Page 6 of Unexpected Pickle

JEANNIE ALMOST CAVES

H ex doesn’t come around the deli the next day. Then it’s the weekend, and I assume he has his mixed martial arts match.

I try to resist looking up the fight, but when a girl finds herself alone on a Saturday night, and a man who keeps pursuing her does something public, it’s too big of a temptation to resist.

It only takes a single search to realize that Hex is a big deal. He won his match a few hours ago, putting him in the running for some big MMA title.

There are clips from the fight. I turn one on, expecting to feel squeamish watching two men strike each other.

But I find myself rapt. Hex is ungodly beautiful in black shorts that are looser than I expected, based on what he wore to the commercial. That was Adriel’s idea, I bet, along with the sheer tank top.

His auburn hair is newly trimmed close on the sides, with a wild wave over the top. He shines, like he has a gloss on him, and I wonder if that helps deflect blows, the same way greasing a pan keeps meat from sticking.

The men are barefoot and shirtless, and they circle each other in a way that feels primal.

I pick up a piece of junk mail and fan myself as I watch. They use every part of their body to fight. Arms, hands, legs, feet. They try to pin each other, writhing on the floor of the octagon-shaped ring.

Hex wins, his body tight on the other fighter, holding him in place until the other man taps the floor. When they stand, he’s sweaty and glistening, and I can’t even believe he’s the same person who washed bowls with me two nights ago.

I close the lid.

What am I afraid of?

But I know. The words of the last three men I dated.

You’ve got some meat on you.

You must like sampling the things you cook!

And the worst, someone I dated for months before we started getting intimate: Are you going to squash me like a bug?

He hadn’t meant to be unkind. He was joking. But it stung. I left his place and broke things off.

I hear that line in my dreams, and every time I undress.

Even when I’m around Hex.

Though, after watching that fight, the bug getting squashed might be me.

This makes me laugh.

So I attach the two things together. Are you going to squash me like a bug? Yes, just like I did that fighter in the ring.

I laugh again.

Somehow that line has lost its sting.

Maybe Hex wants someone with a little meat on her bones? Someone he can’t squash like a bug?

It’s something to think about.

Hex turns up at the deli on Monday. He brings a big gold belt, the one I recognize from the fight clip I watched.

But I won’t admit that.

I aim to say something normal, but what comes out is, “I know you’re not going to set that germy thing on my sanitized cutting table.”

And I’ve done it again. Jeannie in default mode.

“I would never,” he says.

“Do you wear such a thing around town?” I focus on finely chopping red onion for the potato salad.

He comes behind me and slides the belt across my belly.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying it on for size.”

“You think you and I have the same waistline?”

“Not even close, but with all these layers, it might work.” He fastens something in the back. The belt slides to my hips, but it stays. “Your waist is too dainty.”

Dainty. Now that’s a word that hasn’t applied to me in a while, if ever.

“Why are you putting this on me?”

“Because I thought of you when I won it.”

My heart skitters. “You did?”

“Keep it.”

“But it’s not?—”

“Sanitary. I know.” He unfastens the belt and hefts it over his shoulder. “I assume you have a locker or something?”

“I keep my things in Max’s office.” I want to tell him that wasn’t what I was going to say. That I knew this belt was a big deal. That he’s leveled up. That he should keep it.

But I can’t have him know I stalked him.

He disappears into the back. He’s gone a while, and I figure he’s catching up with Max.

Do they talk about me?

Suddenly, I’m sure of it. They’re friends. Max is my boss. I’ve known him for years.

What are they saying? I glance through the window of the door that leads to the restaurant. Everyone out there is occupied.

I tiptoe through the kitchen to the corner of the offices. I press my back against the wall. I can hear Max and Hex talking.

“You killed it,” Max says. “You ready for the big time?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to talk to my manager.”

“You could see if Colt’s around. He’s been down this road.”

“And remember what happened to him?”

I draw in a breath. What happened to their friend Colt? I should follow this more.

Max makes a grunting sound. “That was a situation. Call him up. Or I can put us all together, like we did that night at Aces.”

“I don’t know if we should repeat that night at Aces.”

Now I wonder what happened at Aces.

“How is it with my chef today?” Max asks.

I hold my breath to make sure I don’t miss a word.

“That’s why I’m back here.” I hear a clatter that must be the belt on the desk. “I’m giving this to her.”

“And she took it?” Max sounds surprised.

“I’m not sure. I might have pushed.”

“Don’t push. Not with her.”

“I’m trying not to.”

I have to let out the air I’m holding, but the rushing sound makes me miss the next thing Max says.

“Have you got me in?” Hex asks.

In for what? What did I miss?

“I’m trying. You know I will.”

What is Max trying to get Hex into?

My pants?

My life?

Why are these two men conniving on my behalf?

Heat rushes to my face. I’m not some poor, pathetic single to be manipulated.

Vera pushes through the kitchen door with an empty cheese bin.

Crap. I shove away from the wall and move toward the fridge. “Which one are you out of?” I ask.

“Provolone. I can get it.”

“Okay.”

When she comes out to replenish the line, I’m back to my red onions, but my ears are steaming. I chop too fiercely, and the mince isn’t fine enough.

Gah. See what all this romantic drama gets me?

Hex comes back through. “I left it on the desk.” He seems like he’s going to hover.

“I’m busy,” I say. “And you’re not washed or gloved up to be near this food.”

He grins. “I love your thoroughness.”

I set down my knife. “I have to rearrange the walk-in. Good day, Hex.”

He doesn’t move, but watches me with an amused expression as I jerk open the door to the fridge. Only when I’m inside the cool, dry, solitary space do I start to calm down.

This feels like high school, maybe junior high. I should just talk to him.

But none of this adds up. Hex is bordering on a celebrity. The perfect picture of a man.

What could he possibly see in a curmudgeonly, oversized, underemployed onion chopper like me?