by Freya Barker
“Jesus, Gunnar. Close the door, will you? You’re gonna have Syd here quit on her first day!” Viv yells as she slams the stall door closed. Some mumbling and shuffling of feet follow and I’m glad to hear the washroom door slam shut as well.
Syd? That little thing’s name is Syd? What kind of fucking name is that for a girl? My stream downgrades to a trickle. I shake off and tuck my business away, zipping up as I push open the door to get my hands washed. The washroom is empty. Seems Viv has taken her new charge out of here and is probably somewhere, trying to calm the little bird down. Christ, she looked like she was terrified. I feel kind of bad about that but holy shit, my bladder was bursting and I find some weird chick on the floor of the men’s room.
I splash some water on my face in an attempt to rinse away some of the travel fatigue etched on my face. I’m getting fucking old at forty-four.
There are voices coming from the kitchen so I stick my head in to find the little bird sitting on a chair and Viv fussing over her. I better get this apology shit over with since I know Viv well enough to know she’ll make my life hell if I don’t. One reason why she handles all hires and fires is because I apparently don’t have people skills.. My people skills work well enough when I pour drinks. Plenty of women appreciate my people skills too. At least, I think they do, although it’s not in my nature to check up with them after I leave them well-fucked in their beds. Never mind. Don’t bring that shit home ... not ever. My kids are with me every other week and that house is as much theirs as mine. My eyes turn back to take in that fantastic hair falling over the creeped-out chick’s back. She has streaks of blonde in different shades, but the overall effect is of burnished copper. Amazing for someone looking so gaunt everywhere else to have such bright bluish pools for eyes and a mass of shiny hair.
Sucking in a deep breath, I move into the kitchen. Viv lifts her head when she sees me approach and throws me a cautionary glance. The little bird, or Syd—whatever her name is—picks up on it and slowly turns around. The moment she looks me straight in the eyes, I have to suck in another deep breath. She must’ve been a knock out once, but the dark circles around those expressive eyes, the prominent cheekbones, and sharp chin are evidence of a hard life. Damn. What has Viv dragged in now?
“Ahem. So ... I guess I should apologize for barking at ya,” I tell her, noticing the long waves framing her face. She flicks her eyes down and seems to disappear into herself without saying a word. “I’ve just been on the road—long trip. I didn’t expect to find a woman crawling around in the men’s room. Sorry if I scared you.”
It’s becoming increasingly uncomfortable talking to this little person sitting frozen in front of me, refusing to meet my eyes again. I glance at Viv, who gives me a little smile of encouragement. Jesus.
“So, yeah ... Syd, is it? Welcome to The Skipper. I’m Gunnar, but I guess you probably heard Viv call me that already. Anyway,” slowly her head comes up as she focuses her eyes on me again, “glad to have you on board.” I stick out my hand and she tentatively slips her tiny one in mine. A little squeeze and she pulls right back, but not before I feel the hair on my arms stand up from the charge that comes from touching her.
“Thanks.”
Her voice is like rough sandpaper—so unexpected from a petite frame like hers.
“Right. Gonna check on the pub. Meet me in my office in half an hour?” The last I direct at Viv, whose smile has morphed into a smirk. Smartass. She can probably tell I can’t wait to get out of here. With one last nod at Syd, I turn on my heels and make myself scarce.
For more on Syd and Gunnar, and the rest of the crew at The Skipper:
FROM DUST
