Page 1 of Crossing the Line

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Aiden

There are people who love their lives, and then there are people like me.

Don’t get me wrong, some have it a lot worse than I do, and I get that, but I still use my job as an escape. Give me all the overtime, weekends, and holidays—I don’t give a shit. The last thing I want is a fucking vacation.

Because when you have nothing to do with your paid vacation and no one to spend it with, it makes you think that it’s time to reevaluate your life.

And that’s the last thing I need.

I would have been happy to work through the next seven days for the extra pay, but the boss wouldn’t have it.

You need a break, Aiden.

Don’t work yourself so hard.

You’ve earned some time off.

They’re all just code for, I don’t want to pay you overtime because I’m a cheap bastard.

It is what it is. On the other hand, a break from the construction site might not be so bad. I’d rather have a week off in the peak of summer when I’m sweating my ass off, but so would everyone and their mother. I always forget how hot the summers are here—I think we all do. When you think of New York, you think freezing your ass off in January, not the blazing heat that comes mid-August, but working outside all day will help you remember.

Even my boss, Clint, knows I have no life, though. So when I told him to give me a week off in a couple of months, he asked if I’d take this random-ass week in the middle of May instead.

I said I would.

And here we are.

“You want another?” Jasmine asks, and I give her a nod. I watch as she turns around and fills another draft. “Where’s Mike tonight?” she asks over her shoulder.

“Fuck if I know.” I lift the glass she sets down in front of me and take a sip.

She shakes her head, but there’s a trace of a smile on her lips. She’s used to my bullshit. Everyone is used to everyone’s bullshit around here, but that’s just a product of being from a small town. Most people who are born in Beacon, die in Beacon. I’m not saying that to be morbid, but when you met your best friend in kindergarten, and the girl you’re casually hooking up with was in your seventh grade English class and works at the bar you go to every weekend, you start to understand that you’re stuck in a dead-end.

A guy works the bar with her tonight—a new guy. He swaps out one of the kegs as Jasmine finds her way over to me again. She leans across the bar and clasps her hands together, giving me that look that always makes me uncomfortable. I hate when she acts like she has me pegged. We hook up sometimes, but she doesn’t know me as well as that look warrants.

“His name is Erik.” She looks back at the guy before she refocuses on me, staring up at me through those long lashes. “Jealous?” She tops off her question with a wink.

My eyes roll up to one of the TV screens. “Not even a little.” I mean it. If she wants to hook up with someone else, she can. I won’t waste my breath trying to convince her otherwise.

Jasmine’s long, blonde hair falls over her shoulder as she lowers her gaze. “God forbid anyone knows you have a heart, right?”

Here she goes again, trying to see something in me that isn’t there. When I don’t say anything, she shakes her head and turns, leaning her back against the inside of the bar and checking out the new guy. “Relax,” she says to me over her shoulder. “He’d be more interested in you than me.”

Clearly, she missed the part where I don’t give a shit. I take another sip of my beer and look down at my phone without answering. Seriously, where is Mike? He usually meets me by now, and I don’t like the way Jasmine wants me to react to her new, gay boyfriend.

I guess I shouldn’t complain. Most nights Mike ends up latching onto a random girl at the bar, and I end up talking to Jasmine anyway. She’s still studying me, so when I look up from my phone, I make a point to say, “I’m not jealous,” in case she missed it the first time.

She shrugs and steps away to start drying a few glasses. The added space between us makes it easier for me to breathe, so I take another sip and look down at my phone again.

Mike: Hey, man. Can’t come tonight.

Fucking Mike.

I’m about to put my phone back in my pocket when another text comes in.

Mike: Well, I can. And I did. And I probably will again. Cindy showed up.

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