Forbidden Fruit (Shannon Cheney) - By Ann Aguirre Page 0,28
have female friends. “Back at you.”
That night, I go to bed early and wake up in time to do some mundane chores. Our apartment doesn’t sparkle like Jesse’s, but it’s not a sty either. I already have a message from him on my phone. He warned me he would crowd me, but it’s not a needy, where are you, type text. Instead he’s written, my bed was fucking empty without you.
Way to curl my toes before noon, Saldana.
I type back, you’ll be good and hungry by Friday night.
He must’ve gotten busy at work because he doesn’t reply until after I’m at the mall. If I last that long.
I’m smiling up until the point where I reach Pretzel Pirate…and find Mark already behind the stand. He’s frowning at me. “You’re two minutes late.”
Vacation has not improved his temper. I want to protest that I’ll still have plenty of time to open because it’s not like it takes a full hour to turn on the machines, get the pretzels going, and put cash in the register. But men like Mark are petty dictators; that would only piss him off more. So I mumble an apology. And the day only gets worse from there.
Mark picks on me all damn day, bitching about every little thing. I’m starting to understand why he can’t keep employees. My annoyance builds to the point that Jesse actually texts me around four to ask, you all right?
Fine. Just pissed. My boss is an asshole.
Somehow I finish my shift, but the next day is more of the same. By two, I’ve had enough. “This is bullshit,” I say, interrupting his lecture. “I did a great job while you were gone. I deposited all the money, balanced the cash drawer, handled all of the setup and break down. And now I’m done.”
“You can’t just walk off the job!”
“Watch me, fuckhead. I’ll drop off these stupid uniforms tomorrow.”
Earlier, I saw a Help Wanted sign in a clothing store that sells really cool merchandise: funky graphic tees, studded wristlets and belts, earrings, skinny jeans, that kind of thing. The workers are all around my age; most have dyed hair or piercings and tattoos, also. If I could get a job there, it would be leaps and bounds better than Pretzel Pirate. I mean, it would still be customer service, but maybe I could earn back a fraction of my lost dignity. I’m not applying dressed like this, though. Presentation matters in a shop like that, so I’ll put in an application tomorrow when I return these stupid polyester pirate suits.
Grumpy, I take the bus home. Maria’s not off work yet, so I throw myself down on the couch and watch Netflix. Around six, I fix myself some food and go back to watching feel-good movies. Half an hour later, somebody knocks at the door. Cautiously, I peer out the peephole and spot Jesse. It’s only Tuesday, and he told me he’d probably be busy until Friday. He holds up a carton of ice cream.
“You had a bad day,” he says. “So I brought the chocolate.”
“Best boyfriend ever.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.” I step back to let him into the apartment.
He smirks when he notices I’m watching Iron Man. “Most girls would be watching chick flicks.”
“Did you just lump me in with all the other estrogen bearers? For your sake, I hope that you did not.”
“No offense intended. Tell me what happened?” He pulls me into his arms, after I get a spoon.
And between bites of ice cream, I lay out my day. “So now I’m unemployed.”
“Not for long, I’m sure. If you need cash—”
“Stop right there. Taking money from the guy I’m sleeping with is beyond skeevy, and it will never, ever happen.”
“I see your point.” Before he can say more, his cell rings. Jesse pushes to his feet, listens, and then sighs. “Yeah. I hear you. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Work?” I guess.
“Yeah, sorry. I thought things had settled, but it seems not.”
“Everything all right?”
He hesitates, then shakes his head. “If I could say more, I would.”
I remember he mentioned there was some kind of scandal with the partner he had before Stella, and he’s still dealing with the fallout. “I get it. Thanks for stopping by to cheer me up. And thanks for the ice cream.”
He draws me up into his arms and kisses me until I’m actually dizzy. “I hate it when you’re sad. See you Friday.”
When Maria gets home an hour later, I’ve eaten most of the chocolate