Page 16 of Rowdy Boy
Jake: I’ll be there in 20
It’s already a few minutes after ten, so I’ve got to get moving. For her, I’ll peel myself out of bed.
I would have ignored anyone other than her or Rhett, but I’m happy to play backup boyfriend when she needs help—God knows those two show up for me often enough in a million different ways.
Courtney and I watched a movie last night as planned, and I made good on my promise to cuddle the shit out of her. I felt the distinct urge to sneak her out when it was time to go, even though Joe knew she was there. More than anything, I wanted to avoid another run-in—I didn’t want her to have to come face-to-face with my own personal demon.
I slept like shit last night, per usual. I’m exhausted, but sometimes just getting up and moving helps me stay sane.
I dress quickly, brush my teeth, and grab a snapback to tame my unruly hair. I don’t have anything else going on today, so I’ll probably just hang at Clinton’s for the afternoon.
I sneak out of my room and make it down the back stairwell undetected, or at least under the radar. I’m sure he knows my exact movements and whereabouts. I don’t underestimate Joe anymore. He’s working from home today after being in Chicago most of the week. I can sense him stalking around the lower level, which is why I haven’t left my room all morning.
The late August air is thick even though it’s not even noon. I’m glad I wore the bare minimum—athletic shorts, a ribbed tank, and my Ray-Bans. It would be a great day to hit the pool, but I’ll settle for the air conditioning of the restaurant.
I twirl my keys on my finger and whistle as I climb into the Jeep. I don’t have time for it now, but I should take the hard top off while Tori’s working so we can go for a drive. Today would be an ideal time to bring up the ride situation Rhett asked me about on Sunday. I haven’t seen either of them for the last few days, and I still need to make good on my promise to Rhett.
I pull into the Thompsons’ driveway and blast the horn, even though Tori’s already on her way out the garage door. She rolls her eyes at my antics and shakes her head as she opens the passenger door.
“Hey, baby,” I greet her playfully. “Heard you need a ride.”
“How long do you think you’re going to get away with that?” she asks as she clips in her seat belt.
I back out of her driveway and head downtown. “What? You don’t like your new nickname?”
Tori spins to look at me, both eyebrows raised. “I don’t mind it… in theory. I actually think it’s funny. But I’m not the only one with an opinion.”
I hold back a laugh at Rhett’s expense. God, I’m glad she texted and got me out of the house this morning. I could go back and forth bantering with her all day.
The whole nickname thing was just a ruse to get Courtney worked up at the water park. But now that I know Rhett’s taken issue with it, the ornery part of me can’t help but want to double down.
“Does he call you baby when you’re alone?” I challenge.
“No,” Tori huffs out before turning to look out the window. Her next words are barely audible. “He calls me beautiful when it’s just us…”
Gag. Of course he does. The two of them would give me a fucking cavity with their sweetness if I didn’t love them so much.
“See? Baby was just there for the taking. I’ve called him Bro since middle school. It’s only right I have a nickname for you, too.”
Tori mutters something about “my funeral” as I park in the lot at Clinton’s.
I’m not on the clock, yet I’m sitting at the bar rolling silverware. I figure I might as well make myself useful if I’m going to hang around until Tori gets off at five.
Rhett stopped in to see Tori and dripped sweat all over the back of my barstool. I like working out and hitting the gym, but the way that guy is devoted to running boggles my mind. He says he does cross country to stay in shape for lacrosse season, but I know he secretly loves it.
We had lunch together, and I discreetly explained my plans to take Tori for a drive and bring up the idea of giving her a ride to school like he asked. He had been planning to take her home but agreed to my plan once he knew my intentions.
“Make sure those corners are tucked,” Mike Hobbs remarks as he makes his way behind the bar with a full rack of clean glasses.
“Yeah, yeah.” I sigh under my breath as I grab for a few rolls with less-than-perfect edges.
“What was that?” he demands, dropping the rack of glasses on the bar right in front of me. I jolt back slightly when they rattle on impact, then raise my head to meet his gaze. He’s staring at me with this intensity that makes me want to slither away and sit in the Jeep while I wait for Tori to finish her shift.
Mike is a good guy—he’s well-respected in the community, and his restaurant is one of the few places in town that hires high school kids when it would probably just be easier to employ college students—but as a former Navy SEAL, he takes his role as commander of Clinton’s a little too seriously.
“Yes, sir,” I correct, hating the way his scolding hits and feels so familiar. Mike’s not Joe—not even close—but my insides still recoil at his reprimand.
“Ya know, he’s not even on the clock,” the college-aged bartender, Max, says as he unloads the glasses Mike just brought up.