Page 34 of Top Shelf
Cal groaned. “You’re going to die alone, and your dickhead cat is going to have to eat you.”
“I’m happy to feed her after my last moments are over,” I said flatly. Turning away, I walked up to the desk and tried for something that felt like a smile when Lisa stared at me. “Any new surprises for tomorrow?”
“One late-afternoon appointment. After five,” she said, pulling a sympathetic face.
“Aww, what the fuck?”
“We got a call about it. Apparently, it’s some guy from the…what are they called? Big hockey team?”
Shiiiiit. “Okay,” I said slowly. They had a whole entire team of professionals that helped players. So why me? “Someone super famous, or…?”
“I guess he’s not a player. Or something?” She waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t really do sports, you know? Anyway, it’s just an assessment, then we’ll work him into your schedule. His script is for three days a week to start, then up to four. They need him graduated by June if we can manage it.”
I tried to pull up his chart, but the system flashed an error at me. “What the fuck?”
“Sorry. Upgrades. It’ll be down tomorrow until nine,” she said with an apologetic stare. “Anyway, he doesn’t sound too bad. Something about a break and a torn ligament, if I remember right. The notes we got said he’s expected to make a full recovery.”
Though I hadn’t been doing this for long, I’d already heard that more than once. And eighty percent of the time, it was correct, but that twenty percent it wasn’t felt like a damn canyon of disappointment that I had to deliver.
But that was the life I’d chosen. I’d been on both sides of that coin, so in a way, at least I was prepared to give whatever news my client had to hear.
“I’m gonna head home,” I said, tapping the counter. I turned to face Cal. “Need anything else?”
“Nope. Well, yes.”
I stared, raising one brow.
“Do something that isn’t you being a sad sack of shit, jerking off in your shower, and going to bed early.”
Flipping him off, I said nothing as I turned away and headed for my office to grab my stuff. The truth was, he was right. I probablywouldjerk off in the shower with Ferris’s name on mylips, then curl up under a heavy blanket with my cat, throw on some mindless streaming show on my laptop, and drift off to dreams of a life that might have been but never would be.
“Can I help you?”
I hadn’t realized I’d gotten to the front of the line, and I still hadn’t made my mind up yet. Leaning on my cane, I shifted to the side and glanced behind me at the woman who was staring up at the menu board. She looked vaguely familiar in the face and wore a long-sleeved yellow top with embroidery and a matching gauzy headscarf that was lying low along her braid, which fell halfway down her back.
Her gaze met mine, and her eyes narrowed.
“Would you like to go ahead? I can’t decide what I want.”
She laughed. “Have the pistachio chocolate latte. I don’t normally like trends, but I can’t get enough of this one.”
“You know what,” I told her, then tried for a smile, “why not?”
“You don’t usually like pistachio?” she asked.
“I love it. But I used to have this trainer who would scream at me if I ate even an ounce of fat unless I was bulking for the season.”
“Are you a muscle builder guy?”
I burst into laughter. “God no.” I flopped my arms, which had lost way too much muscle mass after not working out the way I used to. “No, I played hockey.”
Her eyes widened, then darted down to my cane, and her expression did something complicated. There was pity, which hurt, but I couldn’t be mad at her about it.
“Yep. One wrong step and it was all over. But I’m good now. I just forget I can do things like drink pistachio lattes when I feel like it.”
“Good for you. Order a brownie to go with it.”
I snorted and turned to face the barista, who looked to be maybe fifteen if he was a day. He was staring at me with that generational dead-eyed stare. “Mediu—no. Large pistachio latte. And a brownie.”
