An Officer and His Gentleman by Ryan Field Page B

young man with you and Sarah last night? My, he certainly was a handsome young man, indeed." She pressed her lips together and nodded.
"What young man?" Dan asked. He was staring at Chance now. He put his hands on his hips and lowered his eyebrows, but he was still forcing a smile.
Chance gulped and pressed the lid on the potato salad container. "Just a friend of Sarah's," he said. "Nobody you'd know." He shrugged his shoulders and wrote a price on top of the lid.
He was still smiling when he handed the potato salad to Mrs. Dolan. But when he looked toward the front door and saw Brody walk into the market, he nearly dropped the potato salad all over the floor.
Mrs. Dolan turned around too. She leaned toward Dan as if she knew a secret, and said, "That's the young man, him, over there." She pointed toward Brody. He was at the cash register talking to Sarah. Mrs. Dolan became giddy and giggled a few times. "He's such a good-looking young man."
Dan stared at Brody for a second, then looked at his watch and pointed at Chance. "Please excuse me. I have to take him in the back room and get a few pies out of the oven before the next rush comes." He left Mrs. Dolan standing there with her mouth wide open, holding her pound of potato salad, and rushed around the deli counter to the back room.
Chance followed, preparing himself for one of Dan's jealous tirades. If a guy so much as glanced at him the wrong way, Dan went crazy, and today was no different. He tried to explain that Brody was Sarah's friend, but the old man didn't believe him. He threw a large copper pan out the back door and punched the wall so hard the instant garlic powder fell right off a shelf. "He's not-a her friend," the old man snarled. "You're a fucking liar, you piece of shit." He wasn't shouting, because people would have heard him out front, but his voice was low and mean: a loud, wicked stage whisper, and his accent grew stronger with each nasty word. "He's here for one thing, eh? To get in your pants." Then he called Chance more vile names, in English and in Italian: a little slut, a cockhungry whore, a good-for-nothing cocksucker who was willing to spread his legs for any dirty dick that came along. Chance just stood there with his shoulders slumped forward and his arms folded across his chest, taking the abuse because he knew it would be worse if he'd argued back.
Dan stopped hissing for a moment. He took a few deep breaths, and then pointed his crooked, orange-tipped finger and said, " You . Get rid of him. I don't want him coming in here anymore."
Chance straightened his shoulders and walked back to the deli counter. He'd learned to be tough and to do what he had to do in order to survive. So when he saw Brody standing in front of the counter smiling and holding the last container of buffalo chicken spread, he looked at him with a somber expression and said, "What can I get for you?" He talked to Brody's neck, not his eyes. He couldn't bear to look into those beautiful blue eyes and cause pain.
"I was hoping for at least a smile after last night," Brody said, and Chance noticed he had a bunch of flowers in his hand. "I had fun. I would have come in earlier, but my mother had a few problems this morning I had to take care of. Sorry."
Chance took a deep breath and clenched his fists. "Look, I'm really busy here today and I don't have time to stand around and talk to strange customers. Is there something I can help you with?" He felt a little shaky; the floor didn't feel solid anymore. His stomach turned, and it felt as if it were about to jump out of his mouth. He knew he'd just crossed a line: that instant when you realize you've ruined something forever and will never be able to get it back again.
Brody stopped smiling. He stepped back from the counter and spread his legs wider. "Sorry I bothered you. I'll see you around." Then he slammed the container of buffalo chicken spread on top of the deli counter, dropped the flowers on the floor, and stormed out of