“I know you have normal clothes back there.”
“Those are for the shop. Gays come from all around just to get a Bottom’s Up t-shirt.” He paused and gave me a more concerned look. “How’s the job hunt going?”
My stomach knotted at that question.
“I haven’t been—”
“Oh stop the act.” He flamboyantly flicked his wrist and smiled. “You’re too smart for this place. You think I didn’t know?”
“I guess. I’ll let you know when I have an interview that doesn’t end with security practically shoving me out the door.” I walked into the back storage room with Rob following close behind. After removing my sopping wet shirt, I hung it to drip dry on a wooden chair. “I think I speak for a quarter of my generation when I say college is a fucking scam.”
“At least you’re trying. If you’re that hard up for cash, I have a buddy who owns a bar on Ruskin.”
“I’m not dealing with any more werewolves,” I snapped, slipping off my nice shoes and dress pants.
“Okay, calm down. It was just a suggestion. They aren’t all bums, and the half-turns pay pretty well since they get all that government money.”
“Freeloading pieces of shit. What are they going to tip me with at that bar? IOUs? Food stamps? I hate them all.”
“Yikes. My friend who owns the bar is a werewolf, so… this is awkward.”
I gritted my teeth while wondering how I’d walk back that statement. “I’m sure he’s a nice guy.”
“You need to be a little more understanding and a little less judgy. If you think it’s tough for you to find a good job in this economy, just imagine trying to find any job that wants a werewolf. And if you’re a half-turn, forget it. You’re too much of a liability.”
“I still don’t understand that. I thought half-turns were mostly human.”
“They’re unpredictable and kind of dangerous. But at least they qualify for government assistance and housing, which is why you always see a werewolf living with one.” Rob tossed me the skimpyuniformI dreaded wearing—blue jorts and a black tank top with the ‘Bottom’s Up’ logo printed on it. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the B wasn’t a giant, hairy ass sporting a snug g-string.
“I suppose this isn’t the most embarrassing thing to happen to me today.” Stepping behind a stack of boxes, I removed my briefs and slipped the short denim over my bare skin, taking care to make sure everything was tucked and nothing peeked through the bottom. After slipping on the tank top, I emerged. “Well?”
Rob put his hand over his mouth, pretending to rub his chin while stifling a laugh. “Good lord…”
I held up my hand. “I’m going to need a couple shots to get through this shift.”
“I’m imagining what kind of reaction your mother would have.”
“She’d have to be sober for that,” I muttered while walking out into the hallway. “So, if you have all these werewolf friends, why don’tyouhire any?”
“The same reason I don’t let them drink here. Can’t afford the insurance.”
“Are you for real?”
“It’s shitty, but if a werewolf hurts someone in my bar, it’s my ass that foots the bill. I mean, I feel bad, but… you just never know when alcohol’s involved.”
We stepped back into the empty bar, house music playing at low volume. It typically didn’t pick up until around seven, and my shift didn’t technically start until four. However, being there with friends and around people was less depressing than sitting on a beanbag chair in a bare studio apartment watching old sitcoms.
“It’s not like every werewolf has a problem controlling themselves. Ever been to White Dunes?”
“I barely have enough time or money to go to the shitty park downtown. How am I supposed to get to the beach?”
“Well, if you ever do go, there’s a werewolf lifeguard that’s kind of famous. Met him once, and he’s a cool guy. Always makes people laugh with stories about his sharkman boyfriend who can’t swim.”
I narrowed my eyes. “A sharkman?”
Rob shrugged. “He gets high and makes up shit like that all the time. But my point is, the issue with fully turned werewolvesis mostly overblown. You just need to get to know some of them before you judge.”
He made a good point; I also didn’t want to bring up my earlier encounter. It would just make me look like an asshole, considering Roscoe hadn’t actually done anything more than annoy me. Well, that coupled with sexual harassment.
