“Sorry,” Delane’s irritatedly sharp voice slices through the awkward silence, leaving my body shuddering with relief. Trying to be “on” when I feel like a sack of steaming shit is taxing. I fold my arms over the keyboard and collapse forward, finding solace from the bright morning sun behind the computer screen–damn glass building.
“Tires,” Delane says to me from across the shop. I don’t risk the jarring movement of turning my head to look at her, but I know she’s putting her iPad on the dock and locking it so she can come help this customer. “The password is TIRES.”
I peel myself from the keyboard long enough to stab “TIRES” in, unlocking the previously frozen screen.
“When did you change it to that?” I ask, struggling to blink the extremely bright rectangle into focus. I slide my fingers under the screen, searching for a way to adjust the brightness.
“Don’t talk tome,” Delane snaps, her voice growing louder, “Help thecustomer.”
“I can’t.” I don’t have enough fucks in me to tether that lame excuse to a phony reason, so I leave it there.
Delane sidles up next to me, popping her Earpods back into the magnetic case. She turns to me, and I know what's coming when I meet her eyes. Because she’s utterly, completely and without a doubtovermy bullshit.
“If you can backtalk to me, you can help a customer.” She wraps her hands around my upper arm, yanking me off the stool to my feet.
Grumbling, I turn to face the customer for the first time. Pinching my thumb and forefinger over my eyes, I finally look up, exhaling as much fatigue as I can.
“What can I do for you?” I ask, already feeling lightheaded from the amount of moving and talking I’ve been doing. Fucking work. Why did I come in? Oh, that’s right. Be a hungover heap here or be one at home, alone, where you have no one to monitor your very bad choices and equally questionable behavior.
I blink a few times, and even though she’s wearing a look of disillusionment and disgust, the woman forcing me to work is a fucking knockout. No amount of headache, nausea, or self-loathing could prevent me from seeing that.
“My car's air conditioner stopped working.”
I swallow the stream of fiery acid rising in my throat from standing. That last shot of vodka. If I wouldn’t have taken that last shot, I’d be fine. Thatonereally fucked me up.
“It’s February,” I say because California is barely cold in December, and now in February, we’re sailing in the mid-seventies. Does shereallyneed the AC fixed today?
Delane makes a noise in her throat, but I don’t risk turning my head to look. No more sudden movements. Hell, no more movements period.
“I didn’t ask you if you think I shouldusemy air conditioner in February though, did I?”
Delane snorts.
I rake a hand up the back of my head, feeling very lethargic and achy. Not even the healthy curves on this woman can pull me from the vodka-nado currently eating me up. Stupidly, the next two words that leave my mouth are ones I absolutely—hungover, drunk, incapacitated or otherwise—know piss off women.
Iknowthis.
But they leave my mouth before I can hold onto them. Or maybe I’m holding onto the contents of my stomach instead.
“Calm down.” I pull at the back of my neck as I peer around her, blinking into the fucking sun which currently feels like a goddamn lightsaber burning through my corneas. “Is it out front?”
When a beat passes without a response, I look at her. I didn’t notice before but her eyes are wide, red-rimmed, like she’s been crying. But her irises are like the sky after a long rain; a clear, vibrant blue.
“Calm down?” The rattle in her voiceterrifiesme. She’s either going to turn into the thing that came out of the well inThe Ringand kill me or turn into a storm of tears and lose her shit right here before me. Both options are no good.
“I just,” I start, knowing I need to fix this. Because she’s a customer, yeah. But her cheeks look pink, too, and her honey blonde hair is in a heap on her head, her sundress looks like it came off the floor, and her full pink bottom lip trembles, just a little. She’s clearly going through something, too. And maybe it’s just the AC in her car, maybe it’s something more. But coming to the Wrench Kings shouldn’t add towhateverit is.
Get your shit together, I tell myself. And then a tingle runs down my spine, making me shiver.
I make another attempt. “I just mean,be quiet.”
Oh yeah.Muuuchbetter.Calm downwasn’t great so I followed it up withbe quiet? I didn’t even mean be quiet. I just needed a second to think. The vodka is making me hazy.
I twist a little to look at Delane, wondering why in the hell she isn’t bailing me out. Or attempting a breakout at the very fucking least.
She folds her arms over her chest, narrowing her dark eyes on me. Fuck. It’s two against one out here.
When the curvy bombshell that looks like she needs a nap steps to the counter, my stomach lurches. I don’t know if it’s the anger sheeting her face or my condition, but either way, I’m fucking sweating.