Page 2 of Pucking Matt
What’s the number one thing to know about him?
I absolutely hate his guts.
“So,” my coworker drawls, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Want to explain why you just committed aggravated assault on that poor takeout bag?”
Matt throws on his high beams, capturing our attention. It’s still day out, so there’s no need for his lights.
“Effing a-hole,” I mutter.
“Is that your ex?” Jen asks, looking at the high beams.
“Ew, no. What? You think I would ever date someone like that?”
Jen shrugs. “Why else would he be staring at you the entire time he was in here?”
I shake my head. “He – what? He wasn’t staring.”
I knew he was lying earlier, but this confirms it. Oh, the lying irks me to my core.
“I hear women love the a-holes,” Jen says, collapsing her hands together.
“It's ancient history. Let's just drop it.”
Jen's eyes widen. “No way now. Damn, girl. What did he do to deserve the Amber Special?”
“Exist,” I mutter, then sigh.
But Jen, like a dog with a bone, isn't letting go. “Come on, spill. I need the deets. Nothing else is going in here. We have time. So, what happened?”
I glance at the clock. Still an hour left in my shift. Plenty of time for Jen to keep pestering me. Might as well get it over with.
“Fine. The short version: He was a dick, I was going through some stuff, and he pushed me too far. It was a very long time ago, but I haven’t seen him since.”
“Not until now?” Jen whistles low. “Damn. And now he's here, ordering protein shakes and sandwiches.”
“Yep.”
“And you little grudge-holder, you.”
“I’m not holding a grudge.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“I’m not.”
She argues back quickly. “Well, how long ago did all this happen?”
I see that she has a point as I look over at her. It’s been four, maybe five years? Yeah, she has a point.
She shrugs and then starts cleaning the counter while whistling to fill this awkward silence.
As we clean up for the night, Jen keeps shooting me curious glances. Finally, she breaks. “So, why are you even working here? I mean, don't you have some fancy corporate job?”
I snort. “Fancy is one word for it. Soul-crushing is another.”
“I can imagine you in a suit and heels, all bossy and shit. But still, why are you working here with losers like us?”
“You’re not losers,” I mutter, shaking my head.
