Page 14 of Employing Patience

She hums and gives his bicep a playful squeeze. “I’ll say.”

Art takes off the apron he borrowed and hangs it back on a hook. With every step he moves away, my disappointment grows heavier. I’ve got it bad.

“I’ll leave it to you both. We all know my customers would rather see your pretty faces than my old one.”

Courtney flicks her hair, and I can’t stop my mouth from opening.

“You think I’m pretty?”

“You’re fucking gorgeous.” Art sneers. “That’s part of the problem.”

He leaves, and like that, the sizzling band of need loosens.

Courtney laughs as soon as he walks away. “Still straight?”

I send a teasing smile her way. “You know I’m playing.”

While I might tell my colleagues I’m straight, it’s only so they don’t look too closely. Don’t see my rejection every time Art barely looks my way. They don’t need to know the inappropriate thoughts I’m having about my boss, especially when I have no clue if I’d actually follow through.

There are so many labels I’ve played with for my sexuality over the years, but every time I try one on, I feel like a fraud. As far as I look from the outside, I’m straight. So that’s what I tell people. I have no clue what’s the truth, so I’ve stopped thinking about it at all.

“I don’t blame you. He’s a fun man to shoot the shit with because he knows how to give it back.”

I agree, trying to resist having my eyes follow him. Seek him out. Beg him to come back.

Because the only thing worse than being caught in his orbit is when I’m not.

The whole thing is a mindfuck. I’m too old for crushes, but that’s exactly what this is. The same rampant hormones and uncontained lust as a goddamn teenager. I’m thirty-two. I need to get this thing under control.

But you don’t really want to do that.

I tell the voice of honesty to fuck right off.

The night moves at a snail’s pace with no more glimpses of Art. It’s painful. The knowing that he’s here somewhere but having no clue where. Or with whom.

When the night wraps up and I’ve finished packing up the bar, a drunk straggler staggers against it. “J-Joey?” she slurs.

“That’s me.”

“My friend … Marissa. Marissa said you’d—” She hiccups. “—help … cab.”

Hoo, boy. My reputation precedes me. “Gimme a sec.” I hold a finger up so she catches my drift, but she’s so out of it I doubt she has any clue what’s going on. None of us here would have served her in this state, so either she slipped past the doorman already wasted, or she’s been swiping drinks.

I make my way over to where Mitch is kneeling beside a crate. “You okay if I head off?”

“Yeah, man. Almost done. You in tomorrow?”

“Nope, two days off.”

“See you, then.”

I remove my apron and join the girl waiting for me, who immediately throws herself into my arms. Most of her weight is on me, and I try not to curse as she slurs something about hero and tampons. I have no idea what’s going on.

When she’s back on her feet, I wrap my arm around her and steer her toward the door. It’s not until we’ve almost made it out that a prickling creeps along my neck.

I pause, reaching for the door handle, and glance back to find Art upstairs on the mezzanine level, arms crossed over the handrail, eyes fixed on the two of us.

Before I can overthink it, I send a wink his way.

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