Page 9 of A Little Christmas! Johnny
So, Russel naturally isn’t worried about the price tag draining his savings or anything. Even without Dave’s money, Russ makes over a quarter million as his base salary every year as an attorney. That’s what attracts the gold-digging bitches like Cindy to him after all.
“I’m gonna miss Bluey,” Russ whines when I pull off the highway as soon as we get across the bridge.
I forgot he named his car after that cartoon character. It’s one of the few kid shows I don’t mind watching even when there are no kids or Littles around. The show is surprisingly deep for something geared toward small children.
“If you can take tomorrow off from work, we can go get all of your stuff out of Bluey and go look at some new cars that will still piss your dad off without me having to rescue you from the side of the road at midnight.”
My friend slumps in his seat mumbling something about it wasn’t midnight while I laugh at him. He knows I’m right. And had it not been for the last bitch not taking the car in for maintenance, Bluey might have lasted longer. I notice he’s writing an email despite grumbling under his breath at me, so I pull my attention back to the road.
At the entrance to our subdivision, I notice an older pickup truck on the shoulder. I haven’t seen it before, but that doesn’t mean much around here. With this being one of the few newer developments without any homeowners’ association dues or restrictions, we tend to get an eclectic mix of people moving in and out or working on places or projects around here. If it’s still there when I need to go to work in an hour, I’ll see if everything is okay.
For now, I need to get something to eat and change for another shift of trying to stock a damn store around people that apparently surrender their brain cells and common courtesy once Jingle Bell Rock starts playing on the radio.
When I leave for the store, the truck is not there, so I end up being early for my shift. Unfortunately, my supervisor spots me and asks me to clock in early to help with the rush up at the front registers. Apparently, the computer neglected to schedule anyone capable of lifting more than twenty pounds at a time,so I get the wonderful task of helping to load up the thirty plus pound bags of rock salt and sidewalk de-icer that the entire city seems to be panic buying now that a few flakes are forecasted to fall later this week.
For over an hour, I am muttering every fucking power word I have ever heard while people are pulling up with receipts for ten or twenty bags of the shit to load into a freaking Camry or Elantra. Two hundred plus pounds of rock salt should not be going into the trunk of a Hyundai Elantra. That’s just begging for the suspension to go out.
“Hope they don’t hit a pothole,” someone mutters as the offending car is driven away by the little old lady who couldn’t even lift a single bag, let alone the fifteen she bought.
I huff out a chuckle and turn to agree with them when I am suddenly face to face with Johnny. I watch as his eyes widen in recognition and he lets out this adorable nervous giggle. Any hope that I had for coming off as a put together, responsible Daddy has just flown out the window. The last thing I need for Johnny to see is me working a job that most teenagers outgrow after one season. Pushing down my shame, I figure he’s my next load up.
“Johnny, right? How many bags did ya get?”
The parking lot lights are just bright enough for me to notice his cheeks turning a tantalizing shade of pink and I can’t stop my brain from wondering if he blushes like that all over. Maybe, just maybe, he won’t care that I work here. Hell, he might think this is just a part time thing for extra Christmas money or something.
“Um, yeah. Johnny. That’s me. Umm.. I mean John. I’m John.”
He slaps his mouth to stop babbling, and I lose the battle with my instincts when I take his hand in my grasp and give a sharp tap on the back of it.
“No hurting yourself,” I admonish before my brain catches up to me that I just reacted as if he was a child. We both freeze in response. Even the parking lot seems to sense the tension between us as all sound ceases.
I don’t even know if he’s a Little or even interested in me. The only reason I know he’s at least interested in men at all is the piece of shit at his job running his fucking mouth. I know better than to let my inner Daddy out like that, but the thought of him hurting or being ashamed for being himself is something I can’t abide.
“Without thinking about it, do you prefer John or Johnny?” I break our standoff when I’m sure that he’s not fighting anger, but embarrassment by refusing to look at me. “Not what you think you should be called, but what you want to be called.”
He hangs his head and toes the ground pitifully, like a child who just got told they were in trouble. I have to fight back the urge to sneer at the realization that someone in his life has made him feel like his opinions on his own life are wrong. If I ever meet that someone, I can’t guarantee what will happen... Russ would likely bail me out as long as I don’t murder them. Even then, Dave would probably help me hide a body or two.
“I like Johnny,” he mumbles into his coat collar.
Against common sense, I reach out and lift his chin so that he is looking at me. I’m being way more forward than I have ever been before, but I can’t let this opportunity pass. It has only been a handful of days since Johnny came into my life, and I don’t want to have another one pass without knowing if we could have a chance.
“Well, Johnny, I’m Dexter – Dex to my friends,” I say and watch as he mouths my name as if afraid to say it out loud. Part of me is really glad that he says my full name and not the shortened version. I may be Uncle Dex to the Littles at The Devil's Club, but I have always wanted my boy to call me by themore formal Dexter. I let them choose how to call me, and most have kept to the shortened version.
“DEX!”
Before I can really get into anything more with Johnny, my supervisor runs over to me, rubbing his arms frantically because he was a dumbass and didn’t put on his coat before coming outside. I swear promotions in retail come with a built-in lobotomy because the higher someone is in the company, the less brain cells they use to operate.
“Time for your break,” he rasps out while hopping from foot to foot, completely ignoring the fact that Johnny is standing right there. “Just lock up the gate when you leave and Chris will take over loads when he gets in at eight.”
Jeff practically races back into the building while I turn to Johnny. For once, my supervisor has done something decent for me. Granted, he has no clue that he did so. I’m sure if he had any inkling, he would have figured out a way to have me stuck out here by myself all night.
“Want to grab a coffee? I got fifteen minutes and the cafe next door isn’t too bad.”
9
JOHNNY
I should be curled up on my futon with a bowl of sugary cereal, taking advantage of the fact that Jackson is the guy on call in the shop tonight. He’s got so much going on with his brother right now that I could throw a rager in the bay and he wouldn’t notice. But instead of falling into a sugar coma and catching up on the latest adventures of my favorite blue puppy, I had to come to the grocery store and fight the crowds.
