Chapter 37 #2
Emerging from my hands, I push up from the floor and make for the kitchen to retrieve the hand broom and pan.
I need to stop moping, clean this mess up, and get to work.
Gathering most of the pieces in the tray, I walk back to the kitchen to dump the contents into the trash bin, when I notice something unusual within the fragments.
This object, unlike the others, has letters and numbers.
It’s flat, black, and rectangular, whereas the rest of the pieces are jagged and mostly off-white.
Picking out the unique item, I flip on the light above to examine the piece that doesn’t quite fit the rest of the wreckage.
The corner is angled, while on the opposite side of the lettering has gold lines.
Rotating the item in my hand the tiny font reads, SanDisk.
It’s a microSD card. What’s this doing in Thelma’s enclosure?
The microwave clock reads, ten to six. I need to hurry or I was going to be late for my shift.
If I was going to insist on staying to work, I better at least arrive on time.
Pushing the tiny SD card into my other front pocket, I dump the debris, grab my purse and phone, then head out the door for the bar.
Just as I’m about to lock the door, I remember the message or should I call it, the advanced warning.
“Shit.” Sprinting back to my room, I quickly locate the sprinkle filled glass-plug and toss it into my purse prior to locking up.
By the time I finally arrive at The Black Sheep, I am out of breath but on time. I really should start doing cardio; my side aches with a stitch, and not the calming kind you fix with a needle and thread. I definitely need the largest glass of water we have.
Already the regulars at The Black Sheep line the bar, enjoying their habitual after work drinks. Brittany is behind the counter and Jada is working the floor. Jada?! When did she come back? I thought her boot wasn’t coming off for at least another two weeks?!
Just as I had hoped, Eamon was here. He sits off to the side of the bar with his laptop, probably answering work emails or whatever gang bosses do.
When he spots me, one of his eyebrow’s arch, causing creases to form along his forehead.
As I cross the room, his troubled gaze trails me the whole way.
Right as I pour myself a drink Jada saunters up, as if to intercept me before I’m even able to speak with Eamon.
Casually as a feline stretching when it first wakes, she leans on the opposite side of the counter.
“Cute outfit.” Jada is not usually one to give compliments and I’m absolutely not in the mood for her games.
Everything would be so much more straightforward if she could just be civil with me, however, I think those days are in the rearview.
What changed? When did I become public enemy #1?
My eyes stay trained on her, as I drain the giant glass of water, waiting for some kind of follow up insult.
“Are you like, a paperboy or something?”
There it is… Good old Jada. If anything has been consistent lately, it’s her ability to be a bitch whenever she engages with me. It makes me wonder if I’ve tolerated her acting this way toward me all along or has my threshold for bullshit been maxed out?
Once my water is gone, I ease the glass down to the bar. I allow her time to become bored over my lack of response, anticipating she’ll walk away. Nope… she's still poised across the bar, playing defense.
“You’re back,” I finally admit with a heavy sigh. “Isn’t it too soon? I wouldn't want to see you injure yourself… again.”
Her eyes narrow in response to my terse comment.
Jada’s lips jut out in a pout. In the next moment, her eyes become slivers, just before she runs her tongue along the top of her teeth.
“Made a miraculous recovery! Doc said he’s never seen anything like it.
” The subtle smirk and patronizing tone is already grating my nerves.
“Came back just as soon as I heard MY Eamon needed help. It’s a shame how the help around here isn’t as reliable as we all hoped for. ”
I regard Eamon who is now suddenly on his phone. Briefly his eyes catch mine, as if he knows what this is and he isn’t about to get dragged into it. Between the ambient music and Eamon being farther down toward the end of the bar, I’m confident he can’t hear what’s being said between Jada and I.
“Anyways,” she continues, while tracing the grooves in the top of the counter, “I’m here.
So, you can go back to delivering papers or whatever,” she quips.
All the while positioning herself so her breasts rest upon the wooden surface, allowing her ample chest to be even more on display thanks to her low-cut yellow top.
Her eyes drift to Eamon then back to me. She’s trying to make me jealous. Funny.
“Yeah… how about, no. I will be staying tonight.” Without much forethought, I’m now leaning unwittingly against the high top, bringing my face no less than a foot from hers.
We stare at each other for long moments before she speaks again.
“Suit yourself,” she announces, pulling back from the counter and stretching up to the ceiling.
Her mere presence irks me, but when she continuously looks to Eamon in an attempt to get his attention, it causes me to envision her shoved into a trunk.
“Do watch YOUR step today,” I blurt. Wow…
I actually just said that. Not only am I impressed by even opening my mouth, but I delivered it without my voice shaking.
Honestly, I’ve had this strange feeling since I started here.
That Jada has never meant well toward me.
Whether I took the manager position or not, this hostility was bound to happen.
Jada seethes, “don’t you worry your breeches boss… I will take great care of everything when your absence arrives.” She looks over her shoulder toward Eamon, who seems adamant about taking his call in the furthest corner from the bar.
Bitch. Plus, he’s sooooo far out of your league, Jada. Turning on her heel, she stomps off toward a table of rowdy guys who just came in. Clearly her injury wasn’t as severe as everyone was led to believe.
Brittany catches me up on things such as what needs to be ordered, since I had the last couple days off. After the debriefing, I go to work replenishing napkins, cutting lemons, and stocking clean glasses, before the night gets super busy.
Jada is glued to Eamon’s side, every chance she gets, while Brittany and I handle things just fine without her pulling her weight.
I swear Brittany even seems less tolerant of her.
She even paid me a compliment, telling me she likes how I delegate tasks.
When it’s convenient, Jada limps. For instance, when I ask her to grab ice or serve the table on the far end of the bar.
She doesn’t give two shits about my appointed position and seems to have made up her mind that despite my title, she is going to bitch, moan, and complain every chance she gets.
Dax hasn’t come by this evening, and neither has his chatterbox buddy, Garron.
At least that’s one less thing to worry about.
I am not really sure how to act, let alone what to say to him.
How I feel about him hasn’t changed, although now I know who he is.
Dax. The man who’s always been around… watching… protecting.
With Jada being present as her unfiltered self and Eamon all but avoiding everyone, I have yet to speak with him.
I have questions and I need to show him what I found.
I let Brittany know I’m stepping off the floor for a moment and head to the bathroom.
After all that water, I am going to burst!
Once I finish and wash, I go to step out of the women’s room, only to be thrusted backward.
“Hey!”
The metal lock clicks into place. In front of me stands Dax, a solid dark force.
My eyes climb up before settling on his face.
The corners of his lips curl upward as he peers down with an unsettling intensity.
That wide mouth makes my belly summersault.
Cool-toned eyes travel the length of my body, ahead of his brow lifting suggestively.
“What?!” I insist.
His shoulders begin to shake slightly as if he finds me humorous, without me saying anything. Is he laughing? It’s like watching a silent film from the 1900s.
Pushing up onto the balls of my feet, I press my lips to his cheek.
Tonight, I’m not myself. Bolder than I usually am, allowing my anxious overworked brain to take the back seat for once.
I attempt to maneuver around his large body, remembering that Brittany was pretty much by herself on the floor, but Dax shifts into my path.
He holds up his hand and wags a finger at me, making a clicking “tsk” sound with his tongue. At that point, he proceeds to point downward, while swirling his finger. Oh. shit. He can’t be serious! I thought he was joking. Dax wants to check if I have it in. The plug.
“I… I can’t right now,” I stammer. “I need to get back to work.” I try to argue with the silent, immovable man.
His response…? Leaning back and crossing his arms against the door. He might as well be a cartoon character, checking a nonexistent watch all the while tapping their foot.
“Really?!” I fold my arms and growl through gritted teeth. “Right now?”
His head nods forward once.
Unbelievable.
My muscles clench around nothing, as if my body is anticipating his touch. I turn around, unbutton my slacks, and drop trou. Warm hands grasp at my hips. I pull my lips within my mouth and press down, in an attempt to match the stillness in the room. No words. No breath.
Next thing I know, his hands are traveling up the back of my shirt, stopping just as he reaches the base of my neck. Gently, he urges me to bend down farther.
Obediently, I pull my head toward my knees. I want. No… I need him to touch me.