Where One Goes(23)

In hopes of easing her discomfort, at least mentally, I decide to torture her back by joking with her. “I’m really enjoying this, by the way, Charlotte,” I note and she tenses, clenching her fist. I love seeing her become all fire and feisty.

“Okay. Let me try something,” George says. When he applies the wipe again, he blows gently on her flesh. Her skin immediately pebbles with goose bumps.

“Will it leave a scar?” Charlotte murmurs with her eyes clenched closed.

“Why? You got a lot of people looking at your bare ass?” I ask.

“I think I can use some butterfly bandages to close it, and just place gauze over it. We’ll need to check it and clean it once a day,” George mumbles. “Maybe with some Neosporin the scar will be minimal.”

“We?” Charlotte snorts. “I don’t think so.” Just then, George pokes her cut, making her yelp.

“Sorry,” he says, lacking sincerity. He did it on purpose. George makes quick work of cleaning the wound, applying ointment to it, and then he butterflies it and tapes the gauze on top. “There you go. I’d remove the gauze when you shower.” He slides his chair back and fumbles in the first-aid box, but I see him watching her as she slides her shorts back up. Dirty, rotten bastard. I shake my head and chuckle silently to myself. He’s just like me.

“Well, despite how incredibly awkward that was, I appreciate your help.” Charlotte turns and smiles faintly.

“You’re welcome.” George nods and stands, tossing the first-aid kit on the desk.

“Guess I need to go and change. Do you mind if I wear a jean skirt? These were my only black shorts.”

“No, that’s fine. You can take the rest of the day off, if you want,” George offers.

“No. I need the money,” Charlotte quickly adds. “I’ll be back in twenty.”





“Thanks for staying to add to that completely mortifying moment, Ike,” I moan as we drive to the motel.

“Charlotte,” Ike says, simply. “I’m dead. I have so little true happiness. Don’t feel embarrassed. Feel good you’ve given a dead man a small glimpse of heaven.”

I narrow my eyes and glance sideways at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

After I get to the motel, I wash off quickly, slipping on my jean skirt, and making it back to the restaurant in twenty minutes. The afternoon is slow and George seems to be hiding away in his office. I’m not sure if he’s hiding from me, or maybe he’s back there snorting drugs or getting drunk.

The uneventful afternoon tapers into the evening and Misty appears looking refreshed.

“She’s high,” Ike notes when he sees her.

She doesn’t speak to me as she busies herself preparing the bar for the night shift. Fine by me. Like I care. Sniper introduces me to two of the other cooks, Greg and Winston. Greg is a tall, black man with a stellar white smile and Winston is a thin, pasty-faced man with cornrows. They both greet me and we share the typical pleasantries of introduction. Two other servers show up around five, Peyton and Libby—the charming pair are brother and sister.

“So you’re the new girl?” Peyton grins as his eyes run up and down my body.

“That’s me?” I reply awkwardly as my face heats from his very obvious perusal.

“Please ignore my brother,” Libby says, as she rolls her eyes at Peyton. “He’s twenty-one and still hasn’t finished puberty.” When I laugh out loud, I immediately turn away from them and try to stop when I see Peyton glare at his sister.

“Apparently every man in town is going to have the hots for you,” Ike notes gruffly as he stares at Peyton.

When my gaze darts to him briefly, he’s standing with his signature McDermott stance—arms crossed—and his mouth is in a tight line. Is he jealous?

Ignoring Ike’s statement, I make small talk with the siblings until the dinner crowd begins to trickle in. The night is pretty busy, and I keep making a point to check on George, wondering if my plan was a bad idea. I’ve been expecting some sort of event tonight, but so far there’s been nothing. After we close down, George tells me I’m scheduled for the lunch shift tomorrow and sends me on my way. As I head out to my car, Misty is leaning against my hood, one leg crossed over the other, smoking a cigarette as if she hasn’t a care in the world.

“Did you need something, Misty?” I ask with an I-don’t-give-a-shit tone.

“This is your truck?” she asks, glancing back at it.

“It is,” I admit as I cross my arms and cock my head. What the hell does she want? Momentarily, I wish Ike were here, but I wonder if maybe she knows what I’ve done, and I don’t want Ike to know about that just yet.

Exhaling her last drag, she flicks her cigarette onto the parking lot and stands to her full height. She’s an attractive woman, but you can tell life’s had its way with her. She looks way older than she is, and just plain mean. There’s no softness to her, not from what I can see, and I wonder why George would even give her the time of day. Maybe he thinks he doesn’t deserve better. That thought makes me incredibly sad. For the most part, George has been a major dick to me, but I know there’s good in him. I’ve seen it.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” she begins, and it takes all of my strength not to roll my eyes at her.