Chapter 8
Owen
My coworkers had seen me come in hung over, right after being fucked senseless, on the heels of an all-nighter… On one occasion, I’d even gone in still half-drunk, which I would never do again.
They were used to seeing me and knowing that I’d done something the night before. I was even known for spilling the details with the ones I knew wouldn’t go straight to HR.
Despite all of that, I took my job seriously.
People were constantly giving me that look when I said where I worked, and they liked to ask me when I was going to find a real job. It shouldn’t have stung, considering the idea of dealing with a nonstop turnover of coworkers while having to leave smelling like a grease pit wasn’t the most appealing. But there was always this judgment in their eyes, this half-smirk that made it clear they thought they were better than me.
These were the same people who ate out — and not in the fun way — at least three times a week, going through the drive-through while on their cell phones without ever casting a glance at the cashier. They bitched out the poor people at the register for a signage issue outside, they complained that it couldn’t possibly be fast food if it took that long, and honestly, they made me question my faith in humanity sometimes.
Yet I still asked if they’d like fries with that with the brightest, most oblivious smile I could possibly feign every fucking day. The people who tried to blame a late night or a hangover for poor performance usually had to deal with all sorts of grief about it not being a good enough excuse. I probably shouldn’t have felt proud of the fact that I was the example of “leaving it at the front door,” but damn it, I worked fucking hard.
Today, though, I was somewhere between cloud fucking nine and hell. For the first time, I felt myself faltering. It was noticeable enough to where Monique pulled me to the side, giving me that side-eyed manager look that had rarely been directed at me.
“What’s going on?” she asked, closing the door to her office.
I opened my mouth to speak, but even though she’d just asked me a question, she raised a hand before I could. I shut up, slouching into the chair in the tiny office we were sitting in.
“I’ve seen you drunk, just rolled out of bed, hungover, and there was the time where you hadn’t slept in two days and were surviving on Red Bull,” she remarked.
“And fries,” I interjected, flashing her my best impression of a smile. “You make the best fries.”
She didn’t look impressed, but she rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know how to pour frozen fries into a fryer when you people aren’t pulling your weight.” There was another of those pointed looks.
Damn, I didn’t think I could handle those on a regular basis. I liked being the teacher’s pet, so to speak, and being grilled was not my idea of a good time.
“Hey, some of those idiots come in here like that every day,” I defended myself. “I’m entitled to an off day here and there.”
“Not when you’re being considered for assistant manager,” she told me.
I blinked at her. “Seriously?”
Monique nodded. “Steve’s quitting, and we want someone solid. You’ve never called out, you have a great record, you’re good at herding those spoiled cats…” She paused, then added, “We’d still be able to work around your school schedule. I printed out a few things on the company’s college reimbursement program, too.”
I stared at her for so long that she crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at my head.
She sighed, leaning back. She obviously took my lack of response as a refusal because she went on, “I know a career in fast food isn’t really what people think about. It’s a shitty first job that’s almost a rite of passage. It sucks to be out there on the line a lot of times, and customers can be thankless assholes. But there are perks for sticking around, too. That business degree,” she handed me a neatly stapled bundle of papers, “could be covered. Requires a commitment for a couple years after, but the advancement prospects are pretty good.”
I eyed her. “Don’t tell me you’re moving on without me.”
Monique flashed me a grin as I took the papers. “Not yet, but I’m thinking about applying for district manager when it opens up. This doesn’t have to be a half-assed high school job. Someone has to have their head on straight.”
“You know I’m not straight, right?” I asked her, deadpan.
“You know I don’t care which team you play on, right?” she retorted. “You know what I mean.”
I did, but I wasn’t sure what to make of this. The idea of being able to graduate without so many student loans was unbelievably tempting, but it meant having to stay in this industry for at least another couple of years — which also meant another couple of years of people silently or not-so-silently judging me.
It bothered me that people thought you had to be a social reject to want to work at a place like this, especially because it was hilariously untrue. Social reject? No, you had to have people skills if you didn’t want to lose your goddamn mind ten minutes into day one.
Those very people skills were what kept me from throttling the folks who snidely told me that the only career I’d have with my tattoos would be in the hospitality industry — like it was an insult. The words weren’t.
The knowledge that they were trying to rip me down so they could build themselves up was. All I could do was remind myself that they were lying to themselves about the importance of their jobs shredding paper.
But the reimbursement program…
“It comes with a raise, too,” Monique added, as though reading my thoughts. “Not a substantial one, but it’s decent.”
Slowly, I breathed out. “So basically, you called me in here because I’m dragging ass today and am inspiring their dear little hearts to slack to tell me you want to promote me,” I summarized.
“It was on today’s agenda. Don’t get cute,” Monique warned me.
“I’m always cute!”
“Did you steal that from a movie?” she asked. She stood, gesturing to the door. “Go take a break, Owen. Put the paperwork in your car and think about it. When you get back, I need you back on your game. Okay?”
“I got in trouble last time I brought checkers to work,” I said helpfully, standing as well.
“Outside,” she said firmly.
Well, I’d thought it was clever.
I listened to her anyway, though. She’d always been straightforward with me, down to earth, and I couldn’t deny that I was tempted. Hell, who was I kidding? For the chance to not have to drown in as much debt, to bring in more money to help out me and Adrian…
There wasn’t even a chance in hell I’d turn it down.
Sure, it meant being shackled here for a few years unless I wanted to pay it back. I’d looked into it once, but the whole song and dance was one of the reasons I’d avoided it. But that had been when I thought I’d be a peon forever. I’d never thought about even being an assistant manager at a place like this, but it had its perks.
A voice in my head retorted that I was resigning myself to a life of dealing with immature brats who didn’t know the right salt ratio and that I’d be on the hook if too many people called out. It’d mean that the job I’d had would become — dare I say it? — a potential career. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
But it’d help me and Adrian out.
I slouched down in the driver’s seat of the car, tossing the papers face-down onto the passenger seat. I didn't know when it had become “me and Adrian.” I’d been fighting against his help, no matter how much I needed it, but now…
Something had changed between us the night before, even though I had no idea what to do about it. What did you do when your brother acting like a dog turned you on?
I knew I was being crude, but it had been more than that and I wasn’t sure how to deal.
It had been the way I could be gentle with him, the way that he’d relaxed and responded so readily. Yeah, I’d gotten hard, but that hadn’t even been the most appealing part about it.
The way he’d trusted me was the part that stuck in my head… All right, that and the constant thought of that tail in his ass while he barked and playfully whined.
I lowered my head, letting my forehead rest against the steering wheel. For a moment, I sat there in silence, then I almost hit my head on the roof when someone knocked on the glass of my window.
I rolled down the window, eyeing my coworker. “Hey, Brad.”
“Hey, Owen.” He rested his hip against my car. “You on lunch?”
I shook my head. “Nah. Just taking a short break to get my shit together.”
How I was going to do that when I was having sexual thoughts about my own brother, I had no fucking idea, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Cool.” He paused, fingers running along the bottom hem of his shirt, then he said, “So I’m planning on grabbing some beer tonight, ordering some pizza.” He gave me an expectant look, but when I didn’t reply, he continued, “Thought you might want to come over.”
Thought I might want to hook up, he meant. It wouldn’t be the first time. He and I had christened most of his new apartment to the point where I was sure his ass cheeks were permanently imprinted on the wall. Usually, I’d have perked up, all for the idea of an easy lay.
Today, though, my mind went to Adrian. I was oddly… I didn’t know how to describe it, but going with Brad wasn’t as appealing as just going home — even if that meant I'd be avoiding and ignoring my brother instead of getting laid. Just thinking about what had happened made me want to be available just to see if he wanted to do more…
Research.
“Nah, gotta go home right after work.” I nudged the car door open.
He blinked at me, and I realized I’d never turned him down before.
“My brother’s working on some project, and he’s being a real pain,” I told him.
Yeah. If by “a real pain,” I meant it was a real pain trying to figure it out, but Brad didn’t need to know that.
That much, he seemed to accept. “Yeah, okay. Maybe later this week?”
“Closing shifts and exams,” I said glumly.
“Someone’s being all responsible all of a sudden,” he remarked, responding startlingly well to the first stage of being friend zoned.
“Someone is having to figure out how to pay the mortgage at the ripe old age of eighteen.” There was an edge to my voice I hadn’t expected, but I didn’t apologize for it.
He winced. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
No one ever did. They assumed that me living my life the way I wanted to meant I was an irresponsible piece of shit.
“No worries,” I said, patting him on the back instead of playing tonsil hockey like I normally would. “Gotta get back in before the boss lady comes looking for me.”
Brad nodded, going to the car next to mine and fishing out his keys from his pocket. “Yeah, no problem. See you tomorrow.”
I nodded then headed back inside. The line was short, thankfully, but as I headed to the back, I heard Monique using her manager voice. It was that obsequious, too chipper voice she turned on patrons of our charming establishment when they were being really fucking stupid. I paused to listen, not wanting to step onto a landmine by getting too close yet.
“But I don’t understand why I can’t just trade them out,” the man at the counter said hotly. “You’re already charging five bucks for a freaking burger. It’s not gonna kill you to hand over some more cheap-ass fries.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Monique said. She caught sight of me, but her eyes didn’t linger. “We can’t give you more fries instead of a bun. We can exchange the fries for a salad or one of the other—”
Now that I had a vague idea of what was going on, I finally headed back behind the counter. Dangerous, but it had its plus sides. I could eavesdrop even better from there and see the guy’s facial expressions.
“If you can do that,” he interrupted, “then it shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t want a bun. I want fries.”
This had the ring of one of those conversations that had gone on for way too long, and I called up the next person in line.
The redheaded customer cast a sidelong glance at the man before saying just a bit too sweetly, “I’ll have a number three, please… and an extra order of fries for the gentleman there.”
I could’ve fucking kissed her.
As it was, I had to strangle back a laugh as he lifted his head sharply and stared at her. “Ma’am, this does not concern you,” he snapped at her.
“You’ve held up the line for five minutes arguing about a 99-cent order of fries. Leave that poor woman alone.” She tsked, pulling cash out of her wallet.
“That’ll be six eight-seven,” I told her, hoping I was telegraphing with my eyes just how much the simple defense meant to me — to us.
She handed over a ten, and I gave her the change.
“Jesus, thank you,” another man in line muttered.
The guy bothering Monique turned beet red, and he turned on his heel — without the fries the woman had graciously ordered for him.
Some people, man.
I glanced at Monique, and she gave me a barely perceptible nod.
I tried to refund the woman her money, but she waved me off. “I’ll happily eat extra fries,” she told me, almost conspiratorially.
I couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll bring your food out to you in a few minutes,” I told her.
She smiled at me. “Thanks,” she glanced at my name tag, “Owen.”
Miracle, thy name is random customer of the day.
I snatched an extra piece of pie from the back — which came as frozen as the fries, but hey, chocolate was chocolate — and stuck it unobtrusively onto her tray. I brought it out to her, setting it down.
“You don’t have to do that,” she told me, her voice quiet.
“You didn’t have to do what you did, either,” I replied.
She chuckled. “Have a good day, Owen.”
“You too, ma’am.”
I spent the rest of the day thinking about how much a few nice words, a few nice actions, could make such a difference. I felt pang after pang of guilt when I thought about how I’d been treating Adrian. I vowed to make it up to him — at least, when I got up the nerve to talk to him again. If he didn’t hate me…
Well, even if he did, I wasn’t going to let things stay that way.