and the bathroom.
Starving, I painfully hobble to the kitchen to figure out something for lunch. There isn’t a morsel of food in the house. I lean against the counter and contemplate my options. I could order Chinese or pizza for delivery, but both would require a minimum purchase of twenty dollars. Since I won’t be able to go back to work for at least a week, I can’t afford it.
I consider texting Rooter to ask him to bring me lunch, but he already paid for my prescription, which I’m sure was expensive. Just thinking about it makes me cringe. He probably wouldn’t let me pay for my lunch either.
Suddenly, it occurs to me that Ryan doesn’t work today.
Ryan works with me at the Grand as a bartender. The first time I met him, I thought it was love at first sight. He’s tall and lean and covered with random tattoos. He’s British and when he speaks with that deep voice… But then I found out he was gay in the most mortifying way.
I’d had a tad too much to drink and confessed how hot I thought he was. He gave me a sincere smile and said, “Thank you, love, but I have a boyfriend.” Sensing my humiliation he covered with, “But if I ever decide to bat for your team, you’re the first girl I’m calling.” We’ve been buds ever since.
We don’t hang out as much as I’d like to. Mostly just at work. He spends the majority of his time with his boyfriend, Seth. That Mike is a serious homophobe doesn’t help matters. The one and only time Ryan was here, Mike made his distaste perfectly clear. He even ordered Ryan not to look at him because he didn’t want “a flaming fag having fantasies” about him.
Since Mike isn’t home I text Ryan and ask if he’ll bring me a bite. Thirty minutes after placing my order, he shows up with bags in hand. Even though I told him Mike is gone, he looks around for him the second he walks into the house.
“He isn’t here,” I assure him.
He smiles. “Good, because I have zero patience right now and I’d totally massacre that homophobic, woman hitting tosser.”
I laugh hard and accidentally bump my foot on the coffee table. It hurts badly enough that tears form in the corners of my eyes. Ryan rushes over and drops the bags on the table.
“Shit, babe, you okay?”
I lean over, clutch my ankle. The pain has rendered me speechless so I nod. We sit in silence for a minute until I regain the ability to function. I glance at the clock and realize I missed my dose of Vicodin.
“Do me a favor?” I ask. “My Vicodin are in my purse.” I motion to my bag on the dining room table.
While I swallow the pill, Ryan lays out the food out on the coffee table. It’s not what I ordered. I shoot him a questioning glare.
He shrugs. “I know you prefer the real chicken club.”
“Yeah, but I can’t afford it,” I explain.
“That’s why it’s my treat.” He flashes his megawatt smile.
Anyone who doesn’t know Ryan would never guess he’s gay. He’s not the least bit effeminate. He has masculine style and mannerisms. Even the way he sits. He looks like a guys, guy. No pun intended.
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“I wanted to do it.”
“Thank you. You’re the best.”
Ryan takes an obnoxiously large bite and chews with his mouth open because he knows I hate loud eaters. “Yeah, I know,” he says after he swallows. “Randy said to take as much time as you need, but he knows your money is tight. He mentioned having you work in the office if you can’t work on the floor straight away.”
My eyes go wide. I know I don’t have anything to worry about as far as my job is concerned. When I spoke with Randy, he told me not to worry. However, he didn’t mention working in the office. I make a mental note to call him tomorrow.
“Really? That would be great, but it’ll still be at least a week. I can barely get around the house.”
I take my first bite of the chicken club and am at once thankful for my friend’s generosity. I do prefer the real
Starving, I painfully hobble to the kitchen to figure out something for lunch. There isn’t a morsel of food in the house. I lean against the counter and contemplate my options. I could order Chinese or pizza for delivery, but both would require a minimum purchase of twenty dollars. Since I won’t be able to go back to work for at least a week, I can’t afford it.
I consider texting Rooter to ask him to bring me lunch, but he already paid for my prescription, which I’m sure was expensive. Just thinking about it makes me cringe. He probably wouldn’t let me pay for my lunch either.
Suddenly, it occurs to me that Ryan doesn’t work today.
Ryan works with me at the Grand as a bartender. The first time I met him, I thought it was love at first sight. He’s tall and lean and covered with random tattoos. He’s British and when he speaks with that deep voice… But then I found out he was gay in the most mortifying way.
I’d had a tad too much to drink and confessed how hot I thought he was. He gave me a sincere smile and said, “Thank you, love, but I have a boyfriend.” Sensing my humiliation he covered with, “But if I ever decide to bat for your team, you’re the first girl I’m calling.” We’ve been buds ever since.
We don’t hang out as much as I’d like to. Mostly just at work. He spends the majority of his time with his boyfriend, Seth. That Mike is a serious homophobe doesn’t help matters. The one and only time Ryan was here, Mike made his distaste perfectly clear. He even ordered Ryan not to look at him because he didn’t want “a flaming fag having fantasies” about him.
Since Mike isn’t home I text Ryan and ask if he’ll bring me a bite. Thirty minutes after placing my order, he shows up with bags in hand. Even though I told him Mike is gone, he looks around for him the second he walks into the house.
“He isn’t here,” I assure him.
He smiles. “Good, because I have zero patience right now and I’d totally massacre that homophobic, woman hitting tosser.”
I laugh hard and accidentally bump my foot on the coffee table. It hurts badly enough that tears form in the corners of my eyes. Ryan rushes over and drops the bags on the table.
“Shit, babe, you okay?”
I lean over, clutch my ankle. The pain has rendered me speechless so I nod. We sit in silence for a minute until I regain the ability to function. I glance at the clock and realize I missed my dose of Vicodin.
“Do me a favor?” I ask. “My Vicodin are in my purse.” I motion to my bag on the dining room table.
While I swallow the pill, Ryan lays out the food out on the coffee table. It’s not what I ordered. I shoot him a questioning glare.
He shrugs. “I know you prefer the real chicken club.”
“Yeah, but I can’t afford it,” I explain.
“That’s why it’s my treat.” He flashes his megawatt smile.
Anyone who doesn’t know Ryan would never guess he’s gay. He’s not the least bit effeminate. He has masculine style and mannerisms. Even the way he sits. He looks like a guys, guy. No pun intended.
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“I wanted to do it.”
“Thank you. You’re the best.”
Ryan takes an obnoxiously large bite and chews with his mouth open because he knows I hate loud eaters. “Yeah, I know,” he says after he swallows. “Randy said to take as much time as you need, but he knows your money is tight. He mentioned having you work in the office if you can’t work on the floor straight away.”
My eyes go wide. I know I don’t have anything to worry about as far as my job is concerned. When I spoke with Randy, he told me not to worry. However, he didn’t mention working in the office. I make a mental note to call him tomorrow.
“Really? That would be great, but it’ll still be at least a week. I can barely get around the house.”
I take my first bite of the chicken club and am at once thankful for my friend’s generosity. I do prefer the real
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