Page 90 of Boyfriend
“I spent seven hundred,” Tate chimes in.
“I don’t do math if I can help it,” Patrick says. “But I get drunk more than most of these guys, so you better assume my bill is the highest.”
“He spent twelve hundred and seventy-seven bucks, and I spent eight hundred,” his twin says.
Around the table we go, as the numbers mount. Kippy holds up a hand to stop us. “Okay, I see the trend. What are you looking for? A free basket of fries? I could stomach some kind of unofficial rewards program, if you’re quiet about it.”
“No, man,” I say, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. “This is not a shakedown. We were perfectly happy to spend our cash here—until you fired Abbi for getting the flu. By email, no less.”
“That’s cold,” Tate adds.
Kippy frowns. “But she didn’t even call.”
“Yeah, that’s how sick she was,” I say, my hands in fists. “Didn’t you stop for a second and wonder why your most reliable employee—tied with Carly here, who we also think is great—didn’t show up? Wouldn’t a decent boss worry a little if that happened?”
Kippy’s nostrils flare, because I’ve just called him out for being an asshole. “I don’t have time to babysit my staff.”
“Sure,” I say with a shrug. “But we don’t have time to drink beer and eat wings here until you offer Abbi her job back. With the one-year bonus intact.”
His ears redden as he glances around the table.
Eleven hockey players look back at him with solemn expressions. “We like pizza, too,” Cooper says. “Pretty sure they could find room for us next door.”
“And for our entourage, too,” Patrick adds. “The hockey lovers of Burlington come to the Biscuit for us, you know.”
I never knew Patrick’s ego could be so useful, because Kippy blanches. Then he swallows hard. “Abbi can come and see me tomorrow,” he says. “We’ll work something out.”
“That’s not good enough,” Tate chirps. “Call her right now. She’s probably worried about her job. She’s conscientious, sir. You don’t let a good employee go.”
Slowly, with a trapped look on his ugly face, Kippy reaches into his pocket for his phone.
“Here,” I say cheerfully, handing him a Post-it note. “This is her number.”
Scowling, he starts tapping it into his cell. Then he puts the phone to his ear. “Er, hello, this is Kippy at the Biscuit. How are you, uh, feeling?” he stammers, like it might kill him to care.
I guess that used to be me, though. I thought it would kill me to care too much for Abbi. Yet loving her is the best thing that ever happened to me.
“You, uh, can have your job back. And your bonus will be waiting for you. I’ll write the check tonight.”
He goes silent, listening to Abbi’s response.
That’s when I nod at Carly, who’s beaming. “All right, let’s do this order! I’ll have the—”
“Thai spiced wings?” she guesses. “And a Coke?”
“Yup,” I say, handing over my menu. Because some of my habits never change, and that’s okay.
A few minutes later, I’m just taking my first sip of soda when my phone starts pinging with texts from Abbi.
OMG you will not BELIEVE what just happened!!!! Kippy called me. I got my job back, and my bonus!
That’s great, baby, I reply.
In other news… I’ve decided to take the job at Vermont Tartan. Tell me how you really feel about me staying in Burlington. Be honest.
I feel great about it, I tap out quickly. Less phone sex. More real sex. I add a string of eggplant emojis because I’m classy like that.
Well that clears things up, she says.
