white cushy car. “I have to go into Restin this morning, I’ll get an estimate.”
I went back for my bag as two other cars crept by.
Really? That interesting?
I prayed that I had the most updated card.
“Please, God, don’t let me be a dumbass,” I whispered. God answered me with favorable results and I breathed a sigh of relief as I handed it to him. “Okay, here you go.”
He took off the sunglasses and peered at it, then me. I proceeded to write his info on the back of an old receipt I’d pulled from the floorboard with my phone. He pulled out his cell phone, took a picture of my card, and handed it back to me.
Well. Okay then.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said and strode back to his chariot and pulled away.
“Great,” I muttered, looking down at my scribbles. “Fucking great.”
I went to work, stocked lures, fielded phone calls, posted tide information, told some guy that speckled trout were biting on Rat-L-Traps and buzz tail grubs, and hoped no one was around to hear and know that I pulled that out of my ass.
On my non-lunch break as I munched a bag of Cheetos, I called the insurance company to tell them I was an idiot and that a Jason Miller would contact them. He already had. Of course.
I went out on Captain Hank’s boat. I’d never seen the south end of the river, so it truly was a tour. I didn’t get a hat or a list or anything laminated. What I got was a play-by-play of everything Hank had ever caught, tried to catch, or wanted to catch, with eighty-five “sugars” in there to sweeten the pot. On the bright side,the water was calm and flat and Hank was all about trolling the sides, so I did okay.
By the time we got back, I was grateful to check the bait vats and sweep the floors. I went in the back way and checked the critters first and came up through the hall. I rounded the corner through the beads, smack into a hard body in jeans, T-shirt—and aviator sunglasses.
“Oh!”
“Jesus,” he muttered as I stepped on his foot.
“What the—are you following me?” I exclaimed as he took off the glasses. “I told you I’d take care of it.” It unnerved me that he was behind the counter with me.
Hard green eyes glared at me. “I just got here. What the hell are you doing here, and coming up the back way?”
“I
work
here, asshole.” I walked toward him, hoping to be intimidating. “You want to get on the other side of the counter, please?”
But he stopped, very still. “You what?”
Just then, Bob wobbled in with his heavy side-to-side gait, grinning. “Hey, Dani. Hey, Mr. Miller.”
“Bob.” His face visibly softened to nod a sideways grin at him, and in that tiny instant when he wasn’t scowling, he struck me as good-looking.
“Got everything set for the night, Boss. I’m gonna head over.”
I felt my eyebrows raise. “Boss?”
He turned back to me, and the troll was back. He held a hand out, his face set in stone, his eyes not blinking. It was like looking at a cyborg.
“Jason Miller. Owner. Manager. Asshole. I believe we’ve met.”
Oh, just beat me with a fucking stick.
“Dani Shane.” I shook his hand. “Am I still employed?”
He let my hand go and turned to run a report on the register. “So far. If you work better than you drive.”
I closed my eyes and focused on breathing. Tried not to be swayed by the thoughts that descended upon me, saying,
You don’t need this. You are above this. You don’t have to take shit from this petty peon
.
Because I did. I wasn’t anymore. And I had to. End of story.
Move on, Dani, suck it up
.
“Okay,” was what I managed to say instead, and I grabbed the broom so I could take my frustrations out on the floor. We did our things in silence till I left. Then I said good-bye, as I swung the door open.
“See you tomorrow,” he responded without looking up.
I let the door close behind me and thought about jumping in the river.
L ESS extreme measures called for junk food. Tapioca pudding. Chicken and
I went back for my bag as two other cars crept by.
Really? That interesting?
I prayed that I had the most updated card.
“Please, God, don’t let me be a dumbass,” I whispered. God answered me with favorable results and I breathed a sigh of relief as I handed it to him. “Okay, here you go.”
He took off the sunglasses and peered at it, then me. I proceeded to write his info on the back of an old receipt I’d pulled from the floorboard with my phone. He pulled out his cell phone, took a picture of my card, and handed it back to me.
Well. Okay then.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said and strode back to his chariot and pulled away.
“Great,” I muttered, looking down at my scribbles. “Fucking great.”
I went to work, stocked lures, fielded phone calls, posted tide information, told some guy that speckled trout were biting on Rat-L-Traps and buzz tail grubs, and hoped no one was around to hear and know that I pulled that out of my ass.
On my non-lunch break as I munched a bag of Cheetos, I called the insurance company to tell them I was an idiot and that a Jason Miller would contact them. He already had. Of course.
I went out on Captain Hank’s boat. I’d never seen the south end of the river, so it truly was a tour. I didn’t get a hat or a list or anything laminated. What I got was a play-by-play of everything Hank had ever caught, tried to catch, or wanted to catch, with eighty-five “sugars” in there to sweeten the pot. On the bright side,the water was calm and flat and Hank was all about trolling the sides, so I did okay.
By the time we got back, I was grateful to check the bait vats and sweep the floors. I went in the back way and checked the critters first and came up through the hall. I rounded the corner through the beads, smack into a hard body in jeans, T-shirt—and aviator sunglasses.
“Oh!”
“Jesus,” he muttered as I stepped on his foot.
“What the—are you following me?” I exclaimed as he took off the glasses. “I told you I’d take care of it.” It unnerved me that he was behind the counter with me.
Hard green eyes glared at me. “I just got here. What the hell are you doing here, and coming up the back way?”
“I
work
here, asshole.” I walked toward him, hoping to be intimidating. “You want to get on the other side of the counter, please?”
But he stopped, very still. “You what?”
Just then, Bob wobbled in with his heavy side-to-side gait, grinning. “Hey, Dani. Hey, Mr. Miller.”
“Bob.” His face visibly softened to nod a sideways grin at him, and in that tiny instant when he wasn’t scowling, he struck me as good-looking.
“Got everything set for the night, Boss. I’m gonna head over.”
I felt my eyebrows raise. “Boss?”
He turned back to me, and the troll was back. He held a hand out, his face set in stone, his eyes not blinking. It was like looking at a cyborg.
“Jason Miller. Owner. Manager. Asshole. I believe we’ve met.”
Oh, just beat me with a fucking stick.
“Dani Shane.” I shook his hand. “Am I still employed?”
He let my hand go and turned to run a report on the register. “So far. If you work better than you drive.”
I closed my eyes and focused on breathing. Tried not to be swayed by the thoughts that descended upon me, saying,
You don’t need this. You are above this. You don’t have to take shit from this petty peon
.
Because I did. I wasn’t anymore. And I had to. End of story.
Move on, Dani, suck it up
.
“Okay,” was what I managed to say instead, and I grabbed the broom so I could take my frustrations out on the floor. We did our things in silence till I left. Then I said good-bye, as I swung the door open.
“See you tomorrow,” he responded without looking up.
I let the door close behind me and thought about jumping in the river.
L ESS extreme measures called for junk food. Tapioca pudding. Chicken and
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