I mean, who among us hasn’t hate-jacked it to some gorgeous asshole?
Just me?
Fine.
Fuck, I’m dazed from these famous people talking about me. Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it. Is surreal a better word? I dunno. Evie stands next to me and bumps her shoulder into mine. “It’s a little crazy to consider that these people are my family, and they’re also like, basically the closest thing we have to gods. Sometimes I look over at them and I think, how is this my life?”
I greet her with wide eyes. “Literally the last twenty-four hours have been me staring in the mirror going holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, how did this happen? I mean, I’m living—”
Shit, I almost told a complete stranger way too much about my personal situation. Not smart. If she thinks the weird pause is, well, weird, she doesn’t let on.
“Anyway, does it ever stop being surreal?” …is really the question I want to ask.
“Yes. Yes, it does. Especially when you realize Scout Martinez burps like a gassy trucker, Jean-Pierre Sehene can’t tell a joke to save his ding dang life, and both of them are giddy as schoolkids to conduct what is essentially a new hire orientation because they love this place.”
“Wow, gross and amazing and… really?”
She nods and leans in, her eyes sparkling. “Uh-huh. Scout woke up early this morning and put together a binder for you. I mean, she’s never put together an employee binder for the pizza shop, but that’s ’cause she knows I’ll kick her butt if she messes with my baby.”
Scout looks over at us and narrows her eyes at Evie, whose smile lights up the room. Scout goes from hawkish admonition to puddle of human goo in the space of three blinks. Damn, she has it bad. I catch Nick checking us out and adopt a conspiratorial tone. “Of course, then you’ve got the slightly grumpy Mister-Sacrificed-My-Leg-For-My-Country-War-Hero-With-Abs-For-Days over there, aka Keto Spice, making us all look like Class A Losers, so…” I end with a shrug.
Evie laughs loudly, wheezing as she bangs her hand on the counter. “Keto. Spice. Oh my dog, I’m totally calling him that from now on.”
“What?” Nick asks, knitting his eyebrows. “What did you call me?”
I stand in front her, which only causes her to laugh louder. “Nothing. Not a damned thing. Not every conversation revolves around you.”
“Yeah, Keto Spice. This isn’t about you,” she says, now completely bent over, barely able to breathe. Scout bites her lip at the scene her wife is making and walks up behind her, palming that spectacularly generous ass of hers. Evie makes a little surprised chirping noise and turns around. The heat they generate from whatever silent conversation is going on between them damn near melts the counter.
“Ladies, no eye-fucking in the main workout area,” I say dryly, one eyebrow lifted for good measure. “We have a reputation to maintain.”
Evie breaks eye contact with Scout and sends me a conspiratorial smirk. “Oh yeah, you’ll do just fine here. And by the way,” she says, pointing at the put-upon Nick, “he’s usually not that grumpy. He’s had a bad run with some employees he thought would work out, and I heard he’s been having substandard sex lately, so…”
I finally break, I can’t help it. His shocked face has me laughing my entire ass off. “Oh, man. I sure hope Keto Spice doesn’t fire me. He hates me, but you and I—we could be friends.”
Evie gives me a hug, which feels amazing, and pulls back, slapping her hand to my chest. Speaking as though Nick isn’t right there, she continues. “Agreed. And hey, don’t let this one get to you. He’s actually a great guy, not that he’d ever let anyone know it, but I think he just likes to keep people at arm’s length. Like, I’m really shocked Jean-Pierre convinced him to do the before-and-after picture on the wall and in all of the marketing. Do you know that, until he did the poster, most people who casually knew him didn’t know he was an amputee? Heck, I was with Scout for six months before I had the slightest clue.”
“Hey now,” Nick says, genuinely affronted. “I wasn’t hiding it, I just didn’t think that anyone wanted to see a prosthetic. If you didn’t know, that’s on your wife.”
Scout’s face is pure protest. “Maybe I was just letting you tell your own story, ever think about that?”
I’m watching this exchange like a damned ping-pong match when Evie leans into me and stage-whispers, “I mean, I thought sometimes he walked with a little bit of a limp, but this is such a sporty family, it didn’t strike me as odd.”
I lean into her and whisper back, “What kind of a chance do you think we have of getting him out of those shorts and into something less distracting, like a pair of unflattering sweatpants?”
“I think they’re easy to get on and work well with his prosthetic, which is a big deal for amputees. And, truth be told, he looks just as good in sweatpants.”
“Dammit.”
“The struggle is real, my friend.” Evie’s gorgeous honey-colored eyes sparkle in the beams of sunlight that cross the space, and her raised eyebrow is perfectly groomed. She doesn’t know it yet, but we just became BFFs.
Straightening out the flyers on the counter, I continue our whispered conversation. “I mean, if he’s going to be an angry asshole, he can’t go around in those shorts. It’s too confusing. Like, do you want three feet of personal space in every direction, or do you want everyone with a gay pulse to maul you?”
“Yeah, I totally get it, but those shorts are a big deal, like maybe he’s willing to let other people in, like really see him, so I don’t tease him about them. I also think there is a reason why he’s working with combat vets. He needs to make it better for them somehow, and this is his way of doing that. He doesn’t feel he has anything to offer regular civilians.”
“Um, if nothing else, he offers a spectacular view. That’s god’s work right there.”
“Preach,” she whispers, fist-bumping me. “But… look. I’ll let him tell you about his experiences if he wants to, but just remember not all of his wounds are visible.” Her face is kind as she says this, and it makes me reconsider some of my less-kind assumptions about the man.
Well, shit. “Way to take the fun out of making fun of him, Evie.”
Her fake grimace is over-the-top and perfect. “Ugh, I know. Caricatures are way more fun to abuse.”
I flit my fingers about. “True. Well, if he must have layers, at least he’s pretty.”
She slides her arm around me in a half hug, and I let myself feel happy for a half second.
Now that everyone is caught up and Scout and Nick have stopped verbally sparring, we move to the tiny kitchen and sit around the table where I’d interviewed just the day before. Nick grabs the three-ring binder from Scout, and it’s filled with all of the various amputations and battle wounds they’ve seen, and the recommended exercises and adjustments which can be made for each.
“I’d like for you to study this, damn near memorize it. Because in the last six months, I’ve seen pretty much every single one of these, and you want to feel confident in what you’re suggesting to people, because what they need is somebody who sounds confident.” Nick is serious as he says this, and I dare a look into those dangerous brown eyes to let him know that the message is received.