Page 18 of Shame

“We all have our own shit to deal with.”

“Don’t I know it?”

She nods, giving me a look like she knows all about my shit and is waiting for me to open up to her. She probably knows everything since I’m forced to blurt it out in hopes Norman gives me a break. I don’t care though. I’m not ashamed of my father. Maybe a little embarrassed from time to time, but ultimately, I know none of this is my fault or his fault. There’s nothing either of us can do about it, so why be embarrassed?

Except the other night, of course. When all that happened in front of Shark. Though, I wasn’t embarrassed of my father, just the situation, I guess. I should have warned Shark first. What in the world was going through his head?

“Five-minute warning!” Christian calls out from the kitchen.

Fia calls back, “Thanks!”

Christian lets us know five minutes before opening and five minutes before closing. Been doing it as long as I’ve been here, and I’m sure even longer than that.

“I gave him my number,” I say, grabbing the coffeepot to fill our mugs. When Fia says nothing, I look at her. After a second or two, her eyes light up like she’s just now understanding.

“Has he called?”

I sigh, recalling the unknown number that called me on Sunday, and the follow-up text that came a few minutes later, letting me know it was him.

“Yeah, but I was dealing with Dad and couldn’t answer.”

“And you haven’t called him back? Girl, come on. That man ishot.”

I scrunch my nose up as I hand Fia her mug of steaming coffee. She puts it down and adds some milk that she pulled out from the small fridge under the bar. I drink mine black. It’s easier that way. Learned to tolerate the bitterness of it when I started needing every second of the day to do things other than make fancy, sweet coffee. Cappuccinos were always my favorite. Dad bought me my own machine with a steamer attachment for Christmas some years back, but now it’s just decoration in the kitchen with a pile of dust on it like everything else.

“Should I text him?” I ask.

“Should you—yes!” Fia slaps the table. “Right now. Do it.”

“It’s not even six am yet!” I argue.

“So what? You can text at any hour of the night or morning or whatever.” She holds her hand out like she wants my phone.

“I don’t think that’s true,” I say carefully.

“How many people do you text on a consistent basis?” She raises a brow. I don’t answer. “That’s what I thought. Trust me,it’s true. Let’s go, get your phone out and send that man a text before all the old people come in here and stink up the place.”

I huff out a laugh at her smart mouth. Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull my phone from the pocket in my apron and open the text thread from him.

“What should I say?” I chew on my lip, thinking over the options. A goodsorry I didn’t get back to you soonercould work.

“Tell him you think he’s hot!”

“I can’t say that!”

Fia scoffs. “Of course you can.”

I shake my head. “No, that’s too forward. I can’t do that.”

I stare down at my phone, trying to figure out what to say.

“Well, whatever you’re going to say, you better hurry up. We have one minute left.”

Damn…

I stare at his text and figure a polite response acknowledging that I got his text is the safest option. I’m not sure what I plan to do now that he has my number, and honestly, I don’t know why I gave it to him anyway. As repayment for my car? As if the man would take this instead of money? That’s laughable.

At first, I was thrilled that he wanted my number. I mean, Fia is right, the man is hot as hell. But I don’t have time for… well, anything. And I saw the way he flew outta my driveway the night he dropped me off. Not that I can blame him for that, but that’s my life. Can he handle that? Does he want to? Is he just looking for sex?

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