“Hello?” he answered, still working on making his hair manageable.
“Oh, Beckett. Good. It’s Heather.”
“I know.” Beckett gave up on his hair and flipped off the light, heading into the kitchen to have a bite of the cake he’d made the day before and some water from the tap.
“Can you come work tonight?”
Beckett dropped the phone onto the counter and moved the call to speakerphone. This was…his luck was unreal. In a bad way.
“What?” he asked.
“Can you come work tonight? Someone called out and I can’t get anyone on the weekend with such late notice.” Heather sounded frantic, and he loved that.
Any other Saturday, he would have already told her yes. He would have already been half naked, changing into work clothes and running down the street. Every second he was home and not at work was a second he was losing out on weekend tips.
“I have plans,” he groaned.
“We’re already pretty busy, Beckett. I’d remember your answer when I make the next schedule,” Heather said. “Either way.”
Ah.
A threat.
But also a promise, depending on his answer.
Beckett cursed under his breath and sucked his teeth. He’d been looking forward to the date with Rhys all week, and the last place he wanted to be on this particular Saturday night was at work. But the money…
“Alright,” he agreed. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Can’t you come sooner?” she asked.
“I don’t have money for gas, Heather,” he snapped. “I have to walk; I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Beckett hung up on Heather and swiped to his contacts to call and break the bad news to Rhys. He carried the phone into his bedroom and stripped out of his tight jeans and striped t-shirt.
“Beckett,” Rhys answered, his voice sounding like a purr.
He hated himself. “I’m sorry for the late notice, but something has come up and I have to cancel tonight.”
“What?”
“I have to work,” he said.
“We had plans.”
“I know.”
“I planned a date.” Rhys sounded like Beckett had punctured his sails and gleefully laughed as they emptied of air.
“I know, and I’m so sorry. But money has been really tight and I can’t turn down the shift or the tips.” He grabbed a pair of work appropriate black pants out of his dresser and put them on. All that time he’d spent on his hair was a waste.
“Do you need a ride or were you going to walk?”
“What?”
“To work,” Rhys clarified. “I just got here.”
“You don’t need to have Gene take me to work, Rhys,” he said.
