No one steals shit in this town, and even if they did break in, there’d be nothing worth taking. If they did find something, I guess they need it more than me, so they can have it.
My house isn’t much, just an old farmhouse that’s in serious need of renovations. I refuse to fix the place up because when something breaks, it gives me something to do. Just like all the land. It could be used for something good, like growing shit, but I just use it as therapy. Going out there and cutting it with music blasting in my ears is better than talking to people who’d buy the produce from me.
One of these days I’m going to plant a shit ton of corn and make a maze for the kids for Halloween, but I’ve been saying that since I bought it three years ago. Hasn’t happened yet.
I change out of my khakis and Shark Sports polo, throwing on some sweats and a T-shirt. I drop onto my lumpy couch, beer in hand, and put on Sports Center. Thank fuck football season is starting because I can never find shit to watch on TV otherwise.
The announcers go on to talk about all the new draft picks, and the mistakes they think the team made, who’s going to do well this year, and who won’t. Sometimes they’re right, but a lot of the time, they’re just talking out of their asses.
My phone rings, and I reach for it blindly, swiping to answer as the announcers get into a heated discussion about some scandal one of the coaches was involved in.
“Hello?”
“Are you almost here?”
“Huh?” I pull the phone from my ear to look at the screen.
Maggie. Fuck.
“The restaurant, Jordan. You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”
I search my brain, certain I did not make plans with Maggie today, a Friday night. Usually, she goes out with her sister on Fridays. The date nights she makes me goon are on Tuesdays. She said weekly date nights will keep our relationship alive, but I don’t think it was ever alive, so… we’re just beating a dead horse.
“Jordan?” she says, annoyed.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Please don’t tell me you forgot.”
Maggie is a patient woman who puts up with my shit. She’s an x-ray tech, and we met when her little brother came to the rehab after a broken leg. We’ve been dating now for almost a year—
Fuck!
“I did not forget,” I say, jumping up from the couch and spilling beer on me that I frantically try to wipe off but only end up spilling more. “I’m just running late. Fuck!” I shout as I hit my baby toe on the end table. Fucking karma.
“Late? Where are you?”
“In my truck.”
“The hell you are,” she says, her voice getting higher each time she speaks. “Where are you?”
“On my way.”
“You know, I really trusted you not to forget this time,” she says as I hurry into my bedroom, putting the phone on speaker so I can pull my shirt off. “Yesterday, I was going to text you to remind you, but then I told myself you’d remember because this was important to me.” I yank a button-up from a hanger and get it onwhile grabbing a pair of jeans from my drawer. “Again this morning, I typed out the text and everything, but nope. I didn’t send it because I knew you’d show.”
“I am on my way, Maggie,” I say as I balance myself on one foot, shoving my pant leg in the other side. I yank on socks, then step into my boots. “Seriously, ten minutes.”
I snatch up my phone and run for the door.
“Just forget it, Jordan. I’ll… talk to you later.”
The call goes dead just as I step onto my porch.
“Fuck,” I say, letting out a sharp breath. Just another thing I’ve fucked up.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Alex
