Page 43 of Positively Pricked
Abruptly, the guy said, "You know, your hair looks a lot better tonight."
Obviously, he meant compared to last night, when he'd issued me the original parking pass to work at Zane's party. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, I reached up to smooth my hair away from my face. I mumbled, "What?"
He was still looking at my hair. "Yeah, it's all long and pretty." He laughed. "Last night? Eh, it wasn't a good look. I'm not a fan of the bun, you know?"
I wasn't a fan of the bun either, but Ihadbeen dealing with food, which left two options – wearing a giant lunch-lady hairnet or wrapping my hair up in a tight bun. If the guy thought the bun was bad, I could only imagine what he'd think of the lunch-lady look.
But I didn't bother explaining. Instead, I muttered, "I've gotta go," and then, I turned away.
"Wait," the guy said. "Where ya goin'?"
I was already walking to my car. "Home."
Unable to take a hint, he turned and followed along beside me. "Hey," he said, sounding almost peeved now, "I let you in when I wasn't supposed to."
I kept on walking. "So?"
"So, you know how this works, right? I doyoua favor. You domea favor…"
Abruptly, I stopped and gave him a sharp look. "I don't get it," I said. "Earlier, you asked for my number, and you were actually pretty nice. And now you're all…" I let my words trail off, because I wasn't quite sure how to put this.
"Yeah," he said, "because your story was bullshit."
"What?"
He made a scoffing sound. "That whole 'I lost my phone' thing? What? You thought Iboughtthat story?"
"It wasn't a story," I said. "It was true."
He snorted. "Yeah, right."
"It was," I insisted, and then immediately thought better of it. This guy didn't deserve an explanation, not anymore. I looked toward the guard shack. "And what were you doing in there, anyway?"
"What do you mean?"
"With that chick, the one who just left."
"Hey, that 'chick' knows how it works." Under his breath, he added, "Unlikeyou, who wants favors for free."
Unbelievable.
I said, "Ithoughtyou were just being nice."
"I was," he said. "So why don'tyoube nice tome?"
Ick.With a sound of disgust, I turned away, heading once again for my car.
And once again, the guy followed along beside me. "Hey," he said, "I'm sorry, all right? I was just kidding, like I said before."
Sure, he was.I kept on walking, barely listening as he blathered on about my apparent inability to take a joke.
When I reached my car, I pulled my keys from my pocket and jammed the car-key into the lock.
The guy said, "I could've been fired, you know."
I had to laugh, even as I yanked open my ugly, rusted car door. "Oh, I know."
"What's so funny?" he demanded.
There were so many ways I could've answered that question. I might've told him that it was absolutely hilarious that I'd spent any energy at all in trying to savehisjob when I'd lost my own job today.
I might've told him to enjoy the guard-station while he could, because it wasn't going to be his love-shack for much longer. I might've also told him that he was a giant douchebag and that he reeked of stale coffee and old cigarettes.
But I didn't say any of those things – not because I didn't have the nerve, but because a new voice sounded from the shadows.
It was Zane's voice, low and ominous, saying only two words. "Get out."
