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Ollie has no clue how he consumes a space. It’s not his fault; he’s just bigger than life. His presence can be felt, even when he’s trying to blend.
I heard him leave earlier this morning. He’d told me last night he was meeting Charlie at the gym again to lift weights. The blender woke me first and then the shutting of the front door. I was able to doze off for another hour or so, but now, I’m wide awake.
I stretch lazily in his bed and then slide from beneath his sheets and glance around his room. When curiosity gets the best of me, I walk into his closet. I’m tempted to steal another one of his shirts and wear it today, but I’m not that creepy. Well, maybe I am, but I don’t want him to know it.
When I’m done snooping, I grab a few things from my bags in the living room and head to the bathroom to shower. I like the way it looks when my stuff is added to Ollie’s in the intimate space. I place a feminine pink razor next to his masculine black-and-gray one. My vanilla-scented shampoo and conditioner are now next to his spicy body wash. I take my time under the nozzle and enjoy the way the warm water soothes my aching muscles. All that moving and lugging my things up and down stairs left me sore today, but I wouldn’t dare complain about it. Not to Ollie. I’ve seen the way he trains. He’d laugh in my out-of-shape face.
The hockey star isn’t back yet by the time I’ve blown my hair dry and put on my makeup. So, I lock the place up, using the spare key he left for me, and make the short drive to Cheerz. It’s time to find a job. The sports bar is quiet when I enter. I’m too early for the lunch rush.
“Can I help you?” a man says as he walks into the main space and drops a box full of liquor bottles on the bar. He wipes his hands on the legs of his jeans.
“I was wondering if you are hiring,” I say.
He looks me over from my head to my toes, but not in a creepy, predatory way. He’s more curious. His dark eyes are crinkled in the corners, and his short hair is peppered with gray. I’d guess he’s in his forties or fifties.
“Who’s asking?”
I take a step forward. “I am. Madison Reynolds.”
I extend my hand, and he shakes it.
“I’m Nick Johnson, one of the managers here. Do you go to Sinclair?” He steps around the counter and starts to unload the bottles from the box.
“Yep. I’ll be a sophomore in the fall. But I’m staying here for the summer, and I need a job.”
He starts breaking down the cardboard once the box is empty and eyes me over the top of it. “Do you have any waitressing experience?”
I nod. “I worked at a restaurant back in the city for a few months before I started at the university.”
“Do you just want employment for the summer, or will you be available during the school year as well?”
I sense that my answer will determine whether I’m seriously considered for the position or not.
“I’ll be available during the school year, too, but on a more part-time basis.”
He listens as he tosses the cardboard to the side, and then he lifts his finger. “One second.”
I nod and lean against the bar. There’s noise from all the televisions on in the background, and I see two college-aged girls rolling silverware into paper napkins at a table across the room. My gaze connects with one of them, and she smiles.
“Fill this out for me,” Nick says, walking back into the room. He hands me an application. “Bring it back tomorrow with your résumé.”
I smile. “Okay, thanks. So, does this mean you have positions open now?”
“We always have serving positions open,” he confirms with a smirk.
From the look on his face, I’m guessing there’s high turnover at a college-town sports bar.
“Great!” I back away.
I walk out of Cheerz with a new pep in my step. It was meant for me to stay here for the summer; I just know it. I now have a place to crash, and hopefully soon, I’ll have a job.
Ollie’s Bronco is in the parking lot when I return to the apartment complex. I park my car, run up the staircase, and burst through the door when I find it unlocked. Ollie is drinking a sports drink in the kitchen.
“Guess what!” I yell.
He tilts his head and arches an eyebrow but keeps drinking.
“You might be looking at the newest waitress at Cheerz,” I declare while spinning around theatrically. The nervous energy is bubbling out of me.
