Page 56 of Loathe at First Sight

“Son of a bitch!” I curse out loud as I bump my head. I’ve been cleaning out the ovens at the inn for the past couple of hours, and I’ve smacked my head on them more times than I can count.

When I’m having a shitty day, I typically try to work through it with some rage cleaning. It normally works, but today, I think I’m getting more and more irritated as the day goes on.

I was up half the night thinking about my encounter with Jack. Why does that man have to be so wishy-washy? Just when I think he’s not a colossal asshole, here we are again.

And that kiss…

I honestly thought that anything physical with this man would repulse me. But it seemed to have the exact opposite effect.

I’m sure it’s just because I need to get laid. If Jamie had kissed me, I’m sure I’d feel the same way. And maybe we would have taken it further than just an insignificant peck.

To add insult to injury, the man didn’t even show up to run this morning. I guess after what happened, he’s going to do whatever he can to try to avoid me.

Guess what, buddy?

It’s a small town. I don’t think your plan is going to work for long.

It bums me out because I really did look forward to those runs. It’s not like I have a lot of people I hang out with around here. Having someone I have at least one thing in common with was nice.

But I guess I’m back to square one.

I crawl a little further into the oven to try to get the gunk off the very back. I have no idea when this thing was last cleaned, but by the crap that’s caked on, I’d guess it’s been a while.

As I’m shoulder-deep into the oven, I hear my mother’s voice calling for me. It startles me so hard that I knock my head again.

“Motherfucker!”

As I slowly come out, Mom walks into the kitchen.

“Wow. Is that how you talk to all your guests?”

“You sound like Michelle. But yes,” I joke. “What’s up?”

She holds up two bottles of whiskey. “Michelle forgot to bring these the other day with your other supplies. While doing inventory, it took me forever to figure out why I had two extra bottles of booze. Running a bar means you’re usually short on bottles, not over.”

“Thanks,” I say, rubbing my hand over the knot I can already feel forming on the top of my head. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Coffee if you have it.”

I’ve always considered myself a coffee lover, but my mom ingests the stuff like it’s water. I think most days, she runs on nothing more than caffeine and pure adrenaline.

I hand her a steaming mug and lead her over to one of the small cafe tables.

“I hear you went to Single’s Night,” she says.

“Man, the gossip mill is hard at work once again,” I reply, fixing my own cup.

Even with cream and sugar in mine, I still blow on it, trying to make sure it’s cool enough to sip. Meanwhile, my mother drinks it black, practically gulping it down like it’s not even remotely warm.

“Glad to see you assimilating a little bit. How did it go?”

“Well, I’m still single if that tells you anything.”

Looking at me over the mug, she says, “I hear you were dancing with Jack.”

Is there anything she hasn’t heard?

“I was dancing with Jamie too. Did anyone share that fun fact with you?” I ask.

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