Page 73 of The Sidekick

Tera

The weeks pass in a blur thanks to Andi and Shade’s sudden team-up effort to keep people away from me. No one knows where I work, and I love my new job. The place is so fancy, nothing like where I was working before.

Something is missing, though. I don’t want to think it might be Max and Satan, but it’s starting to look that way. It’s depressing. I no longer get my phone when Max says good morning, and no one will tell him where I live. I could see him at the bar, but I’ve put it off like a coward.

It’s time to get this over with, so I quit waiting for someone to swoop in and carry me off into the sunset. I need to cut the cord, so I stop living in stasis, just like Dr. Robinson said weeks ago when the phone stealing started.

Once Shade has left for work, doing who knows what, I head to the bar.

It’s surprisingly busy for a Thursday, and I smile sadly at the differences. It’s great that they’re popular now, but I kind of miss the old bar.

Walking in, I don’t recognize anyone on the main floor. It's a seat yourself, so I choose an open booth and watch a group play pool while waiting for a waitress. The menu options are simple comfort foods, and I’m convinced Joe would complain the entire time he ate any of them. And his plate would be licked clean.

“What can I get you?” An abrupt, angry voice interrupts my musing, and I glance up to see the same girl who told me to go to Satan’s office the last time I was here. Great. As if my nerves weren’t strung tight enough.

I order a beer and some nachos while she huffs and rolls her eyes dramatically. When she flounces away, I let out a sigh of relief. I’m debating whether I should even try to eat what she brings me when someone slides into the booth across from me.

“Tera,” Satan’s voice is tight as he settles, unconcerned that I haven’t invited him to sit with me.

I nod once and let my eyes drift back to the pool players. My heart is not taking seeing him well, and I need the distraction.

“I heard you have a new job,” he continues, refusing to let a silence settle over us. “What are you doing now?”

“I’m working at an adult store,” I say casually and enjoy watching his eyes widen in surprise.

“Why in the world would you work at a porn shop?” He sounds displeased at the thought, and I don’t care. At least, I tell myself I don’t care. Still, that anxious feeling I always get around him turns in my stomach at his evident unhappiness. I swallow the useless argument that it’s called an adult store now. No one listens.

“It’s a step towards learning more about myself. Understanding boundaries and safety. Exploring things,” I try not to sound defensive, but I’m not sure I succeed. I slip back into the Shade imitation to give myself a little emotional distance from his disapproving frown.

“And have you been? Exploring things?” His jaw clenches, and it surprises me. That’s what he focuses on? Not the boundaries or safety? That says a lot to me.

“That’s none of your business,” I state baldly.

I’m not trying to make him jealous. I need to set healthy boundaries with people, which is the first step. I can’t just let people ask me whatever they want and blurt out answers to make them happy. It exposes me to ridicule for my actions, and I’m done with that nonsense. I’ll share myself with people I trust, and that’s it.

I can see his teeth grind as his dark look takes over. I’m dismayed that it affects the dryness of my panties, but I try to hide both reactions behind the Shade mask.

“Your food,” the waitress's sudden, overly sweet voice interrupts whatever he’s working up to saying, and I’m grateful. Based on my current nausea, I’m not eating if she messed with it or not.

“It’s so good to see you out of the office, Trevor,” she leans closer to him, rubbing a hand down his arm in a blatant bid for his attention.

It shouldn’t bother me at all. He’s not mine, and he’s not shoving her away, but that’s between him and Max. Maybe this is what they actually do, getting waitresses into bed casually and throwing them away when they might get too close. I want to think better of at least Max, but I have a lot of evidence to the contrary right in front of me.

The knowledge does not stem the tide of absolute rage that comes out of nowhere. I focus my eyes on the food and slowly pretend to eat, giving my stomach time to adjust to the thought of food. I notice she hasn’t brought my beer and look up to request it again.

“A beer?” Satan leans back in surprise at my beverage choice, and my brows lower in confusion. I’ve drank before. I’m not a novice. What’s his problem?

“Of course,” she interrupts sweetly but doesn’t move away from the table.

“Have you eaten enough today for alcohol?”

I have what I can only describe as a rage blackout. One second, I’m sitting with a chip halfway to my mouth, and the next, I’m staring at the bottom of the plate as it drops off Satan’s shocked face. I hope the grease got in his eyes is my first thought before remorse rolls through. That was a solid plate, and I got him right in the face.

No, I’m not going to apologize and take it back. Forget that. He’s the one that started my eating anxieties in the first place. Forget this guy! Why am I sitting here again? I honestly can’t remember anymore.

“Oh my god! Are you ok, Trevor? Where is the bouncer?” The waitress flutters around him. Does he snap her head off for her concern? Of course not.

I slide out of the booth in mortification. Do I seriously need someone to drag me out of here? All because I’m triggered by people mentioning my food intake. Good gosh, I’m still a mess. I need to highlight this on my list and work on it immediately instead of putting it off.

---