He gets back underneath the town car but calls out, “If you change your mind, I’m down for a plateful of Mario’s cooking for lunch. No pressure, fucker.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “Those are spoken for, but how’s about this? I’ll treat you to dinner at Benny’s place tonight. Go home, change into something respectable, and drop me a text when you’re ready. I’ll pick you up and drive. Cool?”
“Thanks, man.”
He gets back to work, and I’m back to my endless, pointless, meaningless review of Carol’s paperwork.
But I think about his parents and how lost Jack will be if they do split up. Will Carol quit her job at the shop? All of a sudden, this project I’m working on seems a lot less meaningless.
* * *
All afternoon,I told myself I was waiting to go to Latterature until after work because I had a lot to do. The truth is, I was putting it off.
By the time the sky turns purple and dark gray clouds are skating trails across the horizon, Jack’s finished the town car.
“You feel up to a trip to The Body Shop?” Jack calls over his shoulder as he washes his hands in the shop sink.
“You want a tattoo?” I ask, stunned. “I mean, my sister can probably hook you up, but you usually need an appointment. They book out like weeks or more, and it’s closed tonight anyway.”
Jack shakes his hands dry since we’re out of paper towels—another thing that Carol handled when she worked here—and laughs. “No, man. I’m talking the strip club.”
Of course the only strip club in the county has the exact same name as the only tattoo shop in the county. Michelle, my brother’s ex-wife, met him at the “other” Body Shop. The one Jack’s talking about now.
“Nah, I’m not in the mood for a lap dance. We can rain check dinner, though, if you’d rather have some tits in your face.” I pull the insulated food bag out of the office fridge, which desperately needs a cleanout.
As we lock up and head to the parking lot, Jack claps me on the back. “Thanks for the offer. Let’s grab a nice dinner another time. I think tonight I want some loud music, watered-down drinks, and something soft grinding on my lap.”
I nod and wave to him. “Have fun. Be safe out there. If you see Exotic…” I lift my brow at him and try not to burst out laughing.
Michelle, also known as Exotic, was Jack’s favorite dancer until she married my brother.
“She’s not getting a goddamn thing from me.”
“Good man.” I laugh.
Jack flips me the finger, but then drives off in his antique truck. I pull out not long after him but find every excuse in the book not to go straight to Latterature.
I stop and fill the truck with gas, carefully cleaning the windows, even though the truck is perfectly clean. I head into the gas station and make small talk with the girl at the counter before finally getting my ass in gear.
I start up the truck and head toward downtown. Worst case, if she’s not there, I can drop by her place.
It occurs to me, of course, that maybe that’s the real reason I’m stalling going to the shop.
Am I hoping to miss her at the café?
Looking for a reason to go back to her tiny apartment, walk the steps, and show up at her door bearing food?
“Fuck me sideways,” I grumble to myself. I’m acting like a damn kid. I smooth my hair in place and angle the truck down nearly deserted Main Street.
It’s past six by the time I roll up to the shop. I decide to drive past to make sure she’s still there before I bother parking.
I squint as I pass to see if maybe Chloe left a light on, or if she’s still back there. Maybe working in the kitchen.
The street is deserted, and something in my gut just feels off. This isn’t butterflies or awkwardness about showing up with the forgotten food either.
I don’t know what this is.
But in true stalker style, I darken my lights and creep past the café, feeling a mix of concern and shame.
