Page 31 of Brutal Days

She shrugged, and I wanted to throw up. I would defend her until my last breath. Not much had changed with Gia’s lack of a backbone. I wondered if it ever would. I wouldn’t always be there to be her voice, though. Someday, she would have to fight her own battles.

Classes went by with agonizing slowness. After school, I met up with Gia at her locker to complain about the article for that weekend’s home game. I didn’t bother to bring up what had happened in gym again. When she wanted to, Gia was fantastic at sticking her head in the sand.

“I don’t see the problem. We can go together. It’ll be great.” Gia smiled wide.

“Not great. I have zero interest in football.”

“But Damon will be there. He’s an amazing player. And I’ll be there too.”

I hiked my bag higher on my shoulder. “Fine. We’ll go together.”

“Great. And maybe we can grab something to eat with Damon and some of the other players after.” She grabbed my wrist, laughing when I hissed and backed away. “Stop it. It’ll be a fabulous opportunity to get interviews out of the way.”

That wasn’t a bad idea.

“What interviews?” Damon stopped next to Gia. His gaze locked on me.

“Nothing.” I shot Gia a glare. No need to give him more information. “I’ve got to run so I make it to the interview on time. Talk to you later, Gia.”And fuck you, Damon.

I didn’t miss how thunderous his expression grew.

I couldn’t help but chuckle as I walked away. His look was priceless, and he couldn’t do anything about his fury because we had a deal. And if he went back on it and was a jackass to Gia by interrogating me and ignoring her or showing how little he cared about her, he would lose out.

But so will she.

It was a sobering thought. Her stupid list was ridiculously important to her. I couldn’t let my piss-poor attitude sabotage it. With a sigh, I got in my car and headed to the restaurant interview—which went amazingly well, and I was hired on the spot. I loved Lizette, the manager. And the uniform wasn’t as bad as Damon had said. The shorts were tiny, but they were the same as the Nike Pro athletic shorts the cheerleaders wore. The T-shirt was tight and ended just above my waistline to show a thin strip of skin, but it wasn’t low cut, and it had cap sleeves. Plus, they were both black with the restaurant’s name in white on the shirt.

I shadowed another waitress for the dinner shift, helping where I could. It was busy, but no one grabbed me or was rude. If a table looked like it might get out of hand, Lizette shadowed us until they got the hint, and she was a big woman, not one to mess with.

I was exhausted by the end of the shift, and when I walked to my car, I groaned at seeing Damon parked against my door.

“Are you a stalker now?”

He smirked. “You’re pretty full of yourself. I’m only here to pick up dinner for my family.” His gaze crawled all over me.

I was still in uniform, and suddenly, what had seemed decently modest left me feeling like I wasn’t wearing anything.

“The interview went well?” He said it with a frown.

I was well aware he wasn’t pleased. “It’s none of your business.”

He pushed off my car door and stepped closer to me. I used his movement to angle toward my escape.

“You could work many places where you don’t have to show off your tits and ass.”

“Fuck off.” I opened my door, threw myself inside, and slammed it shut before hitting the locks. I didn’t spare him a glance as I started the car and sped out of the parking lot. The nerve of him. I wasn’t showing off anything that most of the girls in our school didn’t reveal in gym class.

Mom wasn’t home when I got there. Still angry, I dropped my stuff in my room then took a shower. When I got out, a text sounded from my phone.

Of course, it was from Damon.

Damon:I just don’t want people calling you the names that they call the other girls who work there

Me:Thanks for your fake concern

Damon:I can pay you if that’s what you want to be

Uuugh!I threw my phone—at the bed because I wouldn’t break it for an asshole like that. Then I stomped to it, shut it off, and tried to breathe through the anger. I could get through the next few days without committing murder.

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