Page 25 of We Are the Stars

Carsen’s mouth drops open. Then he closes it, only to float it open again. He swiftly jumps from his perch atop the counter, his face redder than the fire truck red polish on my fingernails, and his hands fall to fists at his sides.

“Bullshit.” He growls the word, and it pierces my ears like a knife.

Unable to control my own anger, I march toward him, fitting myself right up in his personal space until we’re nearly touching. He doesn’t back away. In fact, he steps closer and stands to his full height. He towers over me with poison in his eyes.

This sets me off to a new level, because for the first time, I’m not intrigued by Carsen—I’m mad as hell, and him towering over me and glaring down at me with such fury is sending my heart racing in all the wrong ways.

My fight-or-flight instincts kick in and…

I knee him right in the balls.

With a newfound confidence, I stoop down to his now collapsed form and say, “You want to know what’s bullshit, Carsen? You. Your fucking attitude. The way you’ve talked down to me this entire day. The fact that the moment—the very first, I might add—you showed any emotion other than anger toward me, you shut down, became mad, and lashed out at me. Again. Then you tried tointimidateme? Wrong move.” His pain-filled eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry life is hard, but I won’t be your punching bag.”

***

I arrive home uncertain of my future at Down the Lane. I didn’t quit, but I don’t think I left much room for future employment, especially since my knee made a good friend in Carsen’s balls.

Carsen.

The cynical asshole…ugh!

Even though I’m beyond angry with him, I’m sad. Is that the sort of treatment he expects from everyone? Does he think no one believes his hands aren’t bloody? If so, that’s a miserable life to live. No wonder he’s so lit up with hate.

“Please don’t break your laptop while you’re slamming about in here. Sometimes I sneak in and use it.”

“You have your own.”

Fish slinks into my room, making himself comfortable on my bed while I continue to rummage through my bookshelf. I want to read to get my mind off my shitty day, but I can’t find anything that sounds good.

“Yeah but yours is faster. Besides, sometimes I like to check your search history.”

“Why?”

“It’s interesting. You Google whacky stuff. ‘Do fish smile?’” He beams at me. “Come on. You could have just asked me.”

I roll my eyes at his joke.

“We do,” he confirms with a wink. “‘What do dogs dream about?’ ‘Is it cameltoe or camel toe?’ That one is my favorite.”

I grab the object nearest to me—one that isn’t a book—and lob it at his head. “I was curious!”

He laughs. “I’d say.” Fish adjusts himself on the bed. “So, what’s up? You’re cranky, barely spoke three words at dinner. Bad first day?”

“My knee said hello to Carsen Wheatley’s nuts. Scale of one to ten: how bad is that?”

“Solid seven and a half,” he says in a monotone voice.

Then, it hits him. He springs off the bed, crosses over to me, and grabs me by the shoulders. He shakes me—hard. “Are youinsane?You kickedhimin the nuts? Do you have a death wish?”

I push out of his grasp and scamper away. “No, and stop saying things like that. He isn’t a killer.”

“And you know this how? After… Wait. Why were you with him? Did he do something to you? Touch you, corner you, approach you? What. Happened.”

Fish’s eyes are bugging out of his head, his face turning red, and his breaths are coming in short spurts.

“First, calm down. Second, no, he did not touch me, corner me, or ‘approach’ me—whatever that means. I work with him now. He manages the bowling alley…I think. Weird, Bryan never mentioned it.” I wave a dismissive hand. “Anyway, he was kind of a dick. Well, not kind of, he was. All day. But then…”

“Elliott—”

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