Page 27 of I Saw You First

This isn’t the right time or context, but a small fragment of jealousy stirs when I think about Abbey having a relationship—sexual or otherwise—with someone who isn’t me. I need to tamp that shit down.

“You don’t want to get married? Like, ever?” Darius asks.

“That’s your takeaway?” Abbey rolls her eyes. “That, right there, is why we have a problem.”

“What problem?” Darius asks. “I’m confused.”

“Clearly,” she says and takes another sip of her drink. “Wil, can you pass the chips and salsa, please?”

I do, and she tucks in like she’s been lost in the desert for days without food or water. She mumbles something under her breath, but I don’t catch it.

“What?” I ask.

“What do you mean, what?” she asks around a mouthful of chips.

“What did you say?”

She swallows. “I said I wished someone had ordered queso.” She digs around in her purse and opens her wallet, then sighs as she puts it back.

When Fernando brings me my combo—one beef taco, one beef enchilada, one beef chalupa—I ask him to bring out an order of queso as soon as possible.

“You got it, Señor Wil.”

“Did you order that for me?” she hisses. “I don’t have any cash!”

“It’s on me,” I say, then turn to Travis and ask about his latest merch eval. Let her be mad at me. I’m going to feed her, even if it’s only queso dip.

“I’m going to pay you back,” she says as Fernando sets down a gigantic bowl of queso and a fresh basket of chips. I can’t help but watch as she dips a chip and brings it to her lips. She groans.

Fuck, maybe Sam is right. Maybe I’ve got a thing for her.

A thing that can go absolutely nowhere.

Or maybe it could. Maybe this could work, once I leave the store for my AGM rotation. I could ask her out, take her to a Twins game or a show at The Golden. Look at Crystal and Travis. They’re both managers, although at different stores, and their relationship hasn’t interfered with their careers. We love who we love, I guess. Not that I’m thinking that this is love, that it would go that far. A date. That’s all.

No. Absolutely not. What am I thinking?

Good talk, Wil.

“Damn it!”

Abbey swipes at a drop of queso on her T-shirt with a napkin. Right on the f in Def, right on her breast, like the Diet Coke the other day. I can’t stop looking at her. Even with a smear of queso on her shirt and dirt on her pants and messy hair—and let’s face it, she doesn’t smell like a rose garden—she’s gorgeous.

I frown and turn away before she notices me gawking at her.

“So, you’re the famous Abbey Rhodes.”

A petite Hmong woman pulls a chair over from another table and settles in next to Abbey. Marina Xiong, the team captain from the Ridgehill store, is exactly who I wish Aurora could be. If I could poach anyone, like Jefferson A. Wilshire III encouraged, it would be Marina. She introduces herself to Abbey.

“It’s so good to meet you in person!” Abbey says. “But what do you mean, famous?”

I turn back toward Travis but eavesdrop on their conversation. It’s not hard—Marina’s loud.

“Everyone is talking about you,” Marina says. “How fast you get product on the floor, how you go above and beyond for, like, the worst fans, your knowledge of the most random bands.”

“Really?” Abbey asks quietly. “Who’s saying all that?”

“Well, Wil for one,” Marina says. Oh, great, here we go. My cheeks heat a little, and I take a drink of my beer to hide it. “On the district media call, he couldn’t say enough good things about you. Everyone thinks you’ll be fast-tracked.”