He lifts his chin toward the mug in front of me. “I meant for making you tea. But sure, you can thank me for toning it down too. Goodnight, Roomie.”
“Goodnight.”
Giving me his back, he moseys down the hall and up the stairs with his own cup in hand while I watch him with barely-restrained curiosity before he disappears from view.
River, who the hell are you?
And why am I still thinking about your stupid floozy?
11
Reese
Chewing on my lower lip, I look up at the vintage tattoo sign hanging on the rough brick building. With a deep breath, I grab the door handle and swing it open. After filling out a dozen applications on barely three hours of sleep, I’m beat and am missing Milo like crazy. The scent of cleaning products and cigarette smoke burns my nostrils but makes me smile as I soak it up like a dry sponge. This. This is where Milo has always belonged. And I’m happy he finally found it.
The front area is scattered with chairs, magazines, and art books for clients to peruse while waiting for their turn. But there isn’t anyone to greet me. A giant Help Wanted sign is taped to the front of the receptionist’s desk in lieu of said receptionist. My head tilts to the side as I step closer to it.
What the hell?
I run my fingers along the thick block letters before my nails dig into my palm. Pissed, I scan the large open room that’s broken up with half-wall cubicles in search of my big brother. Tucked in the corner of the room sits the lying asshole of the hour, chatting with his client like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Looks like he’s in for a rude awakening.
My worn Chucks scuff against the linoleum floor as I close the distance between us.
“Hey, Milo,” I greet him, my voice sickly sweet.
The buzzing from his tattoo gun ceases as he looks up at me. “What are you doing here?”
“What? I can’t stop by and say hello to my big brother?” I ask.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie before waving a brown paper sack back and forth through the air. “I just bought burgers. Figured you might be hungry. But it looks like you’re busy. I would leave it with the receptionist, but apparently, you don’t have one.”
With a sigh, he sets his gun on the countertop behind him and mutters to his olive-skinned client, “I’ll be right back, Lou.” Motioning to a doorway near the back, he adds, “Let’s go.”
I shove the brown sack into his chest, then march into the break room that’s just as pristine as the kitchen at home. Pacing the freshly swept floor, I fold my arms and bite out, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“About what, Reese?”
“Don’t lie to me.” I stomp toward him and jab my finger into his chest. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Milo. I asked you if this place had any openings. I asked you, and you said no. Why? Why did you say no? Would it be that terrible if we worked together?”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer me.
My nostrils flare. “You know I’m desperate, Milo. You know how guilty I feel about sleeping in that house without being able to contribute to living there. This”––I wave my hands around––“would help me contribute. Seriously, am I that bad? Would it be that terrible to work together?”
He scratches his jaw but stays silent. Again.
“Answer me, Milo,” I growl. “Why did you lie about the job?”
“Because you hate being a receptionist.”
“So? It pays the bills and is the only thing on my resume other than being a freaking grocery worker. I’ll even do accounting if you need me to––”
“You hate accounting.”
“So?” I repeat. “I’m desperate, Milo––”
“Which is why I didn’t tell you about the job.”
I jerk away from him. “But…why?”
“Sit down, Reese.”
“No. I want to know––”
“Will you just sit your ass down?” he barks. “Please?”
The chair scrapes against the ground as I untuck it from the large rectangle table placed in the center of the room. The sound echoes throughout the otherwise silent area before I collapse into it.
Then I sniffle and cross my arms. “There. Happy now?”
Satisfied, Milo takes the seat across from me before pulling out our burgers. He sets one in front of me. The white wrapper is stained with grease, but I don’t bother to peel it away from my lunch. I’m too hurt to enjoy it anyway.
“Tell me,” I beg.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a receptionist.”
“I know that––”
“Or an accountant. Or a grocery worker,” he continues before taking a giant-ass bite of burger. I watch him chew with his mouth closed, anxiety eating away at my nerves until he swallows. “But there is something wrong with being stuck doing something you don’t want to do.”
“It pays the bills––”
“It makes you miserable.”
“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do.”
“And sometimes we don’t have to do those things, but we’re too stubborn to think any differently.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“It means that you hated your past job, Reese. You hated filing paperwork. You hated the monotony. And I hated seeing you miserable. This time, I want you to take your time. I want you to really think about shit. About what you want. Without the pressure of needing to make ends meet.”
“But I do need to make ends meet,” I argue.
“I’ll cover you until you figure it out.”
“I can’t ask that of you.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”
I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean. Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie?” I whisper. “We don’t keep secrets from each other, remember?”
Setting down his half-eaten burger, he grabs a napkin and rolls it between his fingers, watching me with that same sharp gaze that I grew up with.
“Tell me,” I beg.
He sighs. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d take it. For once in your life, will you be selfish? Will you allow yourself to want something? If you won’t do it for you, then do it for me.”
I open my mouth to argue that doing it for him would kind of defeat the point of being selfish, but he beats me to it.
“Don’t be a smartass. You know what I mean. Take some time to think about what you want. You. Not anyone else. And if, for some messed-up reason, you come back to the idea that being a receptionist, or accountant, or whatever is your dream job, then the position is yours. Deal?”
“You promise?”
“Yeah,” he grumbles.
I stand up and wrap my arms around his neck. “Deal.”
“Thanks for the burgers,” he mumbles.
“You’re welcome. Thanks for letting me barge in on your day.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I love you,” I add.
He shoves another bite of burger into his mouth. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”