My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Felix:Pool today?
FOMO seared through me. Last summer, I had spent almost every day poolside with Felix and Patrick, reading crappy magazines at a community pool no one else seemed to know about. It cost two dollars for the day and always had hot lifeguards. Summer was usually sweaty make-outs, sunscreen, and sneaking into air-conditioned theaters.
Now it was about Rose Carver and grilled meats.
I had leveled down hard-core.
Working
Felix texted back:Ditch it
Normally, I would. But when I glanced up at Rose and Hamlet, two earnest little citizens, I didn’t feel like it. There were actual consequences with my dad if I ditched this time. And I needed to do a good-enough job to make it to Tulum.
Can’t. Don’t get sunburned on your scalp again.
I slipped my phone into my back pocket and tightened my apron. Time to get this party started.
When Rose got back to the truck, she was holding an iced black coffee.
“You live a joyless existence,” I said as I stirred the rice in the pot, making it nice and fluffy. There was nothing worse than matted-down rice. She ignored me and sipped her drink in one long, loud drag.
The office park run went astonishingly well. I slipped easily into the cooking zone. Soon I knew how to get the lombo to the perfect crispness level and how many pickles to scoop out so that the juices didn’t run into the rice. I was surprised by how little I hated this. Rose chatted easily with the regulars and grew adept at both taking orders and getting the food out at the pickup window.
When we were getting ready to wrap up the stop, Hamlet moseyed over to the truck again.
“Slow day?” I asked as I wiped down the counters.
He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he propped his arms on the low counter where people could place their plates to eat, cradling his chin in one hand. “Yeah.”
He was just looking at me at this point. I stopped and stared at him levelly. “So, are you a gymnast or something?”
“A gymnast?” An adorable puzzled expression appeared on his face for a second.
“Yeah. You do all those flips and stuff.”
A grin stretched across his face, quick and easy. “Oh! No, I used to do a lot of martial arts and stuff as a kid. But now I mostly box.”
Totally out of my own control, my face flushed. I found this inexplicably hot. “Who boxes anymore?” I sputtered. “I mean, like men from the 1970s wearing sweatpants maybe.” Whatareyou saying, Clara.
But this made Hamlet crack up. Head thrown back and everything.
Rose popped up next to me, outta nowhere. “Where do you train?”
“At this gym in Chinatown.”
“Cool! Do you compete?”
A little modest shrug. “Yeah.”
To my surprise, Rose scrambled out of the truck and hopped over next to him on the pavement. “Show me some moves!” She held up her fists comically, a huge grin on her face.
It was cute, and I wanted to barf.
Hamlet laughed and stepped toward her, hands reaching out. “Is it okay if I touch your arms?”
WAS IT OKAY TO TOUCH HER ARMS.
She nodded, keeping it cool.
