Page 8 of Then Came You

I force a smile on my face, not wanting to give her any more ammunition to pick apart my encounter. I’m not that lucky because she sees right through it. "I’m just saying, maybe he was genuinely trying to do something nice. Did he give you his number?"

Oh, fuckity fuck sticks.

"Um no. I gave him my business card," I wilt, hoping I disappear because I just realise that I’m the most desperate loser on the planet. I practically pounced on him.

He probably threw it out immediately after I rounded the corner. She’s right. There is no way the guy, who some women would consider God’s greatest creation, would stoop down to my level, and be interested.

Cindy baulks. She acts as if I told her I maim cute bunny rabbits, make one giant costume out of them, and hop around like a lunatic. She looks at me as if I need mental help. I thought the business card thing was quite clever. "You didn’t!" she gasps in abject horror.

"He seemed happy when I did," I mutter, spraying a little extra hairspray onto her head. I’m only half hoping she stands near an open flame tonight. I’m not usually mean, but she’s making me feel all catty right now.

My face falls, and I can’t hide my disappointment any longer.

"Oh, slowie Rowie, you’ll catch onto the cues someday," she dismisses, standing to inspect her hair.

I despise that nickname. It’s rude and insinuates I’m stunted in some way.

"Oh, can you fix this curl? It’s a little sloppy," she points to the one imperfect strand.

I feel my teeth cut through the thin lining of my cheek, causing a metallic taste to fill my mouth. I promptly fix the apparent wayward curl and move to the register while she applies another sheen on shimmery gold lip gloss.

I start to ring her up when she calls out from the door. "Thanks Row.” Her little black dress swishes as she walks, the hem barely covering her ass.

My head jerks up, and my mouth gapes at her walking out without paying. Trish wouldn’t give a shit in the slightest, but it’s the principle of not taking advantage of friends - especially since I stayed back to fit her in.

Sighing, I glance at the clock that has ticked way past my finish time. I know I’ve missed the express train, so there’s no point rushing to the station. Feeling bone-tired, I promise myself a five-minute catnap on the couch before blasting Bad Omens while I clean up.

Chapter 4

Blade

Transfixed is the only word that comes to mind when I think about the little pink-haired Tinker Bell from this morning. Row.

I'm a bad man. I'm wrong. So, so wrong.

Surely there’s a woman my age better suited for me?

Despite my mind trying to convince me to stay away, I've ended up outside her workplace, like a complete creeper.

Stalker is probably a more accurate term for me.

Usually after work, if it’s not my turn to have Haven, I catch up on the latest research papers.

Gazing at this pretty pink-haired pixie, I can think of nothing worse than being stuck at home reading up on the pros and cons of Venetoclax, which is the latest chemo drug for those diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukaemia.

There’s music blaring at an eardrum-bleeding level around her. It’s any wonder she’s not bursting her own eardrums. I can feel mine almost exploding, and I’m nowhere near the speakers.

Despite nearly going deaf, the lead singer has some serious pipes on him. The music is loud enough for me to Shazam, so I pull my iPhone out of my blazer pocket and press the blue app. After a few seconds, the name Bad Omens pops up, and the song is Just Pretend.

It’s a catchy son-of-a-bitch, isn’t it?

Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I walk through the door and attempt to get her attention, but it’s no use over the music. Gently touching her shoulder, I’m immediately attacked by the broom she’s holding. My ribs are taking a decent whack. She was so fast; I didn’t even see her spin around.

“Row, Row, it’s me,” I wheeze, taking a giant step back to remove myself from her assault. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you; it’s just me.” I put my hands up as a truce.

God, judging by her part stunned, part horrified face, and part petrified face, I’ve most definitely made a mess out of our second meeting.

I feel like a complete jackass.

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