He’s right, though. If it was just a deal, if you really don’t care, why are you so angry that she outed you to Mortimer?
“Principle,” I answered my own question, and the lie tasted bitter on my tongue. “That’s the only reason. The only reason.” I lifted my bourbon glass and tossed back more of the golden liquid, enjoying the sting.
It helped distract from how much I missed her smell, her smile, the sound of her voice. Just her presence.
I had to remind myself that it was all a lie.
34
Hazel
One week later…
“Welcome to the Pieslice. What’s your cheese of choice today?” I asked, gesturing to the menu trapped under the clear plastic counter.
It was a Tuesday. I hated Tuesdays.
Then again, I hated every day because they started and ended with me either here, my feet aching, my skin reeking of pizza grease, or in my father’s hospital room, watching him waste away. He didn’t talk much anymore.
But I couldn’t give up hope. I had to keep believing that my dad could recover.
“Yeah, uh…” The guy at the counter was in his early twenties, a college student, I’d bet, and he wore his cap backward, his “make me a sandwich” shirt loose on his frame. “Yeah, hmmm. I want the mozzarella.”
“Wonderful,” I said and entered the price into the computer attached to the register. “And what would you like that on?”
The college kid eyed the menu then glanced at me. He did a double take. “No way.”
“Uh?” I checked behind me, but there was nothing that could’ve caught his attention to this extent.
He’d gone all red in the face and wide-eyed. “No friggin’ way, dude!”
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Yeah, the fact that you’re working here is wrong. Don’t you make, like, friggin’ loads of money, dude?”
“Uh…”
“You are… like, you’re my favorite mature actress. Hold on a second, I gotta get the guys. I need an autograph.” He turned and gave an ear-splitting whistle. Several frat boys materialized.
I was glued to the floor, shame creeping up my legs, into my stomach, and through my chest.
This isn’t happening. This is not happening.
“You know, you’re totally going to get nominated for a Pornie Award. Most talented newcomer,” the guy said, sticking his tongue out. “Fuck yeah. That scene you did with Big Dick Jerry? Changed the way I come.” He mimicked thrusting and pulled a face.
“Holy shit, Kinky Kara,” his friend said, leaning over the counter. He grabbed hold of my arm. “You have to teach me how you do what you do. Like… I want to satisfy my girlfriend, and I bet if you teach me—”
I wrenched my arm out of his grip, seeing crimson.
I grabbed one of the squeezie bottles of olive oil from next to the serviette dispenser, and let the first guy have it. “Back off!” I screeched.
The trauma, anger, fear, and heartbreak bubbled to the surface and exploded out of me. I covered the first guy in olive oil, then the next, squirting then swapping my empty bottle out for one filled with ranch dressing, all while screaming.
The guys backed off, yelling, their hands up, exchanging confused glances, and I darted forward, slipped on the gathering puddle of oil and whacked my head into the counter.
The Pieslice hazed out of view in speckles of gray.
“Hazel?” A hand tapped my cheek. “Hazel.” A warm voice, slightly gruff.
“Damien?” I opened my eyes, and pain sparked between them and throbbed right through the center of my brain. I groaned and touched a growing lump on my forehead.
“It’s Seth.”
I blinked and struggled upright. I was behind the counter in the Pieslice, lying in a puddle of oil, my uniform shirt soaked through, and a crowd of people gathered around, staring at me in varying states of concern and interest. And yeah, Seth was here.
Why the fuck was Damien’s superhot brother in the Pieslice? And why, oh why God, had he seen me like this?
“McCutcheon!” The roar came from outside the circle of onlookers.
“Shit!” I scrambled onto my knees, slipped in ranch, and nearly did the splits.
Seth caught me under the arms and helped me upright, bracing us both on the counter. “You OK? Your head looks pretty bad.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, in a faux hysterical laugh. “Yeah, I’m great. Just great.”
The crowd parted and Ricky appeared, breathing so hard his jowls wobbled. “You. Out. Fired. Never come back!” he thundered.
“Whoa, wait a second there,” Seth said. “You don’t know what happened.”
But Ricky merely shook his head and pointed to the door.
“It’s OK,” I told Seth, before he could argue for me again. His hand was on my elbow, stabilizing me, and it was like an anchor. “I don’t want to work here anyway.” Truer words had never been spoken. Pity leaving would mean I was officially fucked with a capital “F.”
Seth escorted me out of the Pieslice, waiting while I grabbed my handbag. My sneakers were oily and gross, but the sidewalk was rough, and I didn’t slip around once we were out front.
“Holy crap,” Seth said. “What happened? Whose ass do I gotta kick?”
I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter, and nobody’s ass.”
The door opened, and the oil-and-ranch-covered group of college dudes exited, glaring over at me. They looked about ready to say something, but the expression on Seth’s face deterred them, and they headed off down the road and got into a van before taking off.
“I’m assuming they had something to do with it.”
I nodded, pressing my lips together to keep from letting out a wail of despair.
“Hazel,” Seth said. “Come on. Let me take you home.”
“It’s OK.” I sobbed and tried to dry my eyes with my sleeves, realizing too late they were oiled up. “Shit. Oh god. Oh no.”
“Here.” Seth removed a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to me.
I wiped myself down and offered it back, grossed out by how covered in gunk it was.
“Keep it,” he said.
“Thanks. I think. Oh god,” I half-cried,
