I need a job. I can focus on that—something concrete I can do right now to help. Just as I’m getting my shaking under control, the bus pulls up. I climb on and sink into the back row, making lists in my head of how to make that happen.
On the way home, I stop into Sam Hill since it’s the only business in town where I already know the owner. When I walk into the saloon, Bran is wiping down the bar with such vigor that it looks like he’s trying to take off the varnish. I thread past tables of patrons in varying stages of drunkenness to the bar.
“Hey,” I say as I approach, a little afraid to break Bran’s concentration. With his military cut and bulk, he’s more than a little intimidating.
His head snaps up. “Oh, hey, Addie.” He sets down the rag. “Your Dad’s not here. Haven’t seen him for a while.”
“He’s in rehab,” I say, sliding onto a stool. “Went in six days ago.”
A grin lights his face. “Excellent! How’s he doing?”
“I just came from there. He’s got another week or two, but I think he’s doing okay.”
“Good,” he says, bobbing a nod. “So what can I do you for?”
“I was hoping to find out if Vicky is looking for someone to bus tables or wash dishes or whatever. I need a job.”
“How old are you?” he asks, picking up his rag.
“Seventeen.”
His face pulls into half a grimace. “We’ll need a waitress in a few weeks when my cousin goes on maternity leave, but the state of California says we’re a bar that serves food, not a restaurant that serves liquor, so our waitresses have to be twenty-one.”
I shrug and slide off the stool. “Okay. Thought it was worth a shot.”
“You might want to check in at Lou’s in the morning,” he calls after me as I head to the door. “She might have some weekend hours.”
Lou’s is the diner up the street, but it closes at three, and I’ve seen my hospital bill. I need more than just weekends.
“Thanks, Bran.” I give him a wave and push through the door. I turn for home and start hoofing it up the sidewalk.
“Addie.”
Marcus’s voice from behind me stops me in my tracks. With everything that’s happened today, I’m a raw nerve right now. I’m not sure I have it in to keep up with all the rules of whatever game it is we’re playing.
I breathe, then turn and find him standing next to his truck in front of Sam Hill.
“Here for burger crack?” I ask.
He’s about ten feet away and I don’t move closer. Anything less than this feels like I’m risking temptation. His eyes flash as he cracks half a smile and it sends my insides spiraling into chaos. Suddenly, ten feet isn’t enough.
“I’m going to open a vein and have Bran mainline it. Save the steps of chewing and swallowing.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I spin and start up the walk again before I do something I’ll regret. “See you tomorrow.”
“I ordered two!” he shouts.
The street is quiet and the sidewalk is empty. His voice carries to the next block. When I turn back, I see all the desperate need I’m fighting painted on his face. The rush is sudden and intense, and I shudder so hard my teeth chatter.
“…if you want one,” he adds at a more reasonable volume.
I should say no. I should turn and walk home. I can’t be around him right now. Not the way I’m feeling. If I slip—let myself forget, even for a second, that I’m putting myself in the way of his job—I’m likely not to stop until we’ve both fallen. “Okay.”
I hear it come out of my mouth before I’ve fully made up my mind to say it. But when a smile breaks over his amazing face, I can’t make myself regret it.
He backs a step toward the door. “Wait here. I’ll be right out.”
I fidget with my hair and the hem of my shirt because there’s no way I can stand still, and a minute later, Marcus appears with a brown paper bag. He gives a quick look around, then clicks open his truck and we climb in. The instant I’m within the enclosed space with him, the air begins to buzz with electric current.
“So, where to?” he asks, his eyes flicking to me.
My heart pounds so loudly I can hear it over the rumble of his engine. “No one’s home at my house.”
He swallows as he pulls away from the curb, but his eyes stay on the road unfolding in front of us. A few minutes later, he rolls up to the front of my house and cuts the engine.
My insides are a jumbled mass as I stumble out of the truck and up the walk. I fumble for my key and slide it into the lock. The brush of his fingertips across my back as he follows me in may as well be a taser. The current scrambles my synapses and I can’t think. But when I turn to close the door, he passes on his way into the kitchen and I decide the contact was accidental.
I set my shopping bag on a kitchen chair and go to the cupboard, pulling down two plates. “What do you want to drink? There’s Coke, or milk, or water.”
“Coke works,” he says, unpacking the wrapped burgers from the grease-stained bag.
I grab two cans and bring the plates to the table. He dumps some fries on my plate and sets a burger on each, then goes to the fridge and pulls the door open. “Catsup?”