Page 9 of Release Me

She cocks her head to the side, and her lips—which are tinted with a striking purple stain—pull down into a frown laced with disbelief. “You don’t have to lie, Nadia.”

“I’m not lying.”

With her eyes still on me, she lifts up on her tip-toes and plucks a pack of gum from the impulse buy section, dropping it on the belt with the rest of her stuff. I’m flying through her items, scanning and bagging them with an efficiency that has nothing to do with my growing line and everything to do with the woman burning a hole into the side of my face with her stare.

“Yes, you are. Do you want to know how I know?”

The teasing lilt in her voice as she asks me a question we both know the answer to causes me to miss a number on the product code I’m typing in. With a sigh, I finally meet her gaze, hoping that giving her my full attention will put an end to this interaction.

“Sure, Desiree.” I place the dragon fruit on top of the other items in the last of her paper bags without ringing it up. The choice will cost me almost five dollars out of my paycheck. I tell myself getting Desiree out of my line will be worth the deduction, but the clenching in my stomach calls me a liar. “Please regale me with all the things you know about me, a complete stranger.”

“Because you looked at me the same way the woman in aisle four did when her husband insisted on helping me get a bag of granola from the top shelf.”

“I don’t know what look you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” Her eyes skate down the half of my body not blocked by the counter I’m standing behind. “When you were working, you probably got it all the time. You probably still get it. The mix of annoyance and disapproval. The confusion and anger aimed at your audacity to exist. To be sensual and open on top of being beautiful and smart.”

My face is hot, and I can’t tell if it’s because of Desiree’s words or the increasingly annoyed gazes of the customers in my line who are probably wondering why she hasn’t moved along yet. The man directly behind her shifts his weight from one foot to the other, fingers tapping along the side of the box of diapers in his hand. I know for a fact that if it was another, less attractive, customer in front of him causing a delay, he would have already said something. I guess an extra five minutes in the grocery store is a small price to pay for a prime time view of Desiree’s ass.

“Fine.” I clear my throat, deciding to go with the truth if it means getting rid of her. “I wasn’t happy to see you.”

She slaps her hand down on the counter, letting out a breathy, celebratory sigh. “Finally, some truth! I thought I was going to have to stand here all day to pull it out of you.”

“Please don’t. My boss doesn’t like when the lines get too long.”

In fact, because of this conversation, my line is already teetering on the edge of infraction. Last week, I watched a girl get fired for not ringing customers up fast enough. Reid, the lanky, power hungry child who manages this place, gave her a whole speech about her ‘repeated lack of efficiency’ and how it meant she didn’t have the competence to do her job. She walked out of here with her head held high, but later that day when I was on break, Beth —one of the deli workers—told me she heard the girl telling Reid she had no idea how she was going to make rent this month if he let her go.

I didn’t know the girl, had never had so much as a conversation with her, but that worry resonated deep inside my soul, echoing in the part of my brain that’s constantly running, doing the anxious math of survival where the thirty hours of work Reid scheduled me for isn’t enough to pay rent at the motel for the next two weeks and save for a new place in a more secure, but no less run down, apartment building. Where chatting it up with Desiree could cost me more than a five dollar dragon fruit. Humor tips the corners of her mouth up as she places her palms on the now empty belt and leans forward.

“You know this would be the perfect moment for me to make a joke about you being the one with a boss.”

“No, it really wouldn’t,” I say, watching the woman behind the man eyeing Desiree’s ass maneuver her grocery cart from my line to the express lane Reid has just opened up. He throws me an annoyed look over his shoulder, and my heart starts to beat frantically. Before I finalize the transaction, I force a smile onto my face and ask, “Can I get you anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Great.” My finger slams into the total button harder than necessary. “Your total is $98.14, will you be paying with cash or card?”

“Give me your number.”

“What?”

“Give me your number,” she repeats.

“No.”

One of her brows raises in surprise, and my blood pressure rises right along with it. She glances at the people in line behind her, spreading an easy smile between them, before turning back to me. The smile buys her some good will from her line mates, but it won’t do me any good because they’ll all still make snide remarks about the wait time as soon as I have their eggs bagged safely. And when I do finally go on break, Reid is going to be in my ass about having to open a register to get the line down.

“Nadia, I’m prepared to stand here all day if you don’t give me your number.”

“Desiree, I’m prepared to call security if you don’t pay your bill and get the hell on.”

She’s still smiling, and this time it’s not that fake, sickeningly sweet one she gave to Vince at the bar or even the ‘I’m so pretty you can’t possibly be mad at me’ one she just hit the people behind her with. No, this one is real. Like she’s genuinely amused by my rudeness.

“God, you’re such a bitch.” She tosses her head back and laughs. “I think it might be my favorite thing about you.”

This entire interaction is infuriating, but somewhere, in the furthest depths of my mind, I feel myself starting to like Desiree. She’s pushy and ridiculous, but she’s also honest.

“Cash or card, Desiree?”

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