nice pastel green.
Me: If you're going to sell them, I'd suggest red.