Page 28 of Cream & Sugar
“No.” Shaun says firmly and the stone in my belly grows heavier. He sighs, anxiously drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Listen Freddie, I understand this is just how you are, but already some of your behaviour has been a little too close to the line. I probably should have said something sooner, but as your boss I have to shut this down right now.”
Embarrassment trickles down my spine like mercury. It’s not a feeling I’m used to.
“I… it wasn’tserious. Sorry, Shaun. I’m just a bit of a flirt and—”
“I know,” says Shaun, like he’s already got me totally figured out. “And that’s fine but you might want to tone it down at work. Especially if it makes your colleagues uncomfortable.”
Shit, shit, shit.If this car had an ejector seat, I’d have pushed it by now.
This was not what I wanted. At all. I don’t know exactly what Ididwant, but feeling like a predator definitely wasn’t it. Did I think Shaun and I would end up fucking? Honestly, maybe. Usually that’s the way it goes when guys look at me the way IthoughtShaun had been. Admittedly, he’s not looking at me like that now, but even if we had ended up in bed together, I hadn’t really considered what would happen next. I guess that was my bad. Not that it matters now, as clearly this isn’t going to happen.
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling about twelve years old. I comb through my panicked thoughts for an excuse—that this is my first job and I didn’t understand the etiquette, or something similar—but there’s no point. I knew what I was doing and I’m not about to lie to him. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just thought maybe… you know.”
Shaun swallows and looks down at the pedals.
“It’s okay, Freddie. Thank you for apologising. Enjoy your afternoon and I’ll see you at work.”
That’s it. End of conversation.
I open my door and cold air spills inside the car. As I sidle out, Rory’s words echo around my head.
Flirting with your boss is like asking for your P45.
A sly google last night taught me exactly what that meant and suddenly, the threat of homelessness rears its ugly head again. I can’t lose this job; I’ve only had it one bloody day! Before I shut the door, I crouch down and stick my head inside the car once more.
“I’m really sorry.” I double-down so he knows I mean it. “Thank you for not firing me.”
Shaun’s lips press together, not quite a smile, but not far off. He scratches his beard.
“No problem. Let’s start afresh, okay?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
I shut the door and Shaun pulls away. He does a sloppy three-point turn then drives back down the street and out of sight, leaving me feeling like the biggest tit in West Marbank. Hell, I’d go so far as to say the biggest tit in both WestandEast Marbank, and that’s saying something. As anyone who went to West Marbank High knows, East Marbank is—for no discernible reason beyond petty high school rivalries—full of wankers.
I let myself into the house, hanging up my jacket and making a beeline for the fridge. There’s very little inside besides Rory’s meal-prep Tupperwares. One labelled “beef stir-fry” catches my eye—after missing breakfast and spending all morning on my feet, I’m one stomach rumble away from eating my own hand. Rory won’t mind if I eat one… I think. In fact, I know he won’t mind because I’m not going to tell him.
I chuck the Tupperware in the microwave and set the timer to two minutes. Shaun’s words from the car echo in my mind as Iwatch the time tick down. Nothing he said was even the slightest bit mean or unfair—if anything, he was nicer than I deserved given hedidn’t, in fact, want to get in my pants.
Or so he says.
I give myself a shake. That’s your ego talking, Freddie.
Damn, this feels rotten. Getting knocked back by guys at Sabre, rare as it might be, doesn’t sting like this. It’s weird—I can count the number of times I’ve been rejected by men on one hand, each of them just as easy to forget about as the last. So, what’s so different about this time? Why do I feel like I’ve just had the shit kicked out of me by a hundred angry bouncers?
Once my food’s ready, I eat it on the couch and sulk for a bit. I play a few rounds on Rory’s Playstation to distract myself, but no matter how many monsters I eviscerate, I can’t shake the gnawing feeling inside.
The front door opens and Rory stomps in, carrying three bags of groceries in each hand. He struggles with the door for a moment, and I use the opportunity to hide my dirty Tupperware under the sofa. He clocks me, a suspicious look in his eye.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Just got in,” I explain. “Shouldn’t you be picking up heavy things and putting them down again?”
Rory frowns. “You’re finished already?”
“Six hours, done and dusted. Oh, and look at this,” I pull the twenty out of my pocket and wiggle it in the air. “My tips! Not bad, eh?”
Rory places the shopping down on the kitchen counter and marches over to me. He takes the twenty and inspects it, as though it might be a very convincing hologram.
