Chapter 1 #2
The lights are dim and my feet echo through the hall, making it seem even bigger than it already is. Making a quick stop, I drop off my bag in my locker and grab my phone and earbuds. I’m scrolling through my audiobooks when Jerry walks in.
“Hey, kiddo. How’s life treating you on this fine night?”
I laugh and look over at his smiling face. He’s the happiest person I’ve ever met. Grabbing his coveralls, he slips them on over his jeans and T-shirt, zipping them up as he waits for me to answer.
“I’m good, Jerry. How about you?”
“Stuffed, darlin’,” he says, patting his stomach. I laugh because as much as he talks about needing to lose weight, it never stops him from getting seconds on all the pies his wife loves to make. I can’t say I blame him. I’ve tasted her pies. They’re fucking incredible.
“What’d Betty make tonight?” I ask with a smile on my face.
His eyes glaze over when he tells me about the fried chicken and okra with mashed potatoes and green beans smothered in bacon grease and homemade cherry pie for dessert.
I feel my arteries start to clog just from the description, but my mouth also waters.
They’re both originally from Georgia, and those Southern roots come out in her meals.
He gives me a wink. “It’s possible there’s a piece of pie waiting for you in the employee fridge.”
“Seriously?” When he laughs again, I say, “Thanks, Jerry, and be sure to tell Betty thanks for me.”
“Will do, kiddo.” He walks over to grab the large mop bucket and begins filling it and adding in cleaner. “Which floor are you starting on tonight?”
“I’ll take the second, if you don’t mind.”
“You just like to work in fiction so you can sneak peeks at all the books,” he teases me with a laugh. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who likes to look at books while also listening to one.”
“I do still get all my cleaning done,” I remind him with a laugh.
He smiles and gives me a wave goodbye as he pushes the mop bucket out onto the main floor.
We’ll meet up again over the course of the night, but for the most part, it’s a very solitary job.
Once I’ve got my audiobook going, I fill up my own bucket and load up a cart with everything I’ll need before pushing it all to the elevators near the main entrance.
While I wait for the doors to open, I chance a quick look outside, noticing that Inferno looks even more packed than when I first got here.
It’ll stay that way until they close. The owners must make a killing on that place.
The elevator dings, pulling me back to my reality, which is not a night of drinking and dancing and meeting hot guys.
My night will be spent cleaning dirty floors and bathrooms and dusting books that not too many people even bother to check out anymore, and there will most definitely not be any hot guys anywhere near me, which I guess is sadly for the best.
At least I have a slice of homemade cherry pie thanks to Betty.
That shouldn’t make me so happy, and the fact that it does might be the most depressing realization I’ve ever come to about myself.
Ignoring the depressing thoughts and visions of me being fifty and still pushing this goddamn mop bucket around, I lose myself in my audiobook instead and get to work.
The night passes quickly. I eat my PB&J around three in the morning with a book in hand and then savor the slice of cherry pie before getting back to work.
By the time the sun starts to rise, I’m exhausted and more than ready to collapse into my bed and sleep the day away.
Putting away all my supplies, I tell Jerry goodbye and make my way outside.
The sky is just starting to lighten up, and it feels unnaturally quiet.
It’s my favorite part of the day. Maybe it’s because I always experience it when my shift ends and another night of cleaning is over.
At least then I can forget about work for a little while.
I give the lion his usual ass pat and nose rub and jog down the steps. The sidewalk is empty as I make my way to the bus stop. Gale is right on time, and as soon as she opens the door, I stagger in and take my usual seat behind her.
“Tired, honey?”
“Yeah. I bet you are too, though.”
She laughs and shuts the doors, pulling away from the curb and back in the direction she just came from. “I’ve got it easy. I get to sit on my butt all night.”
“It’s still a hard job,” I tell her. “I don’t know how you handle the stress of driving this big bus through downtown.”
“People know better than to get in my way,” she says with a laugh. “If they hit me, they know it’s not my bus that’s going to be taking the brunt of the damage.”
“True enough,” I say with a smile, leaning my head back and wishing I could just fall asleep right here.
With the way the bus is rocking, I could easily be out in seconds.
I watch the scenery outside the window slowly change from downtown high-rise apartment buildings that probably cost more per month than I could ever hope to earn, to nice, rich subdivisions filled with mini-mansions, and then finally to the dumpy part of town.
It always depresses me to have to come back here.
People who have money never seem to understand how damn depressing it is to live somewhere that’s visually unappealing.
It affects your entire mood to see nothing pretty, nothing that makes you smile, and certainly nothing that makes you want to actually stay outside.
It just adds salt to the wound to know that the ocean is so close, but you’d never know it from our neighborhood.
I’d give just about anything for some pretty trees and flowers and a view of the water.
When Gale stops at my corner, I give her a quick side hug and tell her I hope she sleeps well. Her shift is just about to end too, and despite what she said, I know she’s just as tired as I am.
“See you tonight, sweetie,” she says, patting my hand.
“I’ll be here,” I assure her, stepping off the bus and giving her a wave goodbye.
I walk as fast as my tired legs will carry me, and I’m all set to crawl under my covers when I walk inside and see the note on the counter.
The handwriting is barely legible, which means my dad got up last night, drank several more beers, and then decided he needed to yell at me about something.
I curse the whole damn universe when I see what he’s written.
I used the last of the toilet paper. Get some when you get off work.
A murderous rage rushes through me, but when it leaves, I just want to sit down and cry.
I’m so fucking tired, and I feel gross after a night of work.
I can go without a lot of things, but toilet paper isn’t one of them.
Fighting the urge to go upstairs and strangle him in his sleep, I tug off my coveralls and grab his keys, because I’ll be damned if I’m taking the bus again.
I should have plenty of time to run to the grocery store and get back before he wakes up.
It’s not like he needs to be in for work.
He lost his last job, one of many, and has been milking those unemployment checks like a starving baby at the teat.
With a groan, I head back outside and start the truck, praying like hell he doesn’t wake up.
He’ll kill me if he catches me touching his precious.
Backing out of the driveway, I head towards the grocery store.
It’s the world’s fastest trip. I run in, grab the toilet paper and add in a couple of things we’re out of and then book it back to the truck.
The rising sun is right in my eyes as I pull back onto the main road.
I fidget with the visor, but I’m too short for it to make a difference, and with my glasses on, I can’t wear sunglasses.
I squint and try like hell to see. When the light up ahead turns yellow, I start to slow down, but the combination of blinding sunlight and lack of sleep makes my worst nightmare come true when I hear the thud of me hitting the car that’s already come to a stop.
My hands grip the steering wheel while my heart races and my body breaks out in a light sweat. I squint out the window, groaning when I get a good look at the car I hit. It looks expensive, like really expensive, and then I see the door open.
Sweet Jesus.
The man who steps out looks like he just got done posing for the cover of some posh men’s magazine.
His suit fits him like a glove, accentuating the broad set of shoulders headed my way, and the dark sunglasses hide his eyes from view, so I have no idea how pissed he is.
I do notice the chiseled jaw that’s covered in a day’s worth of dark stubble, though, and is that a neck tattoo I see peeking out from his suit? God, why is that so sexy?
When he’s at my window, I’m still clutching my steering wheel and trying not to hyperventilate.
He bends down so he can see me and calmly knocks on my window, waiting for me to roll it down.
My face is beet red, and I’m trying like hell to not cry and make this whole thing even more awkward and embarrassing.
Knowing there’s no way my ass is getting out of this, I roll down the window and say, “I’m so sorry.”
I want to sound strong and in control, but it comes out as a shaky, pathetic whisper.
I feel stupid enough as it is, but why did he have to be so gorgeous?
That just makes it a thousand times worse.
I’m fully aware that I probably stink of cleaning supplies and that I must look as tired and worn out as I feel.
“You hit my car,” he says, and his voice is just as deep as I knew it would be, and he has an accent, but I’m not sure what it is. Sexy is how I would describe it, unbelievably sexy.
“I’m so sorry,” I repeat, because that’s really all I’ve got.
He looks at me for a few seconds, at least I think he is. His glasses are too dark for me to see anything, and when I start to fidget, his lip quirks up the tiniest bit before he says, “Follow me so we can sort this out.”
He leaves before I can respond. When the light turns green, he takes a left, and I follow him.
I know if I try to run, he’ll follow me, and I can’t handle that kind of embarrassment on top of what I already feel.
My hands start shaking when I think about my dad’s truck.
If there’s a dent, I’m fucked. He will kill me for this.
Mr. Sexy turns into a parking lot, and I get a better look at his car.
An Aston Martin, of course it fucking is.
I park next to him, noticing the dent he’s sporting in his bumper thanks to yours truly, and it takes all the courage I possess to force my ass out of the truck, hoping like hell this guy is in a merciful mood.