Snorting, the guy stuck his hand out. “Feel like I should at least let you know my name after sharing that with you. Ted Monson, manager of that store.” He gestured with his hand to the doors of the store I was going into.
“Jackson Townsend-Rossi, and ironically I’m just heading in there to collect an order.”
His eyes narrowed on me, making me brace in case he recognized the Townsend name, seeing as how we had a reputation in places we didn’t even know about until someone pointed it out to us. But, fortunately, that wasn’t the case with Ted.
“Ah, yeah, the order. We’ve been wondering about that. Follow me, and I’ll help you load it up.”
Getting out, I locked the doors on my truck and followed behind him, the sweat almost instant in the Arizona heat. “Thanks, Ted.”
“Is it for your grandpa?”
I was confused by the question for a moment, but then I realized it was likely the norm for him to get through orders for grandparents.
“No, my…”
How the hell did I describe Sasha? A friend of a friend? My parents’ best friend's daughter?
“A friend had an accident, and now she’s got her arm and leg in a cast, so I figured I’d make life easier for her.”
“Damn,” he whistled as he walked through the door into the air-conditioned store. “That’s shitty, man. What happened?”
I ran her over in the dark.
“She got hit by a car that was going about five miles per hour in the dark.”
Not that I was defensive or anything, but that speed was everything when I recounted the story. I just wish I could be sure of precisely what speed I was going.
Maybe if I just phrased it as ‘under seven miles per hour,’ that’d cover it?
Frowning over his shoulder, he asked, “Was the driver on their phone?”
Forgetting I was meant to be vague about it, I clipped, “No, never.”
“Was it a hit and run?”
Was it? Did it still count as a hit and run if I drove her to the hospital? I mean, it’s not like I left her, she was in the car, but we did leave the scene, so…
“No, they drove her to the hospital.”
Turning around, he gaped at me. “They hit her with their car, broke her bones, and drove her to the hospital?”
Shrugging a shoulder, I looked around at what was on display. “I guess they felt bad.”
Then something caught my eye, and I walked over to the wall it was on. “This moveable shower head holder, does it work?”
Joining me, he pulled it off the tile it was stuck to. “Sure does. You need to clean the tile off first because you get a build-up of soap and shit from the water on it. Then, stick it on at whatever height’s best for your friend, and it makes it easier for her to reach than on a standard shower pole.”
“I’ll take it. What else is there that’ll make life easier on top of what I’ve ordered?”
Following Ted around the store as he pointed things out, I added another five items, and then we were carrying them out to the back of the truck.
“How pissed is she that you hit her with your truck?” he asked once we were done, standing back and grinning at me.
I swear I felt my shoulders slump at the question. “How did you guess?”
“Got a crack in your headlight, three small dents on the hood, and you’re going above and beyond to make life easier for her. It’s either you hit her, or you’re in love with the girl and don’t have the guts to tell her.”
Snorting, I shook my head. “I’m not in love with her. I’ve known Sasha since we were kids because her dads are best friends with my parents. She only moved here a couple of weeks ago, I think, after going through hell at her old college with all that sorority hazing bullshit.”
He nodded understandingly, his jaw tensing at the mention of hazing. I guess that was a given, seeing as how there’d been a lot of reports of deaths and injuries in the news because of it. Why people had to be so stupid was beyond anyone.
“Those fuckers have no clue what life’s really like. In years to come, are they gonna put their kids through that bullshit? ‘Oh, you have to go and do this and this, survive us feeding you this, drink a bottle of bleach, and if you make it, you can stay in the family.’ I want to smack all of the people responsible out of principle.”
When I snickered, he looked me over. “Gotta say, I’d peg you as a sorority kid at first glance.”
“You’d be wrong. I’ve been asked to join three,” I admitted, “but I said no.”
“You a football player?”
“Fuck no. I play basketball, but I didn’t come here on a scholarship for it. I came here to study, not get pulled away from my work by games and parties.”