Page 2 of Coach
“You’re not answering the question.”
Huh.
Okay.
Super hot physically.
But kind of cold otherwise.
“Yeah, I clean.”
“Would you be interested in fixing and cleaning?”
“I’m sorry… fixing and cleaning what, exactly?” As an answer, his arm rose, gesturing toward the building we were standing in front of. “The pool hall? Is this your place?”
“It is. Mine and my brother’s. And we just…lostour maintenance person. It’s a position we need filled immediately. Because, to answer your question, no, I don’t clean.”
Was there a really weird emphasis on the word ‘lost’ there? Sure. But what did I know?
“Right. Uh. Well, as it so happens, I am looking for a job. I actually have some of my résumés in my backseat.” I started toward the car, but the man’s voice stopped me.
“No need. The job is yours if you agree to the terms.”
“You don’t even know my name.”
“I know that brick has been loose for a year and the previous man I had for the job never noticed nor cared. I like people who see problems and fix them without being told.”
“Oh, well, yeah. I’m the girl for the job then. I mean, I don’t have any certificates or anything. I’m not, you know, a professional.”
“I don’t need a professional. But I do need someone who wears something other than… that.”
I honestly almost laughed at the disgust on his face as his gaze slid over my very worn overalls, which I’d had literally since I was a teen, doing home projects at my grandfather’s side. Were they worn soft and white at the seams with age? Sure. And there were random paint and stain splashes that no amount of scrubbing or bleach could remove. But that’s kind of what I liked best about them. They were full of memories.
“I have other clothes.”
“Black.”
“Oh, uh, okay. Sure.” I didn’t own a single piece of black clothing. But that was what the secondhand store was for, right?
“Shoes too.” I pretended not to notice the way he grimaced at the once-white sneakers that were so covered in paint now that you could only see a sliver of the original color here or there.
“Got it. So… what are the terms?”
“The work is five days a week, with the days off being Monday, when the hall is closed, and Wednesday, when we are typically slow. But you will need to be available for emergency calls if something breaks when you are not scheduled to work.”
“That’s not a problem. I live right down the side street over there.”
The man followed my gesture, brows scrunching.
“The old Miller place?”
“I have no idea. It’s a duplex.”
“It’s practically condemned.”
“Well, I’m working on that.”
To that, he gave me a tight nod.
