22 – C’mon Man, We’re Buddies!
Jessie
“That book club has been in twice this week, and the romance sales have increased so much in the last couple of weeks, I think we need to expand the collection,” April informs me. “I have a few Indie authors I follow and they’re super popular. I can send you some recommendations if you like?” Groaning, I rub a hand down my face. Why can’t general fiction or a love for classics be what trends? Even biographies? I’d take that over this glorified porn the kids are reading these days.
I say kids, but I’m well aware it’s just women everywhere. Including my sisters.
I hired April, who’s just started college, as a sales assistant on the bookshop side of things. It was also because I, too, recognized the change in customer base to young women and knew that I wasn’t going to be of much assistance to them.
A shiver courses through my body, and I nod at April.
“Okay, get me a list. I’ll price it and see what we can do.” She nods and continues with her box of new stock that she is shelving. Grabbing another, I place it on a stool next to her.
“These have to go away, too, but some are up there.” I point to the taller shelves. “Just leave them. I will do them later.” I turn to head for the coffee counter after hearing the door chime sound, indicating new walk-ins.
“Oh, I can just use the ladder?” she retorts. But a workplace claim is the last thing I need right now.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll get to them. Anything above your reaching height, just leave out back. I’ll do them tonight.” She nods and continues with what she is doing.
As I head to the front counter, I see a greasy man in a suit. Short and slightly overweight, his comb-over doing nothing to hide his balding, and the hairs on the back of my neck prick up.
“What can I get you?” I ask, assessing him.
“Is the shop owner around?” You’d know the answer to that if you stopped to look up from your phone.
“He is.” My voice lowers, and I cross my arms over my chest. He remains silent, I assume, waiting for me to continue. When I don’t, he looks up at me. Raising a brow, I wait for whatever genius this moron is about to come out with.
“Oh, nice to meet you. I’m Tom, I work for Ryder Developments. Nice location you have here.” He throws his hand out to shake and plasters on a smile that just makes me angry. My lips curl in disgust as I look from his hand back to him.
“What can I get you, Tom?” I ask again, not uncrossing my arms.
I know exactly what he wants. My shop.
The location is perfect, hence why I fucking bought it. It is surrounded by mid to high scale residential apartments. Some business types and some ‘hipsters’, as Rosie calls them, both great for my customer base, and I’m also a short walk from a corporate district. Which means I get lunch time walk-ins and some post-workday drifters, needing something to perk them up or help them wind down.
The location is perfect. And I’m ready to tell fucking Tom the same thing I told the last developer. I’m not fucking selling.
“Well, you have a great location here, heart of every corner, and, well, it would be great if we could have a chat. Discuss numbers? I know the right buyer who could set you up for life in purchasing this from you. Take away the burden. You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.”
In case you’re wondering, this is almost identical to the last developer sales guy. Telling me how much of a burden having the shop is. How I’ll practically thank them for taking it off my hands.
The difference with this time? I don’t have the endless cash flow from my parents for the bad weeks. I can no longer coast on just enjoying the store and the lifestyle it affords me. I’m officially a small business surviving on a terrible economy, with taxes, wages, and general overheads biting me in the ass.
I’m not in the red, and we’d have to continue like this for at least another year before I’d need to look at down-sizing or even selling. But I’m not giving up on this.
Not yet.
“You want a coffee?” I ask, staring into his eyes, hoping he sees the very real ‘fuck off’ I am trying to communicate to him.
I watch him gulp and nervously laugh.
“Uhh, sure, I’ll just take a latte.” I nod and get busy making the latte as he starts to walk around the shop. I watch him as closely as I can, not trusting this slime ball.
I make quick work of the latte and slide it across the counter. He throws down a few bills, well and truly over the price of the coffee, and it makes my skin heat with anger. This fucker thinks he can throw some cash around like a big swinging dick and I’ll just fall at his feet?
I bite down on my tongue, wanting so badly to tell him to whip it the fuck out and let’s really see whose is bigger.
Fucker.
“Anything else?” I ask, barely louder than a growl, and I hear the door chime ring again, but I don’t remove my eyes from the slimeball.
He slides over a business card. “Call me once you’ve had a chance to think it over.” I don’t move to take the card, but he winks at me and heads for the door, passing two guys on his way out.
I double take and notice those guys are Noah and Caleb. Great.
“What do you fuckers want?” I grunt and slap a hand on the business card and the cash, pocketing both. Making a mental note to shred the card later. I don’t need Caleb or Noah witnessing any of that.
“Thought you’d be in a good mood considering you finally got laid—OW!” Caleb says before he shouts at Noah, punching him in the arm. His words have me glaring at Noah.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I say under my breath. “What bullshit you spinning?”
Noah raises his hand in defense before he levels Caleb with a look, who rubs the arm Noah punched and looks at me apologetically.
“I didn’t realize it was a secret,” Caleb says between gritted teeth.
“Casey might have said some things,” Noah fills me in. What the fuck?
Noah must see the rage on my face because he continues. “She didn’t know I was there! She didn’t even know Addison was there. Actually, I don’t think she even knew she was speaking out loud.” He raises his hands again, and I look around the shop to make sure no fucker is listening to this drivel.
“I didn’t have sex with Casey,” I say quietly, but clearly, omitting the fact that I spent the morning wishing I had and, instead, pictured the face she made when she came while I fisted my dick three times. I was insatiable for Casey.
Noah drags a hand down his face and snaps his head to Caleb.
“Can you just keep your mouth shut for once? I never said they did.”
Caleb shrugs. “So, he gets freaky on the counter and then, what… just goes to sleep? How the fuck are your balls after that?” Blue as fuck. I obviously don’t say that, or clarify that I left early the next morning so I could relieve myself before my shift started.
I look at Noah and point to Caleb. “This is who manages your sales team?” My point comes across, and Noah closes his eyes and sighs heavily while nodding. Understanding that his best friend is a fucking idiot.
“What!? What did I say this time?” Caleb spreads his hands like he honestly hasn’t any idea.
“Can I get you guys a coffee? Or are you here to talk about shit you have no idea about?”
“We came for a coffee. But also to hang out. When you off?” This coming from Noah, and I narrow my eyes at him, trying to pinpoint the joke here.
I’m sure they want to hang out so they can talk shit about me and Casey. Although I have no idea what to even say about it.
Freaky on the counter is one way to put it. Really, she just destroyed my mind, and sneaking out of her room was the single hardest thing I’ve done. But if I didn’t, the counter wasn’t the only place we were going to get freaky. Casey is vulnerable right now, and I didn’t want to cross a line we couldn’t come back from. Physical attraction is one thing. I know she is attracted to me. I see the way she reacts to me, but it’s just that, attraction. And I don’t know that I can move beyond that. I don’t know how to give myself over completely.
“Shift ends at four.”
“We’re meeting Luke and Ethan at Bozzelli’s. You should come,” Caleb offers, as he sits at the counter, Noah following his lead and they pick up a menu.
“Why?” I ask, looking between them.
Noah looks up at me and raises an eyebrow. “Uh, because we’re fun?”
“Don’t be lame. Come have a beer,” Caleb says, not looking up from the menu. “Hey, what does Rosie usually order from here?” he questions, still not looking up, and it has Noah and I turning in his direction, puzzled looks on our faces. Caleb looks up and notices our staring, his cheeks heat uncharacteristically. “What?”
“Rosie doesn’t really order here. When she does, it’s just a black coffee.”
“Black coffee?” he says, his eyebrows drawing together. He looks at Noah for confirmation, who shrugs and peruses the menu again. “Really?”
I shrug in response. “She says she likes her coffee to match her soul.” Caleb’s jaw drops, and Noah just chuckles under his breath and replies quietly, “That sounds about right.”
“You fuckers ordering or wasting my time?” I flip a tea towel over my shoulder.
“I’ll just have a latte. We’ll get it to go and get out of your hair, but you should come by Bozzelli’s.” I nod and start on the latte.
“Caleb? Coffee?”
“Uhh…” He clears his throat and rolls his shoulders, mustering what I assume is confidence. “Yeah, I’ll just get a black coffee.” He stands, bobbing his head like we can’t see right through him. He slides his sunglasses over his eyes and plasters on the biggest boyish grin I’ve ever seen. I roll my eyes and finish making their coffee.
Sliding it over to them, they stand and take it, sliding over a note each in payment.
“Bozzelli’s?” Noah asks. I nod.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”
Caleb throws out a fist, and I look at it, then at him, raising an eyebrow.
“What? C’mon, man, we’re buddies!” he says, exasperated. I shake my head at him, but knock my fist with his, shaking off that odd feeling.
I haven’t had ‘buddies’ in a while, and I hate thinking about that. After high school, my life revolved around Jenny. She consumed me. I wanted nothing other than to be around her.
Perhaps that was our downfall? Maybe I really did smother her.
I lost contact with all my college friends. Well, really, I just shut myself off. I had Chloe, but Jenny wasn’t comfortable with her, so I also closed myself off from her, too.
It’s oddly comforting to have people who seem eager to hang out, who appear interested in my company. Oddly comforting, but also gives me an itch, like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I suppose I can stomach it, put up with these idiots, as long as it doesn’t turn into the Spanish Inquisition of my fucking love life again.
I came home to shower before I met with the guys–still plagued with those images of Casey. I sorted myself out, again, before getting distracted with a fresh word document open on my laptop. Writing had become my escape. Spinning a world of fiction from my own baggage as a way of dealing and processing. Getting lost in another world, another mind, where nothing else matters. It allowed me to sleep, sometimes dream, where I could control the story, what it looked like and where it went. Now, with two thousand words written, I am officially shocked. This time doesn’t feel like the first manuscript. This time is different. I hadn’t wanted to escape reality because it was too painful, instead I want to exist in a dream where I allow myself what I actually want. I am officially lost in a world where there are no consequences for going after what–or who–I want.
I can’t find my other manuscript, no matter how hard I’ve tried to search for it, and maybe it’s a sign. Too much pain and misery. This one–I think this one is different. I don’t really know where it’s going, but for the first time in a while, I feel a little spark of hope.
“Shit.” The downside of writing is that I usually lose track of everything else. I check the time and quickly close the laptop, flicking a quick response back, and head for the door.
The bar is only a fifteen-minute walk from my apartment, so I head out. The air is cool, the closer we get to the end of the year, so I grab a coat. The sun is setting, sitting close enough to the horizon that the sky is painted in navy blue and purples, lights lining the streets, which are just as busy as they are at every minute of the day in this city. Admiring the landscape, taking in the park, the warm oranges and yellows of the fallen leaves, as I cut through, maybe making the walk longer, but it’s certainly a more scenic route when my phone chimes again.
We’ve barely spoken since the other night. She came so hard on my fingers, I kissed the fuck out of her pretty face, and then I cooked her dinner and said goodnight. It was the best, most domesticated and confusing twenty-four hours of my life, and I have no idea how to talk about it.
I knew she was going to say something at dinner. I knew it was going to be something I hated. She was going to tell me it was a mistake, that we should forget, but I couldn’t if I tried, and I don’t want to put pressure on her. I also know I can’t label it. I saw her wanting to talk feelings, and I just fucking bailed. And now? Partners Yoga?
Like fuck.
I arrive at Bozzelli’s and tuck my phone into my pocket. Navigating through the throng of people and finding the table with the guys. Caleb throws his stupid knuckles at me again, and the rest of the guys nod in greeting.
Stella walks over with their order and stops by me. “What can I get you?”
“Whiskey, neat. Thanks.” I nod at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes, but look away quickly enough not to stare. A small pit of concern for her forms low in my stomach, but I work to bury it. Finding the energy to even be here with the guys was hard enough, let alone branching out into a personal conversation about an acquaintance’s well-being. I didn’t need the added guilt for not asking if she was okay, so I try to bury those sudden and frustrating feelings. Her eyes narrow slightly, obviously clocking my split-second look of concern, and somehow, I feel like she just read my mind. Appearing on the same page as me and wanting to avoid the socialization, she turns around as I tune into the table conversation.
“I’m telling you, it’s the long game. As long as I pretend she doesn’t exist, but give her little looks every now and then, she’ll be begging me to take her home,” Caleb informs us as Noah and Matt laugh. Lucas and Ethan just share a similar eye-rolling, exasperated look.
“What poor innocent soul are you targeting tonight, Smith?” I ask him, and his boy-ish grin hits me from across the table.
“Your three o’clock.” He tilts his head in the direction and I look over. Seeing who he is referring to and dropping my head in an honest chuckle before returning to him. She’s a pretty little thing, dressed in a pencil skirt and blouse and looks to be giggling with her friends. She couldn’t be less interested in Caleb’s gaze, and from the way her male companion is cozied up to her, I’d hazard a guess she isn’t even available.
I’m sure that isn’t much of a hurdle for our resident fuckboy, though.
“Not a chance,” I mumble as Stella walks by, dropping my whiskey, collecting empties, and heading back to the bar, and I catch Ethan’s lingering stare, the concern matching mine from a minute ago before it’s gone. Good, let him concern himself with her wellbeing. I have enough bullshit to work through.
I sip as Caleb darts his confused eyes from me to his next victim.
“Why not?”
“Because she is out of your league, like we’ve already said.” This coming from Lucas.
“You need to get realistic, Caleb. This isn’t the long game. She just isn’t fucking interested.” Ethan provides in a bored tone, Matt and Noah almost thoroughly losing their shit as they struggle to contain their laughter. Caleb’s annoyed expression grows as he sips his drink and analyzes his target with new eyes. Probably realizing what we’ve been trying to tell him.
I settle into the camaraderie, and whether it’s the whiskey or lack of sleep and mental clarity, it has me opening up a lot more than I had planned.
“You guys ever heard of Ryder Developments?” They each turn their gazes to me, and Ethan leans forward from his relaxed position in his chair to rest his elbows on the table, giving me his full attention.
“They’re known for buying up old buildings, knocking down, and re-building stupidly expensive residential apartments no one can afford to rent,” he informs me with his signature furrowed brows.
“And the CEO is a huge dick,” Matt supplies, and I roll my eyes. Figured.
“Why’s that?” Noah queries.
“Stopped by the café. Gave me his card,” I mumble and sip my drink, mulling over my choices.
“Your building isn’t that old. Why would they be interested in you?” Lucas asks.
“I’d say it’s the location.” That gives a knowing nod across the group.
“Was that the wannabe suit who was leaving when we arrived?” Caleb all but forgets his latest target as he settles back into the conversation. I nod as I sip my whiskey. Noah’s and Caleb’s lips turn into different versions of a snarl, and I feel comforted that my instincts of the sales guy were correct: slimeball.
“I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him,” Noah supplies.
“Mmm. They do pretty well, actually. They’re extremely successful, and from the deals I’ve heard of, the people they buy off make good coin.” Ethan, pragmatic as always.
“Didn’t you just say they price them too high?” I deadpan back at him.
“I did.” He nods and sips as I raise a brow at him. “Both facts can exist at the same time,” he provides, and I roll my eyes, running a hand down my face.
“Are you considering selling?” Lucas asks. And I stare at him in contemplation. I really don’t know how to answer the question. Do I want to sell? No. Should I sell? Maybe. Not yet, though. If I did, what else would I do?
I shrug in response, my focus landing on my glass, and I twirl it self-consciously. A ball of fury and frustration starts to grow inside me, knowing they’re all looking at me expectantly.
“I don’t want to.”
“Do you need to?” Ethan asks, albeit gently, but his eyes are serious, considering, and the rest of the table feels the same. Again, I shrug.
“Look, if you need, I can look over your books. Run some numbers, help you out?” Ethan provides. I knew he was in finance, but if I’m honest, I really have no idea what his actual role or job description is. I look into his dark eyes, intense and assessing, and I feel the left corner of my lips tilt in an appreciative smirk.
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that, actually. We’re not in the red. Every bit helps, though.” I nod and he does the same, pulling out his phone for me to input my number. I do and hand it back.
“I’ll reach out next week and we can catch up.” And with that, they return to their usual casual conversations. It feels unusual to rely on other people. To be handed help and amity without any expectations, but something warm spreads in my chest and I realize I feel less of a need to avoid or escape, but instead feel perfectly content to just be in their space and their presence.