Page 25 of Absolutely Pucked
“Todd, right? Go have a seat over there in the corner, and I’ll grab him. It’ll probably be a few minutes.”
She didn’t offer me a drink, which was probably for the best. I’d been off little indulgences like caffeine for a while, and if I started now, I’d probably be shaking out of my shoes before the interview was over.
It was bad enough I was in a wrinkled shirt and jeans. Hardly the look of a man who took himself seriously. But it was a café, so I could only hope they were a bit more relaxed than the last law office I’d been at.
The chair squeaked loudly across the floor as I pulled it out, and my body filled with hot mortification. There was no one around to hear it but me, and yet, I still felt like a disaster.
“Relax,” I told myself as I sat. My gaze moved toward the large windows, and I could see the sky getting darker by the minute. The clouds were moving fast, fat and heavy with the promise of a massive downpour, which was likely going to make my walk back to the car very wet and cold.
This was not exactly the good omen I was hoping for.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” I whispered down atmy hands. My fingers looked rough, my nails short from biting them and my knuckles cracked with dry skin from the harsh soap I’d been using in public bathrooms.
There were worse ways to be. I knew that. The few shelters I’d looked into had told me I was one of the lucky ones. This was a blip in my life—a single moment that would eventually pass. But if I was ever on my feet again—if I got back a fraction of what I’d lost in the last few months—I was going to do more than sit on my ass in my office and take everything I had for granted.
Glancing around, I saw the barista had come back to the coffee bar. She wasn’t making eye contact, but I wasn’t going to hold that against her. Minutes were ticking by like hours—honey-slow and heavy. Had I been there long? I was too afraid to look at my phone.
I didn’t want to seem impatient. This job—the potential for this job—was everything for me in that moment.
“Mr. Banks?”
I jolted and turned to see a man who didn’t look older than twenty walking up. He still had the marks of youth on his face—a few pimples near his hairline, light copper waves that looked like they hadn’t been washed in a while, and he smelled like he’d just taken a huge bong hit.
I stood and offered my hand, which he stared at, snorted, then bumped his knuckles against my palm.
Wonderful.
“Did you want, uh, a coffee or something?”
I shook my head as I sat back down. “No, thank you.” God, I hadn’t done this in so long I’d almostforgotten what I was supposed to be doing. Cross my legs? No. Fold my arms? Probably a bad move.
Except, was this guy going to notice my body language? His red-rimmed eyes told me probably not.
“So, uh…” The guy pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, and I realized it was a printed copy of the application I’d submitted. He squinted down at it. “Uh. Killian. Weird name.”
What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? “I had interesting parents.”
He snorted. “Yeah, man. Mine too. Elder millennials, am I right?”
“I…sure.” Whatever. I smiled at him, which felt more like a grimace, but he didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. “So, as you can see, I have a pretty extensive resume, but?—”
“Yeah, bruh. Stanford. Like, what the fuck are you even doing here?”
“Starting over,” I told him. I folded my hands on the table and leaned slightly toward him. “Things took a turn for the worse, and I just need some stability.”
“Right. See, the thing is, my boss said there’s not a chance in hell we can hire a guy from Stanford. No offense.”
My heart sank down to my stomach. This was the first time my degree had betrayed me, but I should have known. I’d put it on there like bragging rights—like I was saying look at me, I’m too good for this job, so you should hire me and consider yourself lucky.
I was too humble not to admit that now.
“I’m more than capable of working a coffee bar.”
He laughed. “Yeah, bruh. Me too.” He sat back andpushed the application toward me. “Still a no go. Sorry.”
I wanted to scream. Or cry. Maybe put my foot through the thin wooden panels lining the walls of this place. Instead, I took the application, though I wasn’t even sure why he was giving it to me, and I stood up.
“Thanks for the opportunity.”
