Page 119 of Light in the Dark
"Oh," I breathe. "That's…very different."
"Just a little," she says, laughing. "Just take it one step at a time with him. Talk to him. Be honest with him. Be vulnerable. Put yourself out there." She gives me a side hug. "You have friends, now, Ember. We'll be here for you. So, whatever happens, just…don't run away. Okay?"
I nod, sighing. "Yeah, I…I'm trying." I give her a weak but genuine smile. "Thank you, Noelle. It's…honestly, it's a little weird having girlfriends."
We walk back to The Alt and rejoin the others; I engage in the conversation, which moves on to other lighter and less important fare, but my mind is on Felix.
For the first time since I met him, I'm finally feeling ready to…
Really try, I suppose.
It's time to talk to Felix.
Nineteen
FELIX
I'm in a particularly savage mood at the moment.
Robby, one of my most skilled finish carpenters, injured himself on the job this morning. Fucking awful. Blood everywhere, motherfuckers yelling and screaming. Hours in the ER. Hours on the phone with insurance fucks. Paperwork. Finding someone to replace him until he's back to work, which could be weeks, if not months.
Then someone rear-ended me in the Lowe's parking lot as I was backing out of a spot—his fault, not mine; the damage is minimal, but I’ll need a new bumper.
And then, just to top it all off, I stopped at my favorite gas station near the office for a fill-up and a big cup of coffee—necessary at four in the afternoon since I'm not sleeping for shit lately. Get into my truck with my coffee, pull the lid off to let some of the heat escape, seeing as they keep that coffee hotter than the sun itself, and I want to drink it at some point this millennium. My phone rings. What do I do? Drop my fucking phoneintothe fucking coffee, splashing my thighs with scalding liquid…and my instant reaction, of course, is to drop the cup. More coffee on my legs. Coffee all over the footwell, all over my seat—everywhere.
Burned legs, fucked seats, fucked phone.
Which brings me to now. Sitting in my truck with burning yet wet legs, no coffee, and a seriously shitty attitude. For some reason, the Limp Bizkit song "Break Stuff" is running through my head.
"Fuck it," I mutter. "I'm going home."
I leave my truck running and head into the office. Jess smiles at me. "Hey, Fee." Her gaze snaps to my bottom half—wet from crotch to boots. "Um, you good, boss?"
"No," I snarl. "I'm far from fucking good." I grit my teeth and breathe in and out slowly for five seconds. "Not your fault. Just…a massively shitty day."
"Oh god, Felix, I'm so sorry. What can I do?" she asks.
I hate the hope in her eyes. I've known about her feelings for me for years—she's not subtle. And there's nothing wrong with her, at all. She's a great chick—smart, hot, responsible, and hardworking. I just feel no attraction beyond the basic recognition of her attractiveness. I've done everything I can to politely and kindly make it clear I'm not interested. Most of the time she keeps it under wraps—especially since I brought Ember around the office a while back. But every once in a while, I catch a glimmer of that hope.
And I have to crush it all over again. Yay me.
"No," I say, endeavoring to sound…normal? Not like a grouchy shithead. "My phone is fucked at the moment and I'm going home. So yeah, the one thing you can do is call Bear and let him know he's in charge of wrapping things up for the day, and if there's a 'someone else is bleeding or on fire' emergency, call me on my landline at home."
Jess slides her blue-blocker glasses off her face. "You have an actual landline?"
I snort. “Yeah. Came with the house. It's like five bucks a month with my internet, so I just leave it. Mainly for sending the occasional fax to some jackass contractor who still lives in the stone age and doesn't email."
At that moment, just because the universe fucking hates meandhas a wicked sense of humor, the fax machine starts spitting out pages.
Jess glances at the fax machine, and her face goes red as she tries to keep from laughing. Because I am, in fact, one of those jackasses who still uses a fax machine—only for other fax machine-using jackasses, but still.
The timing, man. The timing.
I can't help but splutter a laugh. "Oh, fuck you! Jesus. How is it not a Monday? It feels like a fucking Monday.”
Jess cackles, snatching the sheet out of the fax machine and getting up to scan it. "Just go home and try to relax, Fee. It's after four. What else could possibly—"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I shout, startling her so badly she slams the lid of the copier and almost breaks it. "Sorry. Sorry. But you absolutelycannotsay shit like that on a day like today, Jess."
