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25
OZZY
“Can we talk?”
James looks shy under the moonlight as we stand outside of Orso. The way she’s gripping her tote bag over her shoulder with both hands makes it seem like she’s not sure what to do with them while she waits for me to answer.
We barely talked during our shift, barely a glance if it wasn’t work-related.
With the way she left this morning, I’m giving her space. As much as I have the innate urge to, it’s not my place to comfort her if she doesn't want me to.
Especially with what happened last night.
I somehow managed to suppress the gleeful satisfaction I felt when maiming that piece of shit in front of her. If I had my way, I’d be dunking his friend’s face in the oil next.
But what I do regret is having James there witnessing it.
I move away from the dumpster and flick my cigarette further into the parking lot. “Of course we can talk, Jimbo.” Knowing someone is bound to interrupt us if westay here, I ask, “Did you clock out? I can drive you home.”
She nods and worries her bottom lip. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Just give me a sec. Meet me by my car.” I run back in for my bag, having already changed into a pair of dickies, a cropped red shirt, and my patched vest before I stepped out for a smoke.
James looks so pretty waiting for me by the car. It’s a balmy night, and her long floral skirt is a slinky little thing as it drifts in the night breeze. The slit up her left leg makes me want to push her against the car and drag my palm along her thigh. But I resist the heady temptation, unlocking and opening the door for her instead. She gives me a sheepish thank you and climbs in. Jogging to the driver’s side, I get in and start the car.
“Listen, James,” I say as I turn the wheel and reverse my way out of the parking lot, my arm around the back of her seat. “I want to apologize for yester?—”
She cuts me off. “I don’t want your apology, Ozzy.” She rests her elbow atop the open window and cradles her head with her hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong, he deserved it, and actually …” her voice trails off as if losing herself in thought, and I wait in silence for her to finish her sentence. “I actually wanted to apologize toyou.”
I scoff. “What for?”
She turns her head to look at me and I peek a glance while I drive, curious to see what emotion is painted on that beautiful face of hers. I think I see worry in her blue eyes.
“This … thing between us,” she says, waving her hand in the space between the two seats. “It’s supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to be this casual thing and—well it’s only been two weeks and you’ve seen me crymultipletimes, not tomention the weird constant drama with Zachary.” She huffs, looking out the car window. “It’s embarrassing,” she mutters. There’s silence, then she adds meekly, “I wouldn’t hold it against you if you’re losing interest.”
At that, I laugh. “Losing interest? Jimbo, baby. Why do you think I’d be losing interest?”
She sighs dramatically. “Because how is this any fun? I’m just …” She crosses her arms in protest. “Depressing.”
I reach over and give her thigh a little squeeze. “You’re the one who said this needed to be fun and casual. I just said I wanted to hang out with you. Cut yourself some slack.”
She pauses, and I peek another glance at the passenger seat. It looks like she’s mulling something over by the way she’s chewing on her inner cheek. “Can we start over?” she asks.
“Start what over?”
“This.Us,” she says with another emphatic wave of her hand. “Let’s make a deal.” She turns in her seat to face me, and I take the time to study her as the car idles at a red light. Her face is bright, eyes sparkling as if excited about whatever she’s about to offer up. “From this day forward, we leave the personal shit at home. No more drama. Nothing serious. Just fun, casual … sex,” she says with a playful smile and hard nod.
She brandishes her hand toward me, and I look at it dumbly. My gaze slides up to meet hers. “You want me to shake on it?” I say with a laugh.
I’m not about to break her spirit, biting back the urge to tell her to go fuck her rules.
I’ll just go with it for her sake.
But then I have an idea.
“Fine,” I say, holding off on the handshake. “But I havea rule of my own.” The light turns green and I turn on Willet Street making my way into her neighborhood.
“Okay, that’s only fair,” she says with a somewhat haughty air. “What is it?”
