Some Call It Love Page 3

  But I needed the job, so I put on the contraptions and shut my mouth. Before that he had changed our uniforms to polka dot shorts and a white T-shirt. The shirts became see-through every time we spilled something on them. And since the roller skates made everything a challenge, I ended up with a see-through shirt after nearly every shift.

  “Willa,” Jack called out for the tenth time that night, causing me to spin on my skates and nearly trip over Lynn. He didn’t like to be kept waiting, and I didn’t like to lose my job. So I cursed silently, apologized to Lynn, and put as much of a smile on my face as I could manage while thinking of ways to avoid this conversation.

  “You called,” I said and stopped almost gracefully in front of him without losing the contents of my tray.

  “Table three complained their fries were too spicy.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. What the hell did they expect when they ordered chili cheese fries?

  “I’ll make sure they get a new plate. On the house,” I said between clenched teeth.

  Jack hated giving anything out for free. If he could, he would charge for the condiments and the tap water. He tried once, but people stopped coming and he dropped the idea. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t try again.

  “Next time make sure they actually want chili on their fries.”

  I couldn’t help but defend myself when I knew I should have just nodded and kept the half-assed smile on my face instead. “They did order the chili cheese fries. If they didn’t want chili, they could have gotten regular fries.”

  “Just do your job,” Jack boomed, and I gritted my teeth before skating to the kitchen to let Hank know. He was a great cook and didn’t deserve to be told a customer didn’t like their food because he made it exactly the way it was supposed to be made.

  I leaned my head through the window to the kitchen and called out, “Hey, big guy, table three didn’t like the chili on their chili cheese fries. Can you make it cheese fries?”

  “Bloody dimwits,” he said and nodded his head. “Comin’ right up, doll.”

  I shot him an apologetic smile and back out I went. The night didn’t go much better after that. I managed to spill a full glass of lemonade on my shirt and didn’t have time to get changed because we were swamped. I did the only thing I could do and motherfucking owned it.

  There wasn’t much that was worse than a giant yellow stain on a transparent white shirt.

  Except getting a call from the police station.

  We weren’t supposed to have our phones on us while we were working, so I only checked it during breaks. But since I didn’t have time to take a break, I didn’t see the missed call until I finished my shift at eleven.

  As soon as I spotted the number on my phone, I groaned. I had seen it more times than I cared to remember. And every time it flashed on my screen, it meant Dad was in trouble. Suck a duck, the last thing I wanted to do was go down to the station and bail him out again.

  With a heavy heart and crusty shirt, I hit Call. They picked up on the second ring.

  “Willa, about time you called us back.” It was true, they knew my number. Could recite it back to you if you asked. Thanks, Dad, for making me well-known around the Humptulips Police Department.

  “Tony. Didn’t know you were back from camping.”

  “Got back yesterday. Too many flies out there.”

  I liked Tony. He was nice, never raised his voice and always tried to get Dad out of trouble. I couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped. “What did he do this time?”

  “Found him at O’Malleys trying to punch Mason Drake. Something about owing money?”

  Damn, I wished I didn’t know what he was talking about. Mason was Jameson’s younger brother, and if my dad owed one of them money, he owed both of them. The brothers had always been close, and since they opened their garage, you hardly ever talked about one without the other coming up. Mason liked to run illegal car races, but I wasn’t sure how much Jameson was involved.

  “I’ll come and get him.”

  “Appreciate it. He should have sobered up some by now.”

  I jumped on my bike and pedaled the ten miles to the station. And here I thought my night couldn’t get worse.

  “Dad,” I groaned, nearly buckling under his weight. “You have to help me out here. I can’t carry you by myself. Use your legs.”

  I took a taxi to get us home, because walking was out of the question. The taxi dropped us off outside the trailer. Dad fell asleep on the way and was now barely able to get out of the car, let alone walk. His eyes closed again, and I struggled to hold him up.

  This wasn’t going to work. I needed help and money to pay for the cab. Stepping away from him, I slowly let go of his waist and he slid to the ground. Not fazed at all with his new position, he curled up and started snoring. If only this was the first time he’d gone to sleep outside his trailer.

  With a deep sigh, I stepped over his body and navigated my way past the plants and random pots Uncle Des kept in front of his trailer. I noticed a giant hedge that had been added to his collection, wondering what he planned on doing with it. It also looked like it had been chopped in places.

  I knocked on his door as hard as I could in the hopes I could wake him up. He was just as heavy a sleeper as Dad. “Des, open up. I need your help.”

  A light came on, and Des’s unruly mop of brown curly hair appeared in the doorway. “Whadda ya doin’ here, sweetheart? Shouldna you be in bed gettin’ ya beauty sleep?” He was still half asleep and mumbled his words more than usual. I had to listen closely to understand what he was saying.

  “I’d love to do just that, but Dad’s passed out on his front lawn. Can you give me a hand to move him inside?” I moved back toward the snoring form on the ground. “And do you have thirty dollars I could borrow for the taxi?”

  Des scratched his head in confusion. “I thought he wasna goin’ out t’night. He promised.”

  “He promises a lot of things. But when have you ever actually seen him follow through? My tree house? Two planks aren’t enough to make a tree house. My old sandbox he was supposed to get rid of? Still there. And don’t get me started on the kitchen table. Three legs, the missing one has been replaced with books. And all he has to do is get some glue and put the missing leg back on.”

  “Rightio. Gotcha. Let’s get him inside.”

  We silently made our way to the sleeping form on the lawn. Des paid the cab fare before joining me at Dad’s side. “Garret, man, wake up. Ya sleepin’ on the ground again.”

  As expected, there was no response from Dad. I had done this many times before, and there was only one way to wake him up when he was passed out. With a resigned sigh, I made my way over to the outside tap and filled one of the old buckets lying around the yard. Only when it was nearly spilling over was I satisfied. It was a sad truth that we’d need more than a few drops.

  There was no time to waste if I wanted to get any sleep tonight, so once I was close enough I dumped the entire thing on Dad. He immediately shot up, spluttering. “What? Who? What did I miss?” he yelled, wiping the water out of his eyes.

  We helped him up and managed to drag him inside his trailer. We didn’t quite make it to the bedroom, but the couch would do just fine. At least he was inside. He slumped in on himself and was passed out again as soon as his butt hit the cushion.

  I looked at his still form, tears forming in my eyes. I hated having to do this over and over again. Every time he promised it wouldn’t happen again, I would get another call. The longest he had ever made it without an incident was three weeks. Three measly weeks.

  Des knew how much Dad’s behavior upset me and put his arm around my shoulders like he’d done many times before. I needed more than a one-armed hug and turned into him, holding on tight and sniffling into his shoulder.

  “There, there, girlie. No need to cry. He’ll be right’s rain t’morrow.” Des didn’t do well with tears and awkwardly patted my back. After allowing myself a moment to wallow in self
-pity, I straightened back up. No need to cry about things I had no control over. One last wipe of my face on his shirt and I was ready to face the world again.

  “Thanks, Des. I better get going.”

  He walked me out to my bike that the cab driver had generously allowed me to take in the trunk of his car. It helped that I knew his mom. She used to be my fifth-grade science teacher.

  Des put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Take care, doll. It’s gonna be okay.” Always with the positive attitude.

  Instead of answering, I got back on my bike and pedaled home.

  The last week of classes went by with excruciating slowness. I handed in my assignment that I finished just before the deadline, which brought my accomplishments for the week up to one. Work was hell after the dishwasher at Sweet Dreams gave out, and Rayna and I were stuck washing everything by hand. It took forever and made Rayna impossible to work with. She hated doing dishes, and three days in a row was her limit. The new dishwasher was supposed to be installed on Thursday, but they didn’t get around to doing it until Saturday. I had to pull a double shift at the Donut Hole on Sunday and didn’t get home until after midnight.

  Monday didn’t treat me any better when my traitorous alarm didn’t wake me up. It might have had something to do with me forgetting to set it. Fact was, I slept in. And now I was running late for my first day working for Jameson. It also turned out it took me almost an hour to get to Drake’s Garage on my bike, something I failed to include in my timing. I was a sweaty mess by the time I pulled up outside the huge converted warehouse.

  The garage was gigantic. A big roller door covered one side; the other was taken up by what looked like an office. I dropped my bike behind a pile of tires and made my way to the door off to the side. The sign marking it as the office was hanging on an angle, barely legible and covered in dust. The urge to clean it and put it back in its proper place was strong. But the urge not to be later than I already was propelled me forward, and with a loud creak of the door—something I had to have a look at because there was no way I was enduring that screeching every time someone came in—I finally set foot inside the office. Thirty-five minutes late.

  “You’re late,” a gruff voice greeted me.

  “I know. I’m sorry. It took me longer to get here because my bike is a piece of shit and the chain kept popping out. But I’ll work late so you won’t even notice.”

  My monologue fell on deaf ears. Jameson was standing behind a desk, looking like he was ready to tape my mouth shut and leave me for dead in the tire graveyard outside. I gulped but forged on, forcing cheer into my voice. I could do this. As long as I ignored his biceps, which I could make out all too clearly at that moment. His T-shirt was tight, his arms crossed over his impressive chest. I also couldn’t look him in the eyes because of earlier mention of loss of brain function. I didn’t think eyes could be that bright.

  His hotness was most likely nature’s way of keeping him alive. I couldn’t be the only one he did his best to piss off and who wanted to shorten his life. I was sure that’s what 80 percent of the population would want to do if they spoke to him for more than five minutes. The other twenty just wanted to jump his bones. No talking necessary. Scratch that. Make it fifty-fifty.

  “Where do you want me to start?” The cheer was still in my voice as I studied the filing cabinet a little too intently. It was sitting in the middle of the room, and I had to walk around it if I wanted to get to the desk. Weird setup.

  “Answer the phones. If anyone comes in, you come and get me.” The back door slammed shut and he was gone. Introduction over.

  I studied the dusty office and developed asthma from just looking at it. Calling it filthy would be a compliment. It was a dump. And there was no way I would be spending the next few months working in conditions detrimental to my health.

  I dropped my bag on the desk, or rather on the papers covering the desk, and got to work. After I opened a few random doors—note to self, if it says male toilet it probably is—I found a mop.

  The cleaner was stashed under the sink in the small staff kitchen that would also require a thorough cleaning, but I would get to that next. The phone was ringing when I made my way back to the office. I was breathless from my sprint to get to it on time and was hardly able to get out a “Drake’s Garage, how may I help you?”

  “You the new girl?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Started today?”

  “Correct, sir.”

  “You know anything about a job for Stamos?”

  “If you give me a minute, I’ll look it up in the system.”

  The guy on the line laughed long and hard. Not sure what was so funny about my offer to help him out.

  “J hasn’t filed shit in years. The only one who knows anything about the job is J. Just tell him to call Ron. He’ll know what it’s about.”

  “No problem. Will do.”

  “Try to last longer than a week. The last receptionist cost me a lot of money when she left after three days. I’m gonna bet two weeks this time. Don’t quit before then.”

  “I’ll give it my best shot. Have a good day.”

  We hung up and I sank back into the office chair. It was soft and comfortable, and I didn’t want to get back up. When my gaze fell on the grimy floor, I decided cleaning this shithole was a life-or-death situation. In between answering more phone calls, I managed to scrub the room from top to bottom.

  I even washed the two large windows facing the front of the office. The door at the back led to the garage, and the only other door was connected to a hallway that led to the kitchen and toilets.

  I moved the desk into a corner, which opened up the space. The couch, two armchairs, and coffee table now sat in front of one of the windows in the opposite corner to my desk. I attempted to move the large filing cabinet, but it was huge and wouldn’t budge an inch. Moving all the other furniture was a feat in itself, but I was determined, and bored.

  The filing cabinet, on the other hand, could wait because no matter how hard I pushed, it just wasn’t happening.

  I turned to sorting out the mountain of papers on the desk instead. It would take me days to get through them, but at least I was able to get enough filed away to uncover the computer. It looked brand new, and I clapped my hands in delight when it turned on. I quickly realized why the computer looked spotless. There were no files on it, no trace of anyone actually using it. It was brand new.

  “The hell?” a voice came from the door. “How did you clean all this up so quickly?”

  I turned and was met with a curious stare. The guy was around my age, had curly dark brown hair and green eyes. He smiled at me, and I stared at an adorable dimple. I gave him my best “I’m nice, so be my friend” smile and held out my hand.

  “I’m Willa, your new receptionist.”

  He shook my hand, his grip firm. “Landon. I hope you know what you’re doing.” He released me and turned in a semicircle, taking in the now clean office and murmured, “I knew I should have taken the one-day bet.”

  “Can you give me a hand?” I asked, ignoring his comment and pointing to the gigantic cabinet that was sitting in the middle of the room. “I want to push this against the back wall, but it’s too heavy.”

  “That thing weighs a ton. I’ll get Clayton to give me a hand.” He opened the back door and yelled, “Clay. Get your ass into the office. You gotta see this.”

  Another guy came through the door. He was so tall and wide he had to duck to enter, his big body immediately commandeering the space. “That the new girl?”

  “In the flesh,” I responded, my big smile still firmly in place. “I’m Willa.” I held my hand out again in greeting. He took it, and I winced at his hard grip.

  “Clay.” He scratched his head and stared at the desk, shaking his head. “Shoulda said one day. Damn it.”

  I ignored his comment just as I had ignored Landon’s. These guys were a little strange.

  “Give me a hand wit
h the cabinet. Willa wants it pushed against the wall,” Landon said.

  Clay shook his head but helped him anyway. “Forget a day. I’ll give her another hour. At most,” Clay said to nobody in particular.

  I turned in a circle, happy about the new look of the office. It was now clean, spacious, and gave off all the best zen. With a big grin on my face, I thanked the guys, who were watching me curiously. “You are the best. Thank you so much.” And because I couldn’t help myself, I clapped my hands.

  “Great to have you on board,” Clay said on his way out, and Landon winked at me.

  Maybe working here wouldn’t be as bad as I thought. At least they seemed nice.

  I spent the next hour answering more pointless calls. Everyone just wanted to speak to Jameson or one of the guys since I didn’t know squat about any of the jobs they asked about. My call list was taking up two pages, and I debated whether or not I should go and find Jameson.

  I was still unable to make up my mind if it was a better idea to clean the grimy kitchen instead of facing the Neanderthal when the back door opened again. I turned my chair. The new position of the desk was perfect for seeing all angles in the office. I did a great job with the redesign, if I did say so myself.

  Jameson, who had come inside, apparently didn’t think so. His face was red as his eyes darted around the office. I expected him to have a fit any minute now. It took about two point five seconds for him to lose his shit.

  “What. The. Fuck. Have. You. Done?” Each word was clipped short.

  Undeterred by his foul mood, I put my best nonthreatening smile on my face and pushed down the urge to throw the computer screen at him. “I maximized your space and cleaned all the mold off your wall and floors. The dust is gone too; you don’t want your customers to suffocate to death. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

  “They hardly ever come in here, so that’s never been an issue before,” he thundered. “I told you to answer the phones. Nothing else.”