TRIPP
Idon’t think I’ve slept in days.
My eyes are heavy. My focus is all over the place. I’m surprised that I made it to the shop without having to pull over.
Cracking open the can of an energy drink, I suck down at least half of it before dropping into the chair at my station. It won’t help with the jitters I’ve already been fighting off or the need to look over my shoulder every three seconds – for what, I don’t know – but it might help me stay awake, at least.
The pens in their holder clatter as the entire thing falls over when I reach for one near the center, and I scoop them all back into place before reaching for my flash book to finish a piece I started last week.
My eyes fix themselves to a guy standing outside the shop’s front window. He’s got his hands stuffed into the pockets of a coat that’s way too heavy to be wearing in the Florida heat, and there’s a bag slung over one shoulder that looks like it might fall apart at any second.
“Holy shit,” I say, setting down my pen to make my way out the front door.
When I round the corner, he smiles at me, but he looks like hell. His cheeks and the tip of his nose have been sunburned one too many times. The bags under his eyes tell me that he probably hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks.
“Where the fuck have you been, man?” I ask him, reaching for the bag on his shoulder as I pull the door open for him. “We haven’t seen you in months.”
“I just need a bottle of water, please,” he tells me, and I roll my eyes at him in response.
He knows that’s not how it works around here.
I guide him into the back office and he settles onto the couch while I grab him a few bottles of water and one of the toiletry bags that we keep on hand. It’s not much, just some stuff to use for brushing his teeth and getting as cleaned up as he can, but it’s enough to hopefully keep him from getting sick.
“You still like burgers?” I ask him as I pull my phone from my pocket.
He nods as he pulls off his heavy coat, folding it over on itself to create a makeshift pillow.
CJ is an older guy, has to be in his mid-to-late seventies, but years of sun damage make him look a lot older than that. He’d been coming to the shop every week for three years straight; when he suddenly stopped, we’d all kind of assumed the worst.
Everyone here got really quiet for a while, but none of us would admit out loud to the others that we were quietly grieving the loss of our friend.
I didn’t think I’d be so relieved to see him again.
“Get some sleep and lunch’ll be waiting for you when you wake up, okay?” I tell him, offering a friendly pat to his arm as he lays down.
When I step out of the office, leaving the door cracked, the sound of of Connor’s bike engine filters into the building as he slows to a stop out back. I try to ignore the fact that I can feelmy heart beating just a little bit harder in my chest at the sound, blowing out a breath with a shake of my head.
Moving my focus to the front of the shop while I work on the food order, I silently plead for someone to come in for a walk-in while Connor unloads at his station.
Anyone. Anything.
“Hey,” he calls out.
“Hey,” I say with a hard knot forming in my stomach, keeping my eyes on my phone’s screen. “CJ’s in the office. I’m putting in a food order, if you want anything.”
“What the hell?” He asks, the relief in his voice palpable from here. “Where was he?”
“He didn’t say.” I can feel his body closing in on mine, even while I try to keep my back turned toward him. “I’m hoping he got a bed somewhere for a while.”
He shifts, the movement bringing his body closer to mine. I pull my sketchbook closer to me as I set my phone onto the desk, hurriedly flipping through page after page filled with doodles and sketches in search of a clean one.
Again, he shifts closer, this time dropping his hand onto the back of my neck, and I lurch.
“Tripp,” he says, “I know that what happened that night was a power play for you, and I know I fell right into it, but we had sex. You wiped my cum off of your stomach, for God’s sake.” He pauses, shaking his head. “You kissed me like it meant something to you. So I think, after all of that, you can probably manage to look at me.”
“No, I can’t, because when I look at you, I still want to knock your teeth out of your skull,” I argue.
Reaching to the corner of my desk, I pull a few different pens from the too-full holder waiting there. A heavy breath forces itself from my lungs.
