by Ash Johnson
Just then, an image Harlow flashes through my mind. I can see a faint picture of her—her brown hair piled in a thick ball on her head and those nerdy glasses sitting on top of her freckled nose. The small smile she wore makes one break out across my face.
“What the hell are you grinning at?” Jay’s voice snaps me out of my daydream. I look at him and unsuccessfully wipe the shit-eating grin from my face because he’s smiling back at me.
“Nothing, man, just forget about it. Did you find a place for Ada yet?”
He pockets his phone but doesn’t take his eyes off of me. “Yeah, I did. Now tell me the truth.”
I huff and start inspecting the floor much like he was a few minutes ago.
“I got into a car accident almost a week ago.” Jay scoots closer to the edge of the couch, and his brows pull together like he’s waiting for me to tell him something awful. “It wasn’t bad. I mean, her car didn’t come out on top, but it was a piece of shit, and she really shouldn’t have been driving in that death trap in the first place.”
“She?”
“Yeah, she. Her name is Harlow.” When his look tells me to give him more information, I hold up my hands and shrug. “All I know is that I drove my Hummer over the back of her car and demolished it; she’s twenty-three, works three jobs, and has a fourteen-year-old sister that she takes care of.”
“You got all of that information out of her during a car accident?”
I nod. “Yeah, we had a bit of time to kill between the tow truck hauling her car away and me giving her a ride to work at the veterinary hospital; so we got a few of the basics out of the way.”
“So when you say you got ‘the basics,’ you don’t mean her last name or her phone number—those kinds of basics.”
I smile remembering that after he met Ada, Jay acted like an asshole for an entire week because he’d just met the woman he would marry, but had no clue who she was past her first name.
“Well, I did get her full name and a phone number when I got her insurance information. I’m not that stupid.” I smirk when he flips me off.
“So what is it about this Harlow chick? Is she married? Boyfriend?”
I furrow my brow, not sure how to answer. I didn’t see a ring on her finger but didn’t ask either way, and I hadn’t dared while we were texting back and forth a few days after the accident. The texts consisted of when she would get her replacement car and if she had any lingering pains from the accident.
I had asked her out and been turned away, though. It could be because of the guy she was on the phone with after the accident.
“I don’t think she is married, but I can’t be sure. I asked her if she wanted to get dinner with me, and she shot me down.” Jay all out belly-laughs at my rejection before I can remind him that she has three jobs and said she didn’t have time for anything other than work. Just then the other guys start coming through my front door.
“Don’t say anything about her to the other guys,” I tell him. For some reason, I just want to keep the idea of Harlow to myself, but Jay is a special circumstance, because I’ve known him for so long he’s more like a brother to me. He just nods and starts greeting our buddies as they stomp downstairs, cases of beer in hand.
Tonight will be a fun night of football and friends, with flashes of Harlow’s adorable smile at random times.
I’m screwed.
Chapter 5
Harlow
I’m so glad that my older-than-dirt phone has the capability to text, but I have a feeling that it’s going to get me into trouble at work today. I keep hiding out in different places around the building so I can text Blake while I’m working; which means I have to bust my ass to catch up when I put my phone down, since we had two other waitresses call in sick this morning. I’ve been running around the diner nonstop, which is great for tips, but I’m positive my feet will hate me by the end of this shift.
Concrete floors aren’t much for comfort, really.
I’ve worked at Guy’s Diner since my little sister Alexis and I moved to Phoenix two years ago. I have worked the weekday lunch shift six—but most of the time, seven—days a week since starting and don’t make much, but it’s better than nothing.
I start to head toward the kitchen after writing down my newest table’s order when a chiming sound from my apron signals another text from Blake. A smile takes over my face as I think about how much fun he is to talk to.
We’ve stuck to texting each other, and it all started with him asking if I had any lingering pains from the car accident. After receiving three similar texts from him in as many days, I told him the only pain I felt was the one in my ass that I was now calling “the Blake pains,” because he just wanted to ask about injuries.
Thus began our “getting to know you” texting phase. I’ve found that he’s got a great sense of humor and can make me laugh when I need it the most. Sometimes I text him that I’m having a bad day or a table left shitty tips, and he sends me back some stupid knock-knock joke or a useless fact that no one should ever know.
After dropping off the order and making sure my other tables don’t need anything, I step into the dishwashing area so that my boss doesn’t catch me on my phone and open the text.
Blake: My fav movie is Die Hard for obvious reasons. U?
I scrunch my brows and try to remember if I’d ever seen the movie. When nothing jumps out at me, I shake my head and start typing out my message.
Harlow: Never seen Die Hard, sorry. My fav is Tammy and the Bachelor. Classic.
I am just about to put my phone back into my apron and get a bit of work done when the message alert sounds off again. Holy cow. He must text all day to be able send a message that fast.
Blake: Never heard of it. One of those old black and whites? How in the hell have you not seen Die Hard? John McClane is a legend that should be recognized by all.
His response makes me giggle. I’m guessing that Die Hard must be an action film, because I don’t watch a lot of those. I haven’t had a moment to sit down and watch a movie since before my grandma passed away over three years ago. There just hasn’t been time to do things like watch movies, make some cookies, or sleep. Those things would have to wait.
Harlow: Not black and white but an older film. Around the 60’s, I think. I haven’t had time to sit down and watch movies in a while. Plus I don’t like action films with a lot of violence in them.
I pocket my phone when footsteps come toward me. As soon as my phone is safely stashed, Guy, my boss, pokes his shiny bald head in.
“Harlow, what the heck are you doing in here? You have tables that you need to get to.”
I nod and move out toward the dining area, grabbing plates of food to drop off as I go. After checking all of my tables—almost every table in the restaurant during the busy lunch hour—I head back to grab myself a drink of water and also check my phone. It dinged three different times while I was out there.
Blake: We have 2 fix this soon, then. No way can u go on w/o seeing Die Hard.
Blake: And if u watch my show with me I’ll be a man and watch ur lame chick movie with u.
Blake: Sound like a plan?
I am smiling at my phone like an idiot at the idea of sitting down with Blake and watching a movie like a couple would. Life would be almost normal if I had a night here and there to sit down with a bowl of popcorn and a movie with a hot man like Blake.
“Harlow.” Guy snaps me out of my perfect little daydream and spots my phone in my hand. “I don’t have time for you to be on your phone. You have too many tables for you to be taking a break right now. Put it away, and get back out there.”
I give him another nod and wait for him to leave before texting Blake one last time.
Harlow: That would b wonderful if I ever had time 2 do it. I have 2 get back 2 work. TTYL.
I pocket my phone and force myself to not take it back out when it dings in my apron during my shift, which is a hard lesson in self-restraint, if I do say so myself. I am
having a great time getting to know him better. I just hope he doesn’t stop talking to me once he realizes that I don’t have time to do anything other than work and send the occasional text.
Fingers crossed.
At a lull in tables, I break my restraint and pull my phone out one more time, searching around for Guy like I’m holding contraband instead of a phone.
Blake: Useless fact #15584 Banging your head against a wall burns 150 calories an hour
A giggle bubbles up, but it disappears when Guy comes around the corner again. “Harlow, if I catch you on your phone again this shift, then I’ll take it from you.”
I grit my teeth and pocket it once more, determined to not look again until I’m out of the building. The idea makes me want to bang my head against a wall and burn a few calories at the moment. Oh well. Back to work and my almost impossible attempts to keep from daydreaming about Blake.
I’m in trouble.
Chapter 6
Blake
I normally freaking hate texting people, but talking to Harlow these past few weeks has been a lot of fun. It started out as a reason to make sure that she was okay after the accident, but I’ve gotten to know a lot about her, as well as a lot of random, useless facts that I use as a way to make her smile.
I know that her favorite color is black, because she thinks it’s slimming on her; she’s allergic to cantaloupe; and she’s never been to the ocean. She’s busy with work all the time and doesn’t get to sleep much, so I stick to the times she told me she would be at work to text her, because I don’t want to disrupt her sleep.
She’s got a great sense of humor and, despite not having the downtime to watch movies, can come up with quotes from older movies on the fly. She says something sarcastic when she doesn’t want to talk about certain topics, such as her family, and has never once complained about working as hard as she does.
She told me the other day that everything with her car was taken care of¸ which makes me feel better, but it feels like she wasn’t telling me everything. I’ve asked her three different times what kind of car they gave her as a loaner until the check came through for a new one, and she’s never given me a straight answer.
I’m sitting behind my desk at the gym thinking about Harlow instead of working, so I try and get an answer out of her one last time, knowing that she’s about to get off work at the diner and will have some time to text me again.
Blake: So what kind of car did u get as a loaner again?
She takes a few minutes to answer, so I chalk it up to her being busy or her boss hovering over her shoulder. She told me a few days ago that he’s been following her around during the busy lunch rush to make sure she isn’t slacking and playing on her phone.
Harlow: Oh ya know, the normal kind of car. There’s 4 wheels and 2 drs. It feels as big as a bus compared to my old car
I shake my head. She’s not telling me something. I have this weird feeling when she answers me like that, because she’s never been vague before.
Blake: Take a pic of it and send it 2 me
Harlow: I can’t. My phone doesn’t take pics, remember?
Oh yeah. How in the hell could I have forgotten that she owns one of the very first cell phones ever created? That freaking thing is something parents give to kids as a toy so they don’t break the real phone. I had almost the same phone when I was a sophomore in high school; over sixteen years ago.
Just then, my phone rings, and my heart starts to race, because Harlow is calling me. We haven’t spoken on the phone before, but maybe she’s getting tired of just texting. When I glance at the I.D., it’s not Harlow but Heaven who is calling me.
I hit the ignore button and scowl at the screen. I don’t know why she’s calling, but there is no way I’m talking to that psycho. I try to forget about Heaven and instead text Harlow back.
Blake: Oh yeah, I forgot u bought ur phone in the stone ages
Harlow: Hey, don’t diss the phone. At least I can text u with it. You’ll just have 2 use ur imagination with the rest
I chuckle and then start using said imagination. I can see Harlow in the black scrubs that I last saw her in, her brown hair piled up on top of her head. She removes the rubber band thing that’s holding all that hair up, and it tumbles slowly around her shoulders, waves of thick brown hair falling down to her ass.
Then she throws those thick-rimmed glasses to the floor and reaches for the hem of her shirt. She starts to pull it up, showing off her toned—
The sound of my phone chiming alerts me to another text. Shit, my imagination was just starting to get good, too.
Harlow: Don’t use ur imagination like that… perv
This makes me let out a full-on belly laugh. How in the hell did she know I was fantasizing about getting her naked?
My fingers fly across the screen, eager to keep texting with her.
Blake: Oh come on. Why do u tell me to use my imagination and then shoot me down just as things were starting 2 go in my favor?
Harlow: I’m sure they were but u need to act like an adult, not a fifteen year old boy
If only she knew the thoughts that have been going through my mind since we met. If she knew what has been going through my head and had seen all the action my hand has gotten in the past few weeks, she would more than likely run in the other damn direction.
Blake: U take away all my fun
A few minutes go by, and I wonder if she’s gotten too busy to answer me. Then my phone pings, and like a dog chasing a freaking stick, I’m excited to see what she’s written.
Harlow: Alright, be a gross fifteen year old boy. Just make sure u have plenty of tissues around 4 clean up
Yep, this chick is awesome.
Chapter 7
Harlow
I have been riding this god awful bus to each job for the past three weeks now, and I don’t know how much more of it I can take. Between three different jobs, meaning three different bus routes, and having to change buses to get home from the diner during the day, I’m quickly losing my mind.
The elderly woman sitting in the seat in front of me smells like she’s bathed in a deep musky perfume mixed with rotten bananas, and the man sitting across from me just freaks me out. He appears to be in his late thirties with greasy brown hair and stares at me while he runs his hand, not too subtly, over the crotch of his pants. I try to avoid his stare, but if I look away from him, he starts making loud noises to get my attention.
I need a damn car, I think as the man clears his throat and coughs almost directly into my ear.
The assholes at the insurance agency told me that, since I was only paying liability on my car, I didn’t qualify for a loaner car. So I had to sit with my thumb up my ass while I waited for the check I received this morning for four hundred thirteen dollars, the total worth of my car, before I could find another one.
I keep my hopes up that four hundred dollars will get me a better piece of crap than the previous car. As much as I treasured that Hyundai, because it belonged to my beloved grandmother before she passed, the car was well beyond its years of use and more than likely wasn’t going to hold out much longer anyway.
The demise of my car brings back memories of Blake, as well. He still asks about the loaner car that I told him I got. I had been on the bus on my way to the diner and didn’t want him to know that I wasn’t able to get a loaner car from my crappy insurance for some reason, so I just avoid the topic and tell him that the claim should be finished soon.
I shake thoughts of Blake and cars out of my head when the bus stops two blocks away from The Booby Trap. I trek the rest of the way in the sweltering dry heat. It’s eight o’clock at night in middle of fall. Even though we’ve lived in Arizona for over two years, I may never get used to almost ninety degree weather at night.
I pull open the front door to the strip club and am hit with the scent of multiple floral body sprays and alcohol. I wave to the bouncer for the night and nod at Scarlett as she finishes up her dance on stage.
>
It’s still relatively early in the evening, and it won’t get busy for an hour or so; so I take my time getting my purse stored and changing from my purple tank top and jean shorts and into a black corset and a pair of tight white spanky shorts. Since I haven’t been driving at night, I haven’t had to wear my glasses, but it’s still odd to me to not have to store them.
When I’ve put on my heels and given my hair a good fluff I step out of the back room and head toward the bar.
I’m not really sure how I came to land the bartending job here, but I think the club’s owner, Harley, looked and me and automatically knew I wasn’t comfortable stripping, even though that was the main reason I had come searching for a job in a strip club. Either that or he knew how clumsy I was when I tried to do anything remotely graceful on heels and thought better of tainting the reputation of his club.
“It should be a great night for tips, Victoria,” Sugar, whose real name is Kim, says behind me. We all have fake names when we work here, because you never knew what crazy person could start stalking you. Everyone chose to call me Victoria, because they said I had the face and body of a Victoria’s Secret model. I most certainly don’t have the body of a model, but if that’s what they want to call me, then I’ll take it.
It would be much better than being called Skittles or Felony, who are already working here.
“Yeah? Has it been a good day so far?” I ask her and grin when she nods. A little extra cash never hurt. I might even have enough after I pay this week’s payment to put a little bit more toward a decent car.
***
I should have known that my night wasn’t going go like I’d planned.
My shift has been wonderful so far. It is busier than I thought it would be, and the patrons are tipping much higher than usual. I am grinning from ear to ear at the thought that I could get out of here with much more money than I thought, when a face I was hoping to avoid for the rest of my life sits down at the bar.