Page 12 of Getting the Grinder
But then he walked in on me showering, and I freaked out. He just stood there, looking at me. I was horrified, so I screamed. I didn’t want the guy I was crushing on to see me wearing a green clay face mask and shaving my bush. Which is reasonable.
I’m defensive by nature, and I went from embarrassed to pissed off in an instant. I should have locked the door, but he should have turned and left the millisecond he saw me. Instead, he gaped so long and hard I should have fucking charged him for it.
“It can’t be undone,” I say, securing the lid to the cup of coffee.
“So you’re going to hate me forever?”
It’s not that I hate him; it’s more that I’m certain every time he sees me, he’s picturing me in the shower with my foot on a bathroom shelf, a razor poised in front of my bush.
My legs were wide open. He got a better view of my vag than any man I’ve ever slept with. And it will never not be mortifying.
“I have to get to work,” I say, avoiding his question. “Keep the animals alive until I get back, please.”
He does an impression of a caveman, grunting and saying, “Me try.”
I must be delirious with exhaustion, because I smile at his joke. But of course, I keep my head turned so he doesn’t see it. Everyone else falls prey to his charms, but not me.
Not ever.
My colleague Bruce’s tuna sandwich doesn’t smell much better than Suki’s house did when I left this morning. I grabbed a bag of vending machine Cheez-Its for our working lunch, but all I can smell in his small office is the half sandwich he’s waving around as he talks.
“The caseload’s generally pretty heavy,” he says. “We plead out a lot of first-timers. The biggest mistake I see young attorneys make is not making deals.”
His gray curly hair needs to be cut and there’s a permanent crease between his brows. His dress shirts are often wrinkled and he looks frumpy, but Bruce is a cornerstone of the office. I’ve heard many cases of newbie defense attorneys who underestimated him getting schooled during hearings.
He brushes the breadcrumbs from his fingers, picks up a folder and tosses it to me. I’m sitting in a chair in front of his desk, and I pick up the file and look it over.
The defendant is named Paul Warren, and he’s accused of stalking a woman. I’m sickened by the details of the case: he sent her as many as thirty-five threatening texts a day, was caught hiding in bushes outside her house, and tried to keep contacting her from jail.
“Thoughts?” Bruce asks me.
I glance up at him. “At the risk of being one of those young attorneys who won’t make a deal, I don’t see a reason to plead it. There’s solid physical evidence and the victim is willing to testify.”
He nods, almost smiling. “Bingo. Most cases hinge on the victim testifying.”
He squints at his computer screen, something there catching his eye. “Hang on, I need to respond to this.”
After putting on his glasses, he starts writing something. I take out my phone and check it for the first time since I got here this morning, finding a text and photo from Suki and a photo from an unknown number.
The one from Suki is of her and the girls standing on a sandy beach, ankle deep in pristine turquoise water. They’re all smiling happily. Charlotte is wearing a T-shirt over her swimsuit, probably because she’s a body-conscious preteen. A few months ago, she confided in me that some girls at school were calling her Chunklet, and I’ve never wanted to threaten and intimidate minors so much.
I text Suki a quick response, not mentioning anything about last night. She deserves to enjoy this trip. After last night, I have a newfound respect for how much work it is to take care of Darling and Noodle.
Birdie wasn’t much trouble at all. She just doesn’t like being alone, so she follows Leo everywhere. The other two, though, were a lot.
The other photo message is of Darling. He’s lying on his back, his feet in the air and his head turned to the side. And of course, he’s smiling.
There’s a message with the picture: Just to clear up any confusion, this is Darling, not the guy you hooked up with last week asking for Round 2.
I suppress a sigh and put my phone away. Leo thinks he’s hilarious. But if he’s joking, that must mean Darling is doing okay.
Covering a yawn with my mouth, I stand up.
“I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?”
Bruce shakes his head. “I left some energy drinks in the lounge fridge if you want one. You might end up running laps around the courthouse, but you won’t fall asleep, guaranteed.”
“Perfect. Thanks.”
