Jinx'ing Your Future

by Bo Reid

  "Miss Jinx, this is Sam from Clover Field Propane. I'm calling concerning your past due balance on your propane account. We have tried numerous times to get in touch with you. Unfortunately, this is our final attempt. You will receive a twenty-four-hour shut-off notice in the mail. If you call, we can set you up on a payment plan, which will prevent a service shut off. Please return our call at 324-555-2337."

  "This is a call to inform Miss Serendipity Jinx of your outstanding bill for medical services performed at Mercy Memorial Hospital on the date of January twentieth, two thousand nineteen. We have not received any payment from you, and your bill is about to go to collections. Please return our call at 1-800-555-6644 to set up a payment plan so this doesn't affect your credit.”

  "This call is for Serendipity Jinx. Your water bill with Eco Water is past due by several months. We have not received a payment from you since June. Please return our call to ensure we do not turn off your water. 324-555-3939."

  Ugh.

  I hang up the phone and scrub a tired hand down my face. Yeah, guys, I would love a payment plan, but I don't have any money to make payments. If I don't figure out how to come up with eight hundred and forty-two dollars by next Monday, I won't even have a place to live. I won’t need power, propane, water, or health when I have no home. I search the local job listings on my phone — at least I’ll still have a phone when I'm living in my car. We're on a family plan, it saves our parents' money. There’s a listing for a dog walker. It’s decent, but it won't pay my rent. There are a few temporary shifts available for servers at restaurants. I tap on the most promising one: eighteen dollars an hour plus tips. And it's a topless restaurant, ‘cause of course it is.

  At this point, I might as well become a stripper; they make more and show the same amount of skin. It's not the worst idea I've ever had. It's legal, unlike selling drugs on the street corner. Drugs might also be a valid option — I hear I wouldn't have to pay my power bill while in jail.

  My phone vibrates in my hand. The number of the coffee shop where I work part-time at lights up the screen. I tap the accept button and pray that they're not going to cut my hours too.

  "Hello?" I ask into the phone, crossing my fingers.

  "Seren? Oh, thank god you answered. Can you cover shifts this week?" Karma, my cousin, asks. Her voice has a slight pleading note.

  "Fuck, yes, I can. When do you need me?" I ask. Karma’s the one who gave me the job in the first place. She started this little coffee shop a few years ago, against the wishes of her mother, who said it would fail. Well, it boomed. When I needed a job, Karma was the first one to hire me. But I don't like to be given handouts, so I made sure to start at the bottom and work my way up. It's good money and great tips, but she’s been laying people off due to a drop-off in customers. It's a seasonal decline. She reduces the staff every year, and every year I worry I’ll get cut.

  "In thirty minutes," she replies. I can sense her cringing from here.

  "I'll be there," I confirm, and hang up without waiting for her to respond.

  Jumping up from my spot on my tattered couch, I race down the hall and into the bathroom, turning the water on in the shower. I strip and jump in before the water’s even warm. I take the quickest shower in the history of showers — seriously, my speed could rival military showers — running a brush through my hair as I pull on the uniform for the coffee shop. I brush my teeth while I'm slipping on my shoes. Spitting into the kitchen sink, I grab my purse and keys and lock my front door behind me. I'm out the door in under ten minutes. Hell, I'm a pro.

  Before I reach Old Betsy in the back parking lot, I send up a silent prayer that she starts. Sliding behind the wheel, I put the key in the ignition and hold my breath as I crank the engine. She roars to life, and I let out my sigh, only to have her die.

  "No, no, no, no, no. Come on baby. We got this. You can do it. Please, I need you," I tell her as I try to turn the engine over again. She makes the worst grinding, screeching, dying dolphin noise right before she gives up entirely and calls it quits.

  "No!" I yell and slam my hands on the steering wheel.

  Throwing my door open, I check my phone. Fifteen minutes till I need to get to the coffee shop.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck.

  I kick the front tire. "Why would you do this now?"

  I bang my fist onto her roof. "Seriously, you think this shit is funny?"

  I shake the hood. "Come on, old girl, just one more day, one more fucking day," I beg.

  "Ehem…" I hear a throat clear behind me. Instantly, my face heats with embarrassment that someone just saw my little tantrum.

  Slowly turning around, I'm met with the most striking pair of bright blue eyes, a jawline that could cut glass, and mountains of muscles underneath a leather jacket.

  "I don't think that's how you get a car to start," he says very seriously, but I see him trying not to laugh at me.

  Great, he's attractive and an asshole. Shocking.

  "Yeah, well, the whole key in the ignition thing wasn't working out so well. I figured I'd give this a shot," I deadpan.

  "Want me to take a look?" he asks. I narrow my eyes at him like why man, why?

  "Thanks, but it's no use. She should’ve retired about five years ago. Plus, unless you can fix her in two minutes, I won't make it to work on time anyway," I sigh and slump onto the hood.

  "Need a lift? I can look at her later?" He motions to the car, and I look up at him.

  "I don't even know you," I state and narrow my eyes again, crossing my arms over my chest.

  This is how girls get kidnapped and sold into sex trafficking rings.

  "I'm Malcolm Mayweather, no relation to Floyd," he says. His smile is warm and natural as he sticks his hand out for me to shake.

  "Serendipity Jinx. Nice to meet you, Not-Floyd-Mayweather," I tell him and shake his hand.

  "Well, where did we land on that ride?" he asks.

  "Okay, I guess if you murder me, I don't have to pay my bills. Just promise me you'll clear my browser history."

  "Deal," he laughs, and motions his hand to a motorcycle parked three spots down from mine.

  "Yup, going to die," I laugh.

  Walking around to my car, I pull my purse out — as if it has anything of value in it — then follow him over to the bike.

  He takes off his jacket and hands it to me; I hesitate and eye him suspiciously.

  "It can get cold, plus, you said you don't have much time, right? So, we're going to go fast." He smirks at me. I roll my eyes, but take his jacket and put it on over my shoulders. Next, he holds up a helmet, I take it and pull it on. He reaches forward and does the chin strap for me before pulling a helmet on over his head.

  He gets on the motorcycle, and when he starts it up, I can hear its roar even through the helmet. It rumbles the ground around us. He revs it up and then motions for me to climb on behind him. I swing my leg over the seat, but have no idea what to do with my hands.

  He reaches behind him, grabbing one hand and pulling it around his front, making me scoot forward until I'm plastered against him. He grabs my other hand and does the same thing, placing them firmly on his lower abs. Dear god, what excellent abs they are.

  "Where to?" he yells over his shoulder. For a second I can't think straight. Do I really need a job and money when I have my hands on abs like these?

  "Karma's Koffee. It's on the corner of Ninth and Tobacco," I yell, and he nods.

  Suddenly, he shifts the kickstand up, and we're peeling out of the parking lot. He barely even looks down the street before pulling into traffic. I know this is how I'm gonna fucking die. Right here, on the back of some stranger's motorcycle on my way to work. Dad’s going to have a fucking heart attack when he hears about my tragic passing.

  Oh, god, if Karma sees me pulling up on the back of this guy’s bike, she’s going to have so many questions. Questions I can't truthfully answer.

  I can hear it in my head already:

  Oh my god, who was th
at? He's yummy.

  Uh, no one.

  Yeah, I bet he's no one. *wink*

  No, really, Karm, I have no clue who he is. Total stranger.

  Hmm, so one-night stand that went over?

  No, like my car wouldn't start, and he was there, and he gave me a ride. That's all.

  You mean you got a ride from a stranger? Sober? In the daytime?

  Yup.

  What is wrong with you? That's how you get kidnapped and sold into a sex trafficking ring!

  See what I mean?

  Malcolm pulls in between cars, lane-splitting, and swerves in and out of traffic. The scenery blurs by my eyes, and I honestly had no idea where we were. Next thing I know, he’s pulling up to the curb in front of Karma's Koffee and backing into a space. When he puts the kickstand down and cuts the engine, I unwrap myself from him — I was only in slight spider-monkey cling — and slide off the bike reaching to undo the chin strap.

  He pulls his helmet off, then reaches over to undo my strap as I stand in front of him, since, apparently, they're beyond my intelligence. Pulling the helmet off, I take a deep breath and hand it back before unzipping his jacket and giving that to him as well.

  "Thank you so much," I sigh as I pull my phone out to check the time. "Damn! Five minutes to spare, even."

  When I look up, Malcolm has a massive smile on his gorgeous, chiseled face — he’s like a fucking Greek god sculpted from ivory — "What?" I ask.

  He reaches a hand up and smooths down my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. "Just a little helmet hair," he says, almost managing to keep a straight face.

  I pat my head and smooth down my hair. Well, I attempt to. Karma will have a brush.

  "Okay, I have to get in there.Again, thank you for the ride," I say and go to step around the bike as he gets off.

  "Need a ride home?" he asks, crossing his arms over his massive chest.

  "Thanks, but I can grab a ride with my cousin. She owns the place," I say, motioning to the shop.

  He nods his head as I slowly back away to the front door. "It was nice to meet you, Jinx," he calls.

  "You too, Not-Floyd-Mayweather," I call. He chuckles, the deep sound vibrating down to my lady parts.

  Damn men like him are dangerous; they make me forget about anything but them. It's like they have this magic that makes everything else fade away, and the only thing that matters is the dick.

  God, it's been a long time since I had a really good dick.

  I bet Mr. Mayweather gives excellent dick.

  I run right into the fucking front door to the coffee shop. See what I mean? I can't even remember to open the damn door because I'm too hyper-focused on good, no, fan-fucking-tastic dick.

  Note to self: Stay away from Not-Floyd-Mayweather. He’s nothing but chiseled jawline, bright blue eyes, leather, Harleys, and Trouble with a capital fucking T.

  Malcom Mayweather

  I watch as Serendipity Jinx's backside disappears inside the small corner coffee shop. I was walking across the parking lot of my new apartment building when I saw her having a little tantrum, and it was just about the cutest thing I've ever witnessed. Pissed off because her car wouldn't start and taking it out on something that should’ve been retired years ago.

  The whole thing was far too enticing to pass up -- her full, pouty lips and her foul mouth; long, dark blond hair falling in wet waves down her back, fresh from a shower; and that ass. The kind of ass they write rap songs about. The type of ass that's perfectly hugged by skin-tight black pants. The kind of ass that would look great perched on the back of my Harley with her thick thighs wrapped around me.

  Then she turned around, her face bright red, but what got me were her gorgeous green eyes. Eyes that I'm not sure any color on the spectrum would come close to accurately describing. Right there, I decided that I didn't just want to see how good she would look in my bed. I wanted to know all about her.

  Karma Koffee

  "We're going to talk about him later, but first, save me," Karma whispers from behind the counter as I walk across the floor of her coffee shop.

  "We're not talking about him. There's nothing to talk about," I tell her, stepping around the back of the counter and reaching for an apron.

  "Something that delicious deserves to be talked about," she says as she steps away from the espresso machine to man the counter.

  I step up to the machine, taking a quick moment to run through the backlog of orders. Karma’s never this far behind on getting orders out, not even when she operated everything alone, and she would get the morning rush of people. Something must have happened with her mom, that bitch always knocks her off her game.

  "Old Betsy wouldn't start, so he gave me a ride," I tell her over my shoulder before grabbing the milk and putting it under the frother.

  "Four seventy-five… Thank you. We'll have that right out. — You got a ride from some dude you don't even know?"

  "Yup, had to get here to save your ass, didn't I?" I call over my shoulder as I squirt some caramel into the latte and mix it up.

  Turning, I grab a lid, then walk over to the pick-up counter. "Ben, your caramel latte’s ready!" I call, setting it down. I hustle over to the drive-through window.

  I grab the headset and switch the monitor over to the drink-making station, so I can work on Karma's backlog while taking the drive-through orders.

  "Good morning, welcome to Karma's Koffee, what can I get started for you?" I ask into the monitor, making a drink with one hand, and punching in the large black coffee order with the other. "That’ll be two eighty-five at the window. Thank you."

  "You could’ve taken an Uber," Karma tells me.

  "So, I can get into a car with a stranger and pay them to take me here, get stuck in traffic, and be late, but I can't get a free ride with another stranger?" I ask her.

  "Nothing’s free, Seren; you know that," Karma scolds me. Yeah, I fucking know.

  I also know that I’ll probably never see Not-Floyd-Mayweather again. How am I supposed to pay someone back if I don't see him again? Karma and I work side by side, pumping out drink after drink, until the morning rush clears out. I can almost breathe again.

  "Here’s your small vanilla latte," I say, handing the last person in the drive-through her drink.

  "How much?" she asks.

  "You're already covered, hun. The car in front of you paid for yours," I tell her.

  "Oh, in that case, can I give you a ten, and you can put it towards whoever comes in next?" she asks with a smile.

  "Sure, we can do that," I tell her and take a twenty-dollar bill from her.

  "Keep the change. Put the other ten in your tip jar. You ladies have been hustling this morning. You deserve it," she tells me.

  "Thank you, ma'am."

  "Man, what a weird morning, right?" Karma asks as she hands me a rag. We wipe down the counters so we can start prepping for lunch.

  "You mean everyone in the drive-through paying for the car behind them? Yeah, I don't think I’ve ever seen a pay-it-forward chain last that long." I start on the dishes.

  "Did you see? Every single person who came inside left at least a five-dollar tip? Some people even tipped double the cost of their drink order. Almost everyone tipped most of their change. Dude, one guy even left a whole twenty," she says, sounding astounded.

  I mean, let's be real, people barely tip a quarter most of the time, so when we get the occasional five- or ten-dollar tip, it makes my day. Having everyone tip five bucks or more? That's unheard of.

  "Must be something in the water," I snort.

  "Yeah, the virus of radical giving."

  "Doesn't sound so bad. Does someone wanna pay my water bill?" I joke.

  "You still struggling?" Karma asks as she hands me a mug.

  I sigh. "Yeah, this whole adulting thing is shitty."

  "What about your parents? Or Keshia?"

  "You know I can't ask Kesh. She’d give me her last dollar and not tell me she needed it. My parents just bo
oked the trip that they’ve been saving for. You should’ve seen Mom, Karm. I think her face probably hurts today from smiling so damn much last night. They would cancel the trip to give me everything I need. I can't be the reason she misses out on something she wants that much, I just can't." I sigh dejectedly.

  "Well, Karen quit this morning without notice, so her hours are yours if you want them," Karma says. I nearly faint.

  "Yes, thank you so much. The restaurant cut my hours, so I've been trying to find something to fill in that income."

  "They're yours, babe. I'll text you the new schedule after closing," she sighs.

  "You good?"

  "Just Mom at it again. You know how she is." She shrugs. Yeah, I do know. She's a fucking bitch.

  "What did she do this time?" I ask.

  "She called this morning and wanted to chat, but it was right after fucking Karen called to quit -- you know, five minutes before her shift was supposed to start," she grits out.

  "I basically told her I didn't have time to chat with her, that I was panicking — I didn't say that, but you know her — and I had to find someone to cover a shift. She instantly got pissy with me and told me that if I would give up this 'silly notion' of trying to make this thing work, I wouldn't be so stressed and rude all the time. Like, I'm not stressed and rude all the time! She senses when I'm going to be pissy, and that's when she calls. I swear, it’s a sixth sense or some shit." She sighs and slumps against the counter as a car pulls into the drive-through.

  "Hang on," I tell Karma. "Welcome to Karma Koffee, what can I get started for you today?"

  "Hey, can I try one of your wraps, the California Turkey, and a large strawberry Italian soda?" the lady asks.

  "Sure thing, that’ll be fifteen ten at the window," I tell her. I'm still thinking about Karma's conversation with her mom, so I'm sorta on autopilot.

  When I turn around, Karma’s already started on the wrap, so I get the drink going. I finish her drink and move back to the window. The lady smiles at me and hands me a twenty. I suddenly remember the last lady wanted to pay forward ten dollars.