“Are you serious?” Rob looks to heaven. “He was just playing around. The girl can take a joke, right?”
The girl, me, just sighs. Then I smile. A smile doesn’t seem like much of a lie in the general scheme of things. But Beck’s eyes widen in surprise. What the hell did he expect? I need this job.
“Very sorry about that, Phil,” says Rob. “It won’t happen again.”
“It better not.” The dickhead gathers his wounded pride and heads toward the door. The people around us return to drinking. It’s over.
“Pull that sort of shit again and you’re fired,” snarls Rob. “That guy is a valued customer. He’s in every other night spending money and tipping well, understood?”
Beck just nods.
And with gritted teeth, I go back to work.
“Does that sort of thing happen often?”
It’s two in the morning and the last drunk has stumbled off. Kari and Rob left at around midnight when things started slowing down. That’s when I get to tend bar for a while. Rob doesn’t like me being back there when he’s still working because, and I quote, “I take up too much space.” So yeah, only Beck and I are left to clean up. Music plays softly on the stereo and the street outside is mostly quiet.
“Occasionally,” I answer, wiping down the bar. “Comes with the job. Thank you for trying to save me from sexism, but I can look after myself.”
Silence.
He starts putting chairs up on the tables, getting ready to sweep and mop the floor. At least I don’t have to do it all on my own. Rob is such a cheap shit. It’s been weeks since the last busboy just decided to not show up.
“I’m looking for another job,” I say, not liking the silence. “Though it’s not easy with the hours they have me on here. All in all, I kind of hate the place with the fire of a thousand suns. But please don’t tell him that.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” He smiles. I smile. We all smile.
The air is cleared. Good.
“So what’s your story?” I ask.
Apparently I have a thing for the lean muscles in his arms, because when he pushes the broom around it’s this close to being a sex thing. Takes me a moment to remember what I was doing, i.e. restocking the fridges and liquor shelves behind the bar. The new guy looks like good times and heartbreak. I should definitely know better.
“I suppose that as my future bride you have a right to know of my dark past,” he says, expression grim.
“That bad, huh?”
Again he flashes a smile. “Nuh, not really. Decided I didn’t like the path I was on so I got off it. Been traveling this great nation of ours and seeing the sights ever since.”
“You’re a wanderer, then.”
“Guess you could say that. Hope it won’t be an impediment to our future happiness? A life of love on the road has much to offer.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I smile and straighten from packing some beers in the fridge. Think it over. Seems the likelihood of his interest in me being a bad joke encouraged by management is nonexistent after tonight’s scene. But we’re still talking around exactly what might be happening here. “After much consideration, I have decided that what you’re actually after is meaningless sex, as opposed to the holy state of matrimony. I don’t blame you for getting the two confused. It happens often.”
His dark brows draw together, a hand going to his heart. “You doubt my intentions? I’m wounded, Alice. Wounded.”
“Still after a wife to go with your good fortune, huh?”
“Absolutely.” He recommences sweeping the floor. “But not just any wife. No. It must be you.”
I smile and shake my head.
“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
“Your knowledge of Austen is impressive, I’ll give you that.”
“Why, thank you. It’s my stepmom’s favorite book. She used to make me watch the movies with her all the time. Never thought that’d actually come in handy, but here we are.” He smiles once more and my stupid knees go weak. I need to gird my loins or something against this man. “Though, to be clear, I wouldn’t turn down meaningless sex with you until such time as you’re ready to commit, of course.”
“How very kind of you.”
“Not a problem,” he says. “We could try it as a baby step toward working our way up toward having coffee. Take it slow, like you said.”
I bite back a smile. The guy is an outrageous flirt. “Do you normally jump straight to offering a girl your hand in marriage?”
“No. Like the lines from Austen, it’s a new thing I’m trying.”
“Any reason in particular?” I ask.
He ponders the question for a moment. “Life is short.”
“True.”
“Is the mop and bucket in the storeroom too?”
So that’s all the explanation I’m getting. Okay. “Yes, it is.”
We work in silence for a while. I’d like to say his presence doesn’t affect me, but that would be a lie. Because almost every time I sneak a look, he’s sneaking a look back. And he’s smiling. If only he were less cute or something. Because the truth is, I might be a bit doomed here. Lust at first sight in the workplace is kind of a pain in the ass. Same goes for advanced flirting leading toward possible copulation. There’s a myriad of ways getting involved, even just a smidgeon, could go wrong. Though apparently he doesn’t intend to stay long and I’m doing my best to get the hell out of here. Ah. The elusive yet pervasive dream of working somewhere management isn’t complete and utter trash. These days, it’s all that keeps me going.
In the meantime, there’s the prospect of a dalliance with Beck to be considered. And considering it, I am. If for no other reason than it’ll give me an excuse to run my fingers through his beautiful hair and mess it all up. It might just be my new life goal. At least for this week. His hair and his lips and his arms. Those are my favorites, for now.
Before closing up, I touch up my eyeliner and lip gloss. It’s been a long night, but I like to look nice for myself. That Beck will also be seeing me is just a bonus.
“Question,” I say at around three a.m. as we finish locking up. “You hungry?”
“Answer. I could eat.”
“Then follow me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The diner is within walking distance on Wilshire Boulevard and can best be described as low-key. However, it serves coffee and a half decent burger and fries at odd hours, when I most require these things. Therefore, it has my heart. Beck doesn’t seem put off by the faint film of grease on everything and smiles at the 1950s kitsch aesthetic. Thereby passing another of my tests.
“You haven’t told me your story,” he says once we’re seated in a booth and have ordered.
“I finished my degree and realized it was basically good for nothing and there were next to no jobs available anyway. Or at least nothing that appealed. Teachers and librarians are fighting for every scrap of funding they can get while newspapers are folding. The publishing industry is going through serious cutbacks. Majoring in English Lit may have been a mistake.” I shrug. Truth is, I got stuck for various reasons. But this explanation is easier to swallow. “Figured if I was going to wind up serving then I’d like to do it somewhere I can walk along the beach now and then, without getting stuck in traffic for hours.”