“You could stand to stick around for a while, you know, kid.”
“I’m not a kid.”
“No. No, you’re a man. A good man. You’re a man who deserves a break. A man who could use a good woman. Or, hell, maybe you’re seeing guys? Dude, I’m not gonna judge. Whatever floats your?—”
“She doesn’twantthat. Me. A… Fuck, Ricky. This isn’t about that, okay? Just…leave it alone.” Up in the ring, Travis, a kid who’s here literally every day, and quite a few nights, delivers a punch that sends his opponent to the mat.
“Hey, hey, hold up, hold up. That’s it.Ding ding ding!” Ricky yells as he runs over to check on the fighters.
I take advantage of the opportunity to head up to my place, where I lock the door and put on music. I sit at my computer and check the weather to see if that North Sea storm’s going to affect things, and then, because I know I’ll need to eventually, I start packing my shit up.
Hours later, toward the end of the shift, Kit and Cora and I stare out at the rainy parking lot and watch the last customers drive off through a sea of puddles.
I’ve got four days left and Yemi’s starting tomorrow. There’s probably just enough time for me to get in a truckload of gravel and fill those potholes so they don’t ruin Kit’s car.
“It’s a mess,” Kitty says.
“It’s not letting up.” Cora’s clearly glum at the idea of staying any later than she has to.
“Go home, Cora. I’ll finish up.”
“I’m not leaving you to do all the closing stuff. It’s mop night.”
“Go. Seriously.”
“Frida left an hour ago,” I remind her.
“You know I’ll pay you your hours.”
Cora makes an ugly sound and rolls her eyes at me. “She’d tip me, too, if I let her.” She looks at Kit. “No. No, you can’t pay me extra out of pocket because it’s been a slow night. That’s not how restaurant work goes.”
“Okay, but you shouldn’t have to?—”
“Uh-uh.” Cora shakes her head at me. “You’re already the only place in town that does health insurance and a retirement plan. I’m not letting you tip me for existing.”
Kit sighs as Cora walks off, still staring out at the sheets of rain.
“Want to close now?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “Doesn’t seem worth staying open.”
“My place?” I ask, low enough that only she hears.
I watch her chest lift and fall at a decidedly quicker rate. Watch her mouth drop slightly open. She barely nods and that tiny movement pushes my own breath right out of me, sending me into what feels almost exactly like anoxia. Like I’m stuck at depth without oxygen and I’ll never make it back to the surface in time.
We close up quickly, though neither of us ever cuts corners. I follow her to my place, slow as hell through a rain like I haven’t seen in ages.
At least not on land.
We race through it and get inside the gym, lock up and run upstairs, the metal steps squealing under our rubber soles.
I throw open the door and grab her waist while she walks in, give her a tickle and smile when she giggles and squirms.
Then, before she’s gone five paces, she stops short.
I close the door with a clang, follow her gaze, and see the bags I packed earlier.
Slowly, like slogging through water, I watch her look over at me, watch her eyes get big and sad. It’s terrible knowing I put that look there, although I’m not sure I get how it happened. Or why.
