Page 4 of Wild Child
There are murmurs around the room about sick kids and absent wives. This place has turned into a kindergarten the last few years. You can’t move without falling over someone’s kid inthe corridor. And they spend half the time in here, which means if one goes down with something they all do.
“All right, you pussies. Can anyone’s old lady help us out? Colter. What about Danni?”
He sits up in his chair and shakes his head. “Kids have got the stomach bug. She had it too last night.”
He coughs, and the men on either side of him lean away.
“What are you even doing here?” says Arlo. “We don’t want it.”
It was never this hard to get help before all the women came along.
“Is there anyone who isn’t ill in this place?”
“How about Charlie?” Arlo suggests. “She’d be great at the festival. I bet she’d love it too.”
An image of Charlie laughing with every hot-blooded male who wants a taste of beer passes through my mind.
“No way. She’s needed here.”
“I can spare her,” says Travis. “I can’t come with you, not with Kendra due so soon, but I can cover Charlie’s shifts here.”
I scowl at him. He’s married to my little sister, which still makes my blood boil when I think about it too much. But I’m the only other family Kendra’s got, and I don’t want her to be alone while she’s eight months pregnant.
That only leaves Charlie.
I promised Raiden I’d keep an eye on his daughter, and dragging her across the country to a craft beer festival where I’ll be at meetings half the day and not able to ward off any unwanted male attention she gets doesn’t feel like the protection I should give her.
But what other option is there?
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll go with Charlie. But the rest of you get yourselves better. We got a business to run.”
There were never any tummy bugs in the military. In the military, we ran things with efficiency and no complaints. There were no sick babies or pregnant wives to work around.
I miss those days.
2
CHARLIE
“Cheers!”
The baby-faced Spiderman with a red cape hanging loose over one shoulder holds up his shot glass, and I clink it with mine.
The tequila burns on the way down and I follow it up with a slice of lemon, wincing at the bitterness on my tongue.
“Another one!” shouts Spiderman, but I shake my head.
“I got tables to clear.”
One shot on the afternoon shift is enough for me. Besides, I don’t want to encourage the drunk men at the bachelor party. There’s a fine line between being friendly and being flirty.
A leotard clad arm shoots out and lands on my forearm.
“Have another, Caroline.”
He’s starting to slur, and I don’t correct him that he got my name wrong. Instead, I pointedly lift his hand off my arm.
“No, thank you.”
