Page 5 of Nailing Heat
“That sounds like a story for another day. Sometime when we have some alcohol in front of us.”
“That would be preferable. I’d rather unpack and lick my wounds quietly.” I attempt to make a joke, but it falls flat.
August pats my shoulder, before saying, “Alright, well I gotta get back to work. Stop over tomorrow and we’ll get all your paperwork started so you can begin working with the team.”
“Thanks again, buddy,” I say, walking August to the door.
“No problem.” He turns to leave but I stop him for a second.
“Have you really had trainers not show up for you?”
He nods. “We have.”
“Why?”
“They were also committed to another team, or they were just bad employees. But that’s all going to change now, right?” August asks, raising his eyebrows. I know instantly he’s referring to the handsome salary that I negotiated.
“Yes, sir, it will.”
“Good. And it’s good to have you here, Dex. We’ll get your life rebuilt, one brick at a time.” And just like that he’s gone. I grab my first load of bags and begin to take them down the hall to the bedroom that she said I could have and begin unpacking my things. I’ve never been so happy that I guessed which room would be mine, when I did a quick look around this place before she arrived.
The sun begins to set, casting shadows around the room. Ihear soft music coming from Amelia’s room. I move closer to the adjoining wall and hear the faint sound of her singing along. It makes me smile. Her voice is so soft and delicate. Like she has no idea that I can hear her. I listen intently, trying to make out the song. I find myself pressing my ear as close to the wall as possible. I start to wonder what other sounds I might hear coming from the other side of the wall.
I step back at the thought that the curvy little smart-mouthed woman that I met earlier and I share a wall. And she’s blonde. Exactly my type.
“Stop it, stop it, stop it.” I chastise myself quietly. “You did not come here for this. You came here to get away from the fucked-up mess that you created back home. Do not create that here.”
I say the words over and over again like they are my mantra. Like it’s the only thing that will save me from making another mistake.
Water. I should get a glass of water. I head out into the kitchen to open and close the cabinets until I find the glasses. The glasses weren’t where I thought they would be so, forcing me to go on a scavenger hunt for something to put water in. I discover a stack of cereal bowls and momentarily consider drinking from one of those. I laugh at the absurdity as I continue the hunt where I thought they would be. All my life glasses have been next to the fridge. Like it was a logical place for them to live. But not here. They are all the way on the other side of the kitchen. I grab a glass, fill it with water from the dispenser on the fridge and inspect the other cabinets. None of them really make sense. The silverware is not near the plates. The pots and pans are not near the stove.
“Whose kitchen is this?” I ask out loud.
“It’s mine,” I hear the soft voice coming from behind me say. Only now, instead of singing sweetly along with the radio, she sounds super annoyed with me.
“Sorry,” I choke out. “I was looking for glasses and noticed that your kitchen seems a little disorganized.”
I hate that I said that out loud. It’s not going to make her like me.
“Why do you say that?” Her hip juts out and she places a hand on it. Her brown eyes carefully survey me while she waits for an answer.
I shrug and think about trying to play it off like I wasn’t being serious, but she’s caught me, so I explain myself. “Well, my mother always taught me to arrange things in a way that made sense in the kitchen.”
Fuck, that didn’t come out right.
“Oh, and the way I did it doesn’t make sense?” she challenges.
“Not entirely. But if it works for you...” The rest of the words die on my lips.
She nods. “Well, would ask if you found everything okay but my kitchen doesn’t really make sense so I’m going to go with no.” Her tone is laced with sarcasm as she bites out the words.
I try to laugh it off, but it just comes out as uncomfortable. Which I freaking am. She’s not going to make living with her easy or comfortable. Hopefully, August can find me somewhere else fast.
“I wanted a glass for some water,” I reply, gesturing towards her with the glass. “We should probably talk about what you want to do about food,” I say, trying to change the subject.
“What do you mean?” Her brow furrows and she stares at me like I’ve grown an extra head.
“Do you want to tell me what my share of the grocery bill is? Should I buy my own food? Unless you want to go shopping together.” The last word hangs out there in the air.
