“See you tomorrow, guys,” Anna calls as River drags her out the door.
George holds his hand out to me. “What?” I ask; confused. Is he asking me to dance? My heart beats rapidly at the thought. Should I say yes? No, probably not. But I kind of want to say yes. Why do I want to say yes?
“My sunglasses.” He clears his throat.
Oh.
Now I feel stupid. A heat comparable to volcanic lava blankets my face. Why would he want to dance with you, Charlotte? He hates you. Slipping the glasses off, I hand them to him, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Sorry. I needed them for proper effect.”
“I need some help stocking liquor.” He turns and walks back into the kitchen.
“Okaayyy . . .” I say, cutting a glance to Ike.
“He’s got a stick stuck up his ass.” Ike laughs. “Always Mr. Business.”
I head to the back exit where George has the door held open with a trash can. A small, black truck is backed up to the door and he’s pulling boxes to the tailgate. Stepping down, I grab the first box I reach. It’s opened, with eight bottles of various liquors divided by cardboard set inside.
“These boxes are heavy,” George notes.
“I think I can handle it,” I say, snidely. What does he think? That I’m a wuss? He takes his box and heads in and I follow behind. The box is actually pretty heavy, but I’ll never admit it. When I enter the doorway to the kitchen, I forget about the last step I took when I exited, and trip. A more graceful person might have caught themselves on their knees, but this is me we’re talking about. As I tumble down, I pull the box against me and twist, attempting to land on my back and save the bottles, but mid-twist I realize my effort has been in vain. I flail my arms, trying to catch my footing . . . which I don’t. In the end, I’m on the floor, soaked in liquor, lying on broken glass.
“Holy shit! Are you okay?” Ike asks as he kneels down beside me. His brown eyes look panicked. I can tell it’s killing him not to be able to help me.
“What the fuck?” Sniper had run from behind the line when he heard the bottles crash to the ground. “Jesus, love. Are you okay?”
Am I? I take a quick inventory. My hands seem fine. Sniper offers me a hand and pulls me up. I brush the broken shards of glass from my legs and turn my back to Sniper.
“Did I get it all?”
“What the hell happened?” George gripes as he approaches. “This is like four hundred dollars’ worth of liquor.” I cringe. Of course it was. Damn my clumsiness and lack of coordination.
“I tripped. I’m so sorry,” I apologize sincerely.
“What a dick. He talks about money before asking if you’re all right.” Ike shakes his head in disappointment.
“Uh, love.” Sniper taps my shoulder. “You’ve got a nasty cut on your arse here.”
“What?” I ask, twisting my neck, trying to see my ass. Blood trickles down my leg and at the sight of it, I feel the cut. Rubbing across my butt cheek, I find the spot where the fabric of my shorts are ripped and feel the warm fluid. “Shit!” I grumble.
“Want me to take a look at it?” Sniper rubs his palms together, a mischievous grin on his face.
“I’ll go to the motel and take care of it,” I say.
“It’s bleeding pretty badly, Charlotte. You need to seal it up. It might need stitches,” Ike says, as he stares at my ass.
“I’ll take you to the doctor and workmen’s comp will pay for it,” George bitches. He’s pissed. First, I destroy eight bottles of liquor, and now his workmen’s comp premium will go up.
“No. I’ll take care of it.” I shake my head. “Can you get me a broom, Sniper?” I ask as I survey my path of destruction.
“I’ll clean it up,” Sniper insists. “You’re bleeding all over the bloody place.”
“Either one of us is cleaning that cut and sealing it with something before you leave, or I’m taking you to the hospital. The last thing I need is for that shit to get infected,” George adds.
“I’m soaked in liquor,” I point out. “I don’t think infection will be an issue.”
“You’re bleeding all over my floor. Sniper or me. Make a choice.”
I look down and see the back of my leg covered in red, my white sock soaked in blood.
Shit!
George and Charlotte enter his office and he shuts the door behind them. Charlotte cuts me a look that says: You are not watching this!
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” I laugh. “If he gets to see your ass, then so do I.”
She glares.
I laugh more.
“Okay, tell me to leave. Say it out loud. Say, Ike, I want you to leave this room.” She narrows her eyes in frustration. She can’t say it because of George. “No? Nothing? You want me to stay, huh? Okay. You’ve convinced me. I’m staying.”