Sizzle

by Whitley Green

  I don’t know I was thinking, suggesting he go to a bar. Dad’s barely left the house in years for anything, let alone to socialize.

  As if he can hear my thoughts, he snorts.

  “Those jerks,” he says, adjusting his leg where it’s propped on the ottoman. “I got nothing to say to that lot anymore.”

  “Maybe the library, then,” I suggest. I sneak a glance at my watch. I’ve got about thirty more seconds for this conversation, otherwise I’m going to miss my bus.

  Another shrug.

  “Storm front moving in,” he says, his eyes back on the television. I can tell he’s tuning me out again and as much as I hate that he won’t even try to get out on his own, I don’t have time to convince him right now.

  “Okay,” I say, kissing his cheek again. “If you need me, I’ll be at the restaurant. I should be home in time for dinner.”

  The bus ride gives me plenty of time to kick my own butt for trying to get him to leave the house. Talking about drinks is a waste of time if you can’t even get the horse to water.

  I don’t know what he expects me to do. He knows we need the money. I’ve explained to him that I need this experience to qualify for the program at school. It’s not like we haven’t talked about all of this.

  Maybe it’s not that he thinks he needs help. Maybe what he’s worried about is being alone in case something bad happens. After the accident and all the surgical complications that cropped up after it, I can’t really blame him. Worst Case Scenario isn’t just a vague fear for either of us anymore—it was our real life, for a while. Only Dad didn’t die.

  I close my eyes against the thought. At eighteen, I hadn’t known a single person my age who knew what it felt like to take care of a parent. Having the impossible conversation of what would happen if another surgery went sideways, permanently.

  It didn’t though, and Dad’s been well and truly on the mend for more than a year. Jim and Jessica go out of their way to encourage his independence and they’re forever telling me how much more he’s capable of if he’d just try. But that’s the thing—I can’t try for him, no matter how much I want to.

  Maybe that’s what he needs, somebody else to tell him this stuff. A friend, a companion even. He’s long past needing a nurse, and thank God for that because there’s no way we could afford it at this point. I don’t know any of his friends anymore, if there are any still around. The crowd he used to hang out with at the VFW never came around the house even before the accident, and none of them showed up once it became clear that Dad’s recovery was going to take a lot longer than a few weeks.

  Can you hire companions? The thought makes me snort. Yeah, that’ll go over well. Like a cement block tied to a kid’s balloon.

  But I make a note in my phone to look into later, because what have I got to lose?

  * * *

  Connie’s already working through her daily checklist when I walk into the kitchen half an hour later.

  “Morning, girlie,” she says glancing over her shoulder. “How’s tricks?”

  “I don’t know what that means.” She says that every day but has never actually explained it to me. “How’s it looking?” I ask, gesturing at her list.

  “Pretty good, considering who closed up last night,” she says, rolling her eyes before sticking me with a look. “Cheech and Chong had some help, I think.”

  I flush and keep my eyes down. I’d stayed a few minutes later to cover what I could, knowing the guys closing last night were way more interested in sneaking outside to smoke… whatever it is they smoke than they were in finishing their prep.

  “Glad to hear it,” I mumble. Dragging out my notes, I pull up a stool across from her.

  “How’s your dad doing?” she asks.

  “Okay,” I say. Connie’s quiet long enough that I look up, meeting her skeptical look head on. “Okay, so maybe ‘okay’ isn’t the right word.”

  “He’s still not happy about you being gone?”

  I nod. “Do you know anything about hiring companions?”

  “You mean, like a hooker?”

  My face goes lava hot and something in my expression makes her cackle.

  “Oh, honey,” says Connie, wiping the corner of her eye. “You make it too easy.”

  “I mean, like a nurse. Except he doesn’t need a nurse. He just needs somebody to hang out with. Somebody to talk to, or to help him get stuff around the house.” Or to dial 911, like he’s always so damn worried he won’t be able to do himself.

  Truth be told, I worry about it too.

  “We don’t have any other family close by, or I’d ask one of his sisters,” I say, shuffling my papers around.

  “What kind of timeframe do you have in mind? During the day? Just when you’re out of the house?” she asks, busy again checking the labels on containers in the coolers next to us.

  “Basically, any hours while I’m at work. It doesn’t have to be the whole time, just enough so he’s not alone the whole day. His therapists are there three times a week, so it’d really only be Tuesdays and Thursdays that we’d need somebody,” I say. “Why? Do you know somebody?”

  “You could say that,” she says. She marks the final tick on her checklist and sets the clipboard down with a snap. “You and me are on opposite schedules the next couple of weeks.”

  “Really?”

  She shrugs. “My kids got their own lives these days. All the grandkids are in school. It’s just me and Rupert at home.” I’ve seen pictures of Rupert, but haven’t had a chance to meet him yet. He’s freaking adorable. “Plus, you might I’ve got some experience keeping an eye on somebody who needs help. If your dad’s agreeable to the idea, I’m your girl.”

  “You really mean it, Connie? It wouldn’t be forever, and I’ll pay you, of course—”

  “Don’t even start with that bullshit, young lady,” she says, glaring at me. “That’s the last I’ll hear of any payment talk. I’ve got the time, and it’s not hard for me to talk to somebody as maybe you’ve noticed. I’m glad to help.”

  The first tear falls before I can catch it and Connie’s glare goes laser-focused, strong enough to have me sniffling the rest back fast.

  Connie’s husband Frank died about ten years ago after his fourth long battle with colon cancer. She doesn’t talk about him much but he must have been one hell of a guy to have fought it off so long. I don’t think she would make this offer lightly, and it makes me want to weep. Which she’d obviously hate, so I suck it up for later.

  “Is tomorrow too soon?” I ask, ignoring the quiver in my voice. The glare dissipates and she smiles a little.

  “No problem,” she says. “I gotta get back to work. Text me your address. I’ll head over there around lunch tomorrow.”

  “Perfect,” I say. She’s almost rounded the corner when I get myself together enough to call out my thanks. Connie just waves without turning and then I can’t stop the tears.

  They’re happy tears, sort of. It’s a relief to have one thing go right, even if it wasn’t at all what I expected.

  “What’s all this?” comes a deep voice from behind me. Sex Voice, but dialed back to Sexy Voice this time.

  I wipe my face on the sleeve of my sweater as discreetly as I can manage before I turn to face my boss.

  “Nothing,” I say. The sniffling might have given me away, though, if his expression is anything to go on.

  “Uh huh,” says Elliot. “Do I need to beat somebody up?”

  It makes me laugh and I see him start to relax.

  “Nothing like that,” I tell him, managing a wobbly smile. “But thanks anyway.”

  Elliot gives me a long look, long enough for the tears to dry up and my skin to flush. He set his hands on the table, leaning in close to my face, close enough I catch the clean scent of his soap. His hair is damp and curling at the nape of his neck and the urge to bury my nose there is intense.

  “Is there anything I can do?” he asks, his eyes on mine.

  I can think of
a couple of things he can do. A hundred things. A hundred thousand things.

  But he’s my boss and I need this job now more than ever, so I shake my head and give him a stronger smile this time. His gaze drops to my mouth and for a second the air goes still around us.

  This time, Elliot shakes his head, righting himself and taking a step back.

  “If there’s anything I can do, you let me know, Joelle,” he says. “Please.”

  “I will. Thank you.” Elliot walks down the line and back into his office, shutting the door behind him. I inhale, trying to get back some of the air he stole.

  I’m so screwed.

  7

  Elliot

  I can hear the thunder over the din of the Friday night crowd, which means the storm’s getting worse. You’d think weather like this would keep people home but if the party-on atmosphere is anything to go by, we’re going to break a sales record this weekend.

  I can’t stop smiling.

  Finally, a break. Now if only I could figure out why Joelle was crying yesterday, I’ll be set. That, and if Alex shows up. Bastard hasn’t been in all week and I haven’t seen him at the house since Monday. I saw his car in the drive every night when I got in late, so he definitely slept at home. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was avoiding me.

  Joelle’s been fine at work, and she doesn’t strike me as the crying type so it freaked me out a little to see it happen yesterday. But she swears it’s nothing and has been okay since, so I have to figure whatever it was got worked out.

  I hate not being able to push her about it. She’s an employee. If we stretch the definition, maybe she’s even a friend now, but not the kind I can press for answers on personal stuff.

  It’s driving me fucking crazy. Surely there’s something I can do to help.

  I’m doing a walkthrough in the dining room when the lights flicker. This brings a raucous cheer from the bar, which makes me laugh. Speaking of crazy.

  Back in the kitchen, the guys have things under control. We’re almost through the busiest part of the night, which means it’s time to start cutting people loose. Joelle gets out first tonight because she’s the newest, so I catch her eye and give her the signal to start cleaning up. The last three weeks I’ve come up with every possible reason to keep her around as long as possible but tonight I’m tapped out. I can only hope she’ll stick around until the weather breaks.

  Yeah, it’s down to that. I’ll take whatever I can of her time.

  Despite my doubts, she’s turning out to be a good fit at Duckbill. She gets along with the rest of the staff, even earning the respect of the long-termers, which isn’t easy. Connie’s damn near adopted her. She caught me looking at Joelle a little too long the other day, which got me one of Connie’s infamous death ray glares, the likes of which I’d only ever heard rumors about until Joelle came around.

  The new menu is coming along, too. I think we’re just about ready for a test run, maybe as early as next week. I’ll get Alex in one night to sit down with me and Joelle so we can try it all.

  For some reason, the thought of sharing a meal with Alex and Joelle both makes me shiver, and my dick stirs.

  Fuck’s sake. I’m seriously considering locking myself in my office for five minutes to take care of business when the lights flicker again and then blink off completely.

  The cheer from the bar is deafening but the rest of the building has gone eerily quiet. No humming from the air vents in the ceiling, no roar of the kitchen exhaust fans. As the bar patrons calm down, murmuring at the other tables picks back up but without the usual mechanical background soundtrack.

  It’s not the first time we’ve lost power during business hours but this is the first time it’s happened at the peak of rush on a Friday night. I wave at Anna, my assistant manager, and meet her halfway through the dark dining room. There’s just enough light coming through from the streetlights across the highway to see where we’re walking, but not much beyond.

  “Get the staff back into the kitchen,” I tell her. She nods, already speed-walking away to round up the servers.

  I head back to the kitchen, barking out orders as fast as I can. Once the gas cooktops are shut down, the cooks plate up what they can. I send the servers out with the last of the meals before turning my attention to everybody else.

  “Shut it!” I yell to get everybody’s attention.

  The yelling only works sometimes. Luckily today I don’t have to start swearing. That never fails to make them laugh, which also gets their attention, but right this minute we’ve got too much to do to dick around.

  “Here’s the plan,” I say, pitching my voice as loud as I can so they can all hear me. “We’re going to give it thirty minutes. Keep the drinks coming. Don’t charge for refills unless it’s alcohol. We’re going to have to use the paper receipt machine. Keep an eye on your cash tallies and do not lose those paper copies. If you don’t have food coming out, starting cleaning up or see if somebody nearby needs help.”

  I dismiss them with a wave and head back to my office for extra flashlights. The stupid squeaking door signals an arrival behind me.

  “What do you want?” I bark out without looking up.

  “Is that actually how you talk to your employees?” says Alex. I jump a little, slamming my head into the overhead cabinet.

  Fourteen or so expletives later, I stop for a breath.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask him.

  “I was at the bar waiting on dinner,” he says, his thick arms crossed over his chest. “Thought I’d come to see if you need any help back here.”

  I’m rubbing the back of my head. Going to be one helluva knot, not to mention a headache. Goddamn it.

  “How’s it looking out there?”

  “You mean the storm? Getting worse,” he says, leaning back against the door.

  My office is small to begin with. You put me in here with any other human and it’s close quarters. You put me and Alex in here together and there’s no such thing as personal space.

  Now that I think about it, he’s never been in here.

  My heart is pounding. If I managed to give myself a goddamn concussion, I’m going to be pissed.

  Except my head already feels a little better, so maybe it’s not that—which makes no sense. I’m not nervous. It’s just Alex, why would I be nervous?

  “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “Have I?” Alex’s lips tilt in a half-assed grin and for some reason I can’t catch my breath.

  Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.

  “Fine, be that way,” I say. Because clearly I’m still fifteen years old.

  “What do you need?” Alex asks, his voice low. I scrub my palms down my thighs to stop my hands from shaking. Right this minute, what I need is confusing the hell out of me.

  “Elliot?”

  If I didn’t know for a fact that I’ve just given myself brain damage, I’d say I was turned on.

  That makes no sense whatsoever, because the only other person here is Alex. Alex my roommate, Alex my closest friend, Alex who also happens to be a guy. I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me right now so I do the only thing I can think of: ignore it.

  “Can you keep an eye on Meg and the other bartenders?” I say, keenly aware that it’s taken me way too long to answer to Alex’s question. “The crowd was pretty wound up even before the lights went out. I want to make sure nothing gets out of hand while we figure out if we can stay open tonight.”

  Alex gives me a long, searching look. I hold my breath until finally he nods and lets himself out of the office. As the door shuts behind him, I scrub my hands over my jeans again.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  That’s it. Starting tomorrow, I’m dating again. I am obviously about to lose my shit if close proximity to just about anybody makes me shake like this. I mean, it’s Alex, for fuck’s sake. He’s my best friend.

  Who’s a guy.

  I don’t have time for
losing my mind right now. I’ve got a building full of people waiting on me to tell them what to do, so I grab as many flashlights as I can carry and head back to the floor.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m calling it.

  “Okay, everybody!” No swearing since this time I’m addressing customers too. “Just found out the power company won’t get here for another couple of hours. Hate to say it, but Duckbill is closing for the rest of the night.” Groans all around, which is gratifying since I’m about to lose the bottom half of my best sales of the week. “Thanks for being patient with us, folks. Your servers will cash you out and hopefully we can pick this back up first thing tomorrow. Be safe getting home!”

  The storm had peaked a while back, so there was no reason for people to linger. Many had already headed out as soon as the rain tapered off. Me and the rest of the staff spend the next half hour or so helping the remaining customers, flagging down Ubers and cabs, making sure the most committed drinkers aren’t driving themselves.

  It takes another hour to get the staff squared away. I swear I will never again bitch about how long our computer system takes. This writing shit out thing sucks donkey balls.

  All the aggravation and extra work aside, though… I freaking love this shit. I love it that all these people are looking to me for answers, for me to tell them what to do. Boss man, that’s me.

  Sure, it’s hard sometimes. Isn’t everything? It’s a lot of responsibility. But it’s worth it, knowing that they trust me to tell them the right thing to do. It’s twice as gratifying on nights like tonight, when everything could have gone straight to hell in a heartbeat. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not stoked about losing business to this storm. But getting through the hard shit and seeing smiles on people’s faces when they leave?

  Yeah, that’s on me. I’ll take it.

  And maybe sometimes I resent them for it, too. Like, why is it so hard for somebody else to take charge? Why does it always have to be me? But when I get to the end of a night like this, I remember it’s okay, ‘cause I can totally handle it.