Page 22 of Sassy Love
“Long day?” a pretty brunette says.
Her black waitstaff uniform is a stark contrast to her fair skin and green eyes.
“Something like that.”
“Our boy’s having feisty woman problems.” Dex winks at her.
Under my breath, I curse him out.
The brunette offers up a sweet smile, wiping down a glass as she checks me out. “If you need her off your mind, I’m happy to help.”
It takes me a second to process that. “I’m good, thanks.”
She hides her disappointment, just barely, walking away with the glass and tea towel in hand.
“Damn, Rawlins. This blonde’s got you by the fucking balls,” Dex says, but his attention is on the ass of the brunette now nursing her rejected ego with a scowl.
“You go. Put her out of her misery, bud. I’m going to head home.” I down the two whiskeys, letting them burn all the way down.
“You catching the game next week?” Griff asks.
“Yeah, sure. Night.”
“Night,” they say in unison.
Dex waves from the patch of bar he’s now leaning on, talking to the waitress. As I step out into the sparkling New York City night, I’ve never felt so alone in my entire life.
Chapter 7
CARLIE
Millie hands me the chrome desk leg as I wind noodles around my plastic fork. “God, I should put tacks in his seat. Set the trash can on fire under his desk. Or glue his fucking shit to his desk.”
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this wound up over some guy.” Mills digs in the bag of hardware for a screw as I hold the leg in position, the fork still in my mouth. I pin her with my ‘don’t be ridiculous’ look, and she shrugs.
Swallowing the mouthful, I slide the fork from my lips and drop it to my Chinese takeout box. “Uh-uh, no way. That’s not what is happening here.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
“Millie, we can’t stand each other. He got me fired.”
“Or... you were unjustly fired, and he had no power to prevent it?”
She’s tilting her head, her crow’s feet-flanked eyes giving me that annoying ‘I’m older and you know I’m right’ look.
Urgh.
“No, Mills. He stood there while I was humiliated and then fired. And, to add insult to injury, they let you go, too. This is the furthest thing from what you’re thinking, old lady.”
“Who you calling old?” She cackles, her smile flattening the wrinkles over her face.
I love it when she does that.
When we first met, I didn’t see that beautiful smile for months. She was literally homeless and trying to pay for three items at the convenience store. Three. And couldn’t afford them.
A week later, she was waiting at the bus shelter outside the same store. I sat in my car, watching her as bus after bus came and went and she never boarded a single one. On further inspection, I realized she was dressed up nice, but the plastic bag by her side was stuffed with what looked like her life’s possessions. Her bony, frail, liver-spotted hand never lost contact with it, not once.
I offered her a ride home and was scared she would pull a runner. As fast as that might be for someone her age. She declined, telling me she was waiting for her son to pick her up.
