Page 30 of Under Locke & Key
“Rachel . . .” That warning again. I hate that it works and I am so glad that I have him to talk to.
“Tall, like really tall, and broad to boot. Thirty-ish. Brown eyes and hair with natural golden highlights to it that stylists would kill to emulate. Big hands. Chivalrous.” I keep the information to a minimum, reluctant to part with it and unsure why.
“Yeah?” He’s excited for me, I can tell.
“He’s my boss.” I try to quell it, for both of our sakes.
“And?” Ángel drags it out, as if it’s no big deal. Would he be this cavalier if he was attracted to his boss? Probably.
“And he’s married.”
There’s a beat, the word settling between us.
“Fuck.” It’s so disappointed I laugh out loud.
“Right. Anyway, I need to stay focused. But I wanted to update you so you know why I’m not at the bar on Friday and likely won’t be for a while unless I find a car or some other way into the city.”
“You know, I’ve always wanted to see . . . Dunville? Nothing more appealing to a city guy like me than a cute town in Maryland—get a break from it all.”
“Sure, you have. It’sDulaney,by the way.” We both laugh at his misstep, whether it was purposeful or not, it’s gone a long way to help me feel more settled in my choice to stay here for now.
My mom’s message and my attraction to my boss has me feeling a little unmoored and knowing that Ángel is there, my life preserver when my mind threatens to drag me under—it’s appreciated.
“I’m serious, though. I have a car and I’m happy to come up there and check on you. One of us has to make sure you keep it in your pants.” It’s such a fake scolding that I have to bite my cheek to stop from laughing, pretending to take him and his warning seriously.
“Yeah, and we both know thatone of usis going to be me.”
“I never claimed otherwise. Maybe he has some hot friends? If you can’t have him, you might as well go for the next best thing.”
“OrI could do the job I came here for and actually be professional.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“I’m not here for fun. I’m here for work,” I remind him, and myself.
“The job listing said‘Stay for the fun’so that’s not accurate. You’re not following the job description. You’re actively sabotaging yourself by not doing what I say.”
“Oh, shut up!” It’s said without venom, but I’m clinging to my morals with both hands, trying not to let his voice and that traitorous one in my mind get the upper hand.
“Text me your address and let me know when you want me to come up. Even if you decide to stay professional I can, at the very least, come join you for drinks or something one night so you don’t completely lose yourself in this job.”
I want to argue and say that won’t happen but . . . it likely will. Without Ángel, and that first Friday Night Drinks all those years ago, I would have buried myself in Lakin-Cole the same way Sebastian had, without a bad influence to keep me corrupted and sane.
“I will. Thanks, Ángel. And you better get used to me calling you.”
“Nope. It’s gross and unnatural.”
“Love you too. I’ll see you soon.” I hope he can hear my eye roll through the phone.
“You sure you’re not sick or something?”
“Positive.”
“Oh no! Not a positive. Maybe there’s a treatment for it. I’ve heard they’ve made great strides in detecting body snatchi?—”
“—Goodnight, Ángel.” I hang up to the sound of him laughing and my smile stays on my face, a wisp of gratitude.
Waiting for the creaking pipes to heat, I trace my fingertips over the water droplets until they’re satisfactorily warm and step under the spray. Scrubbing the day from my body, I can’t help the little curl in my stomach—the one that’s keen to see where this goes, actually excited at the prospect of work.
