I Want It That Way - Aguirre Ann - Страница 28

• Предыдущая
• 28/63
• Следующая

“Thanks.”

“We’ll hang out tonight if you want.”

“Not Project Runway,” he muttered.

“I’ll take you out drinking, and I can be your designated driver.” That should be the perfect distraction from his personal problems.

He pushed up on an elbow. “I haven’t done the stupid drunk break-up phase yet.”

“It’s followed by sitting in the recliner in sweatpants, eating Cheetos, right?”

Angus shuddered. “I’ll skip to the hangover cure and a good workout.”

“I’ll see you tonight.” With one last pat, I ran to the kitchen, where I fried an egg and made toast.

Ten minutes later, as I got in the car, I realized I should be grateful to Angus. Focusing on his issues prevented me from waking up in a cold sweat, wondering if Ty would boomerang into iceberg territory, no contact between us for weeks, like that one time. Of course, now that the possibility had occurred to me, anxiety squatted in my mind, swelling like a tick.

But something else distracted me. This morning, under normal circumstances, Lauren would’ve been part of that discussion. She should’ve woken up and bitched at us for bothering her and then offered to come to the bar tonight. I sorted through a jumble of impressions and I noted that her bed had still been made at six-thirty in the morning.

She didn’t come home last night.

As I parked, I got out my phone to text her.

You okay?

Fine, why?

Because you weren’t around when I left. Get lucky?

Woke up superearly. Went to the library to study for midterms.

I stared at my phone, unsure how to handle this. Usually, when Lauren didn’t want to talk about something, she said so. Never in my experience had she lied to me. But in a town the size of Mount Albion, the buses didn’t run at all hours, so how did she get to campus that early? It was theoretically possible that she’d walked; it was three miles. But that didn’t ring true.

Good luck, I finally sent back. If she wanted me to know what was going on with her, she’d tell me. No poking around on my end; I had enough shit on my plate.

My hand was on the door handle when my phone buzzed again, but this time, it was Ty. The message just read, No regrets.

Smiling, I answered, None here. Encore?

Soon.

Sam was already in the classroom when I arrived. He smiled at me, completely recovered from the night’s drama. Mrs. Trent put me to work, and the morning went fast. I actually liked it better than afternoons because keeping nineteen four-year-olds on their cots during nap time wasn’t the easiest job. Mornings were quick-paced with a dynamic mix of activities, lessons, snack and circle time. When noon rolled around, the new floater came in to relieve me.

I hesitated outside Mrs. Keller’s office, troubled, but something had to give. If I kept up at this rate, I’d burn out like my mentor at C-Cool had warned me. Mustering my nerve, I tapped on the door frame and she looked up.

“Come in!”

“I have a couple of things to talk to you about,” I said.

“You’re not quitting, are you?” Her look of alarm was flattering. “Then close the door, sit down, and let’s hear it.”

“The first request is, can I have the Friday after Thanksgiving off? I’m going home for the first time since last Christmas. It’s a sixteen-hour drive,” I added so she’d understand how big a deal it was, not like visiting Ann Arbor.

She nodded, making a note. “Thanks for the advance notice. I can work around it. We’re closed on Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, that’s why I was hoping it wouldn’t be too big a deal.”

“It shouldn’t be. We run a skeleton crew on Black Friday because so many companies offer two days’ holiday, anyway. It’s mostly parents who have retail jobs that need us open.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“That was easy enough. You looked so serious when you came in, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “I hate asking for favors. This might be harder to handle but...I need to shave a couple hours off my schedule on Wednesdays and Fridays.”

In a rush, I told her how the practicum was killing me—class at eight and then I had to race straight to C-Cool, where I was helping in the classroom for two hours. Afterward, there was another sprint to the day-care center to get me here by noon and if I was lucky, I might get a convenience-store sandwich along the way.

I concluded, “I just can’t keep going like that.”

“No, obviously not. Would it help if we shifted your hours to late afternoon? I could schedule you from two to six and you’d only lose an hour of paid time, but it should give you more of a lunch break, and I only have one hour to cover daily. I’m sure the new floater wouldn’t mind adding two hours.” Mrs. Keller got out her calendar and started looking at the shifts. “Right now you’re working twenty-three hours a week and she’s got seventeen. With this new division, it would be twenty-one and nineteen.”

“Yeah, that would be better.” Already the tension in my neck and shoulders eased. I could afford to pare down by twenty bucks a week, less with taxes.

She wrote up the sample schedule: Monday, 12–5. Tuesday, 8–12. Wednesday, 2–6. Thursday, 8–12. Friday, 2–6. I looked it over, checked the math. Yep, twenty-one hours a week, but those two trimmed hours would make my life a lot easier. With a grateful smile, I stood up.

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem. I wish more employees would talk to me instead of calling in until I have no choice but to let them go.”

“They probably don’t like working here as much as I do,” I said. “When will the change kick in?”

“I have to talk to Claire first, but I hope next week.” Claire must be the floater who had my old job.

“Thanks again.” I waved as I let myself out of her office, relief practically swamping me.

Time wasn’t so tight on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I had the leisure to go home and make lunch, eat and change clothes, before heading to campus for afternoon classes. On the downside, I had them back-to-back until six. Which sounded like a lot of classes, but the Tues-Thurs ones ran longer to make up for meeting only twice a week.

It was half past six when I got home, and I had zero desire to go drinking, but I’d promised Angus. He was waiting on the couch, ready to party. I summoned a smile.

“Do you mind if I eat first?” The prospect of peanuts and microwaved chicken wings for dinner didn’t sound enticing.

He raised a brow at me. “Oh, Nadia of little faith. Take the lid off the pot on the stove.”

Curious, I did as he suggested and found homemade chicken noodle soup. I was already spooning some into a bowl as I said, “You’re too good to me, seriously.”

Angus grinned. “I know. I’m spoiling you for all other men.”

That was not even remotely true, but it boosted his ego, so I played along. Plus, when his food tasted this delicious, he deserved the praise. With a happy sigh, I plonked onto the couch and savored the goodness.

“You know this is why we asked you to room with us, right?” I teased.

“Why must you be so cruel? Am I only a sassy apron to you?”

“Of course not. You’re also a sassy wok and wooden spoon.” Angus hit me with a pillow, nearly tipping my bowl over. I glared in mock-outrage. “You dare. Do what you will with me but the soup deserves better.”

To my delight, he burst out laughing. Bodes well for tonight. I hadn’t seen his eyes shadow free and shining since Josh cleared his conscience. Angus had a tendency to internalize things and to obsess, so he must’ve been wondering if it was something he did before he went to Europe or something he didn’t do. I wanted him to stop with all of that and just cut loose tonight. My reluctance to go out faded.

Before we left, I ate two bowls of soup, then I let Angus fiddle with my hair. He hated the sheer laziness of the band keeping my hair out of my face. The funny part was, he wasn’t the genius of a stylist that pop culture implied all gay men should be. In my opinion, Lauren was much better. What’s up with her, anyway? But tonight was about Angus, so I let him give me bad sex-vixen hair, then we went down to the parking lot.

• Предыдущая
• 28/63
• Следующая