I stop pouring, my gaze on the condom that fell out, the condom that is probably tucked in there for those “mistake” times he mentioned in the car last night. I top off his cup and refasten the lid, pulling a wrapped straw from the box under the register.
“Here,” I say, walking it over to stand right in front of him, the bar top between us. With my tongue wedged between my back teeth and cheek, I breathe out a snort laugh and smile on the right side of my mouth as I slide my palm across the counter, collecting both the dollar and the condom.
I unfold the bill and slip it in the register, shutting the drawer with my hip. I then pinch the condom packet between my thumb and index finger and hold it up for everyone to see. The twins are holding fists to their mouths to contain their laughter, and Abby is twisting in her seat with nervous excitement. I examine the print on it closely, my stomach swimming with jealousy.
“Ribbed for her pleasure,” I read, punctuating the short sentence with a click of the tongue. “Well . . .” I lean forward, resting my elbow on the surface between us, and hold out the package for him to put back where it belongs.
He pinches the other side and we both hold on for a second, his eyes hazing in a warning that I’m taking this too far. I can’t help the green monster that beats in my chest, though.
“I hope she enjoys it,” I say, finally letting go.
He lets out a breathy laugh and chews at the inside of his cheek as he tucks the condom back in the tight fit of his wallet. He stands to put his wallet back in his pocket, then pulls the water cup in his grip, holding it up to toast me before biting the end of his straw with his teeth.
“She better,” he says, a flash to his eyes that sends an electric jolt through my veins that makes me want to crawl over this counter and both choke him and kiss him at the same time.
“Gentlemen?” He turns his focus to his friends and they shake their heads, I’m guessing in awe of how big of an ass he can be. They follow him toward the pool tables anyhow, leaving me with Abby to pick apart the scene I just lived, but with her missing half the story.
“That was intense,” she says, holding her lid down on her drink when I reach for it. “I’m good. I think three Dr. Peppers in an hour is my max.”
“You want some water?” I want to give her more free shit, and to brag about it loudly.
She shakes her head and stands from her seat, pulling her keys from her purse. I still have two hours on my shift. I guess it’s not fair to expect her to hang out here the entire time.
“Think you can manage to not get in any throw-downs before I pick you up at five?” Without warning, she spins around, lifts her phone and snaps a photo of the both of us. I’m sure I look like a raging lunatic or a cross-eyed loser.
“Why? When are you going to stop doing that?” I whine.
“Oh, June.” She leans forward and blows a kiss at me over the counter. “You know the answer to that.” She winks and I flip her off.
“Have a good day at work, honey,” she says, her heels clicking along the polished concrete floor on her way out. I stare over to the pool tables and catch both D’Angelo twins angling their necks to watch every sway of my friend’s hips as she leaves. Heels aren’t part of her normal wardrobe; she has a shoot in them in a few days and has been wearing them nonstop this weekend to get used to balancing in them. When paired with her short-shorts and tight sweater, though, she looks like a fucking natural.
Rather than take my break under the mirror again, I decide to skip it altogether and just pick at the sandwich I packed. I slip it out of the plastic lunch bag under the counter and unwrap some of the plastic wrap to tear off a piece of the crust covered in peanut butter. We were out of jelly, so I loaded it up thick. Just one bite has my mouth fighting for moisture, so I fill a cup with ice and water.
“Employees don’t have to follow that dollar rule I guess, huh?” Lucas walks over alone, the twins still battling over a new game of nine-ball several yards behind him.
“You just missed it. I donated a condom to the register,” I say, my tone flat and eyes focused on nothing but the edge of my sandwich.
“June, don’t be like that,” he says, and I laugh at his pathetic apology.
I tear off another bite and pop it in my mouth, flitting my gaze up to meet his while I chew. I lean my hip into the counter and smirk through my bite, licking peanut butter from my teeth before taking another drink.
“Be like what? Like your dirty little secret?” I narrow one eye and tilt my head as I stare at him.
He props himself up on one of the stools and runs his palms over his face.
“It’s complicated, June.” He pulls his hat away and weaves a hand through his hair as he glares at me.
Your dad is having an affair.
With your best friend’s mom.
The hard truth runs through my brain on a mental teleprompter, over and over. I take another bite and chase it with more water.
“Excuse me,” I say, haphazardly wrapping my sandwich and tucking it back in the plastic bag. I wipe my hands on a damp towel and step around the other end of the bar, around the counter to the hallway that leads to the child care room and the bathrooms. I dip inside the women’s room and walk into the last stall. Before I can latch the door closed, someone pushes from the other side.
“June, don’t do this,” Lucas pleads.
I laugh, nervously, because what the fuck, we’re in the ladies room!
“You need to get out of here,” I say in a loud whisper. I push back, my feet sliding with my effort. It’s the stupid Vans; these aren’t nonstick shoes. Morty is right to lecture me about it every time I’m up for review.
When I realize I can’t overpower him, I relent and step back; he falls into my body in the tight space, his hand clutching the top of the stall. Stepping in even closer, he closes the door and locks it.
“What, because the two pair of legs won’t be a giveaway?” I grimace then glance down, but he doesn’t laugh at my attempt at humor, and just sighs.
“Where should I begin?” His left hand slides down the wall until his forearm rests to the right of my head. I should probably feel trapped but I somehow don’t.
“You said I’m not a mistake,” I begin. The burn is already crawling up my throat and I won’t be able to handle this conversation without getting a little ugly.
Lucas lets out a soft breath that tickles my face. I try to look away and avoid his eyes, but his other hand finds my cheek and he turns me toward him.
“I did, and I meant it,” he says, this Lucas so very different from the one who gave that little performance at the bar. I suppose I’m a different June, too. Here, I’m vulnerable. I hid it better before.
Our eyes tangle with near apology, our lips twitching with almost words.
“Out there,” I finally muster the beginning, only to be stopped by the hard breath that leaves my chest. I shudder and Lucas’s eyes drop just below my gaze. It gives me the excuse to cry, so I do. I blink out a single tear that stops at the corner of my mouth. “I felt like a pretty big mistake out there. And every single second that passed just made me feel more and more like I . . . like me and you? We don’t belong.”
My breath hitches on the last few words, and I hate how weak my voice sounds. I sniffle and straighten my posture, standing taller with my back flat against the fiberglass wall I’m leaning on. Lucas blinks a few times, his gaze still a fraction below mine, eventually closing his eyes completely and letting his head fall forward to rest against mine. Both of his hands draw in until his thumbs are on my cheeks, not sweeping the damp emotions away but rather feeling that my tears happened and he’s to blame.