Something Like Normal

by Monica James

  Attempting to be subtle, I try and sneak a peek at who has my skin prickling in awareness, but it’s difficult as my neck is crooked at an odd angle, so to hell with being sneaky.

  Turning my head to the right, I see a pair of emerald eyes, set off by a dark, arched eyebrow, examining me closely. Suddenly wishing I had gone about this in a whole different manner, I turn away quickly while nearly gagging on my own salvia, which refuses to go down my throat.

  Now I look like a total freak. I scold myself for thinking something that’s so inconsequential, because regardless of how smokin’ hot he is, I’m not here to make friends, or to check anyone out, but from the glimpse I was awarded with, he was intoxicating.

  His thick chocolate hair was tumbling into his eyes, but as he brushed back his longish tresses with his artistic fingers, I could see his intense, emerald stare. He had a predominant jaw line sprinkled with a light dusting of dark stubble, giving his face a hard, almost harsh look. But I like it. He looks like someone who wouldn’t put up with shit, and isn’t one to shy away from trouble.

  However, it was the small, silver hoop snugly hugging his well-defined lower lip that had me fixated. He was running his straight white teeth over the left-sided piercing and tugging at it, while watching me closely with those eyes.

  “Here are your waffles,” says a voice, snapping me out of my brain freeze as the sugary goodness assaults my nostrils.

  Looking up at my savior, I’m greeted by a young man, who I’d say is similar in age to me, and I can’t deny, he’s incredibly hot.

  He has similar color hair to Mr. Emerald Eyes over there, but his hair is slightly shorter at the back, with long, delicate bangs, which slips into his golden brown eyes. As he quickly flicks his hair off his face, I can see he has two barbells clasping his left eyebrow. I look down to his portly nose, which is in proportion to his strong face and robust jaw. He has a labret piercing, which is a largish silver stud that sets off the fullness of his pink lips.

  I’d say he stands at 6’0”, and even though he’s slender, he’s brawny. He might appear slightly skinny to some, because of his height, but I can tell, underneath that leanness is a well-toned body.

  In his long, black Dickie shorts, white t-shirt, shaggy hair, and piercings, he looks like a scene kid from the streets of L.A.

  I know I’m staring, but between him and Mr. Emerald Eyes, I’m a little lost for words.

  “Have you finished with the job application?” he asks, jutting out his chin towards the form in front of me.

  “Yes,” I reply, thankful to have found my voice.

  “I’m Tristan,” he says as I pass him the application.

  He looks at my form and gives it a quick read, his soft eyes scanning over my info quickly.

  “And you’re… Paige. Nice to meet you, Paige,” he says, lifting his eyes to meet mine.

  “Likewise. So, do you have any idea when they’ll make a decision regarding the job?” I ask.

  If I focus on what’s important, maybe I can forget about the two hot men I just laid my eyes upon in the span of a minute.

  “Yeah. You’re hired,” Tristan says with a lopsided grin.

  I’m slightly confused and it shows on my face.

  Tristan smiles, which reflects in his warm eyes. “We had a staff meeting and you’re hired. When can you start?”

  I can’t believe it. Just to make sure my wires aren’t crossed, I question, “So, I’ve got the job?”

  Tristan nods and his lopsided grin returns.

  “Thank you so much. I can start today. Actually no, I can’t,” I correct quickly, making an apologetic face, as I remember I have Grandpa’s truck and I want to return it as soon as possible.

  I don’t want to abuse the privilege of him lending me his vehicle for the day. I know he said he didn’t need it, but I want to return it to him sooner, rather than later.

  “That’s fine. You can start tomorrow if you like. Tabitha can go over the basics with you. I’m pretty sure you’ll pick things up quickly, though.”

  “Thanks again.”

  “Don’t thank me just yet. I’ll catch ya tomorrow,” Tristan says, shooting me a wink over his shoulder as he heads for the kitchen.

  Giving Tristan a small wave goodbye, I sit back, taking in everything that has just happened. I got a job. I can’t believe I got two jobs! Two jobs that I don’t hate. And two jobs that are helping people—not destroying their lives.

  Looking down at my waffles, my appetite instantly spikes when I see the mouth watering display before me.

  Picking up my fork, I’m about to dig in when I remember Mr. Emerald Eyes. I’ll attempt to be less obvious this time, because for some unknown reason, I’m drawn to look. Massaging the base of my neck, I turn my head to the right, and to onlookers, it would appear I’m just rearranging my position to give my aching muscles a chance to uncoil. Growing up around shady people has taught me a thing or two.

  My eyes bypass his table, and I’m slightly disappointed when I see that he’s gone. He must have left when I was talking to Tristan.

  Oh well, that’s a good thing, as I have a niggling feeling that Mr. Emerald Eyes would prove to be an expensive distraction.

  One I most definitely cannot afford.

  Chapter 6

  Bathroom Confessions

  Driving back to Night Cats with a full belly and another job under my belt is a nice feeling. Looks like this ‘living normal,’ isn’t as hard as I originally anticipated.

  Gazing at the sleepy landscape ahead of me, it’s hard to imagine what my life would have been like if I grew up in a town such as this. Would I be happier with the reflection staring back at me? I know my childhood wasn’t at all conventional, but I like the fact that I can look after myself. It just sucks that I had to learn the hard way.

  I park the truck close to the office, ensuring I lock the doors. I guess old habits die hard.

  Hank is sitting behind the front counter, watching TV, while chewing on a bagful of nuts. He mutes the TV when he sees me walk in.

  “How’d it go?” he asks, smiling broadly at me while hooking his fingers through his suspenders.

  Sliding him the truck keys, I give a noncommittal shrug.

  “Fine. I got another job,” I announce while leaning over the counter and stealing a handful of nuts.

  “That’s great, Paige. Where?” he asks, switching off the TV to give me his full attention.

  I don’t know what it is about him, but I feel like I can trust him.

  “At Bobby Joe’s,” I reply, jumping up onto the counter, my feet dangling over the edge.

  “Ah, I know Bobby Joe, she’s a good lass. When do you start?”

  “Tomorrow,” I reply, swinging my feet with enthusiasm.

  “You make sure you don’t wear yourself out, ya hear? If you need to cut down hours here, you just tell me, all right?”

  My feet stop swinging and I jump down from the counter in a hurry, feeling a sense of panic creep into my belly. Why is he being so nice to me? I can’t help but think he wants something. But as I look into his genuine eyes, I know Hank wants nothing. There really are good people out there, I remind myself. I just have to remember to remind myself a little more often.

  “Okay, cool, thanks. I’m going to take a shower,” I reply, making a quick exit.

  I know bailing on someone who’s trying to help you is not considered ‘normal,’ but I can’t help it. I’m still learning the do’s and don’ts of society, so I guess I’m allowed to slip up occasionally.

  Locking the door behind me, I peer around my room, which has minimal furnishings, and I don’t intend to change anything about that. I won’t be staying here long enough to be adding any personal items, and even if I did, what would I add?

  Back home, I never knew what was chic, or hip, or whatever. So my room was plain, and it was bland, but it was mine. That’s all I cared about. To have one single place I could call my own.

  Stripping out of my clothes f
eels wonderful, and I make sure to hide my knife in the top drawer of my bedside table. There’s a path of my basic clothes, like a trail of breadcrumbs, leading to where I intend to be for a long while—the shower.

  The scorching, hot water feels amazing against my skin, and I swirl my big toe in the plug hole, watching the water whirl down the drain, washing away my sins for the day. Turning into the water spray and relishing the hot water tickling my skin, I fail to notice, for the second time today, someone’s eyes on me.

  Well, on my naked back, to be precise.

  Spinning around so fast, I’m surprised I haven’t fallen flat on my ass, as the shower floor is like a slippery slide. Due to the mist fogging up the shower screen, I can’t see who’s currently standing just outside the bathroom door.

  Covering up my pink bits with my right hand, I wipe down the glass with my left, leaving behind an angry streak with the movement.

  As I take in those green eyes, the ones I saw earlier at the diner, my mouth speaks before my foggy brain can play catch up.

  “Can I help you?” I ask loudly to be heard over the pounding water.

  I really should be more embarrassed that a strange man is in my bathroom, but funnily enough, I’m not.

  Mr. Emerald Eyes leans against the door jamb, crossing his arms over his broad chest, smiling at me smugly.

  “Practicing already?” he asks in a deep, rough voice.

  “Practicing for what?” I ask, annoyed.

  “For your job,” he chuckles, toying with his lip ring.

  I then realize he must have heard me inquire about the job. But why was he listening? And more importantly, why aren’t I cussing his ass out for walking in on me naked?

  “So, is there a reason why you’re standing in my bathroom? Or are you just a peeping tom who gets his rocks off watching strange women shower?” I ask, my eyes challenging his.

  He shrugs, and the momentum causes his upper torso to undulate, showing off his impressive physique. Judging on where he measures up to on the doorway, I would say he’s around 6’3”. He’s toned, but not grossly massive with bulging muscles and protruding veins. His tight Misfits t-shirt has seen better days, with a few small holes around the hemline, but somehow it works well with his snug black jeans and black Chucks. His unkempt, longish hair, which flicks up at the back, is styled into a disheveled mess, with shaggy bangs that partially conceal his wicked green eyes. Somehow I know he’s done absolutely nothing to keep it this way, it just naturally falls the way that it does. The whole ensemble is set off by that silver hoop through his lip, and everything about him screams ‘bad boy,’ and I know I need to stay away from him.

  But as I meet his piercing stare, which is also challenging me, I know I’m in trouble.

  “So?” I ask again. “What are you doing here?”

  He pushes off the doorframe and strolls into the bathroom, not bothered that I’m naked and in the middle of showering. He’s behaving as if having a conversation with a random person in her birthday suit is normal behavior.

  Who knows, maybe it is? I’m still learning the normalities of society. However, I somehow doubt this is classified as normal.

  As Mr. Emerald Eyes strolls further into the bathroom, he finally speaks.

  “I’m here to fix the shower door.”

  That’s it? That’s all he has to offer?

  “O-kay, well how about you wait outside or something?” I say, not feeling so brave when he’s only a few feet away from me and my nakedness.

  “And where’s the fun in that?” He smirks at me with a mischievous look in his eyes.

  I open my mouth, about to shoot him a smartass comment, but I come up dry. And that’s troubling, as I’m never short of sarcasm.

  “Well, if you insist on standing there, can you at least pass me a towel?” I huff, feeling way too vulnerable under his unreadable stare.

  He reaches behind him and latches onto a white, fluffy towels hanging on the towel rack. He takes two steps closer and I take one back with nowhere to go, as the cold shower wall is pressed up against my ass. I cringe as I hate this feeling of being cornered.

  He must be able to sense my panic, as something in his cocky demeanor shifts. He turns his head and blindly passes me the towel over the top of the shower without a word.

  Staring at his strong fingers clasped around the towel’s edge, I randomly wonder what they would feel like, touching my very bare skin.

  However, shaking those irrational, and not to mention inappropriate thoughts from my mind, I shut off the water and snatch the towel from his outstretched hand.

  Drying myself off at superman speed, I wrap the towel around my vulnerability because I suddenly feel really, really naked around him.

  “And by the way, there’s nothing wrong with the shower door,” I say, attempting to sound nonchalant while tucking the towel under my arms, ensuring all parts are covered before I exit.

  When I’m satisfied I’m not about to flash Mr. Emerald Eyes, I push on the shower door, which sticks. I push a little harder with one hand, as the other holds up my towel, but it still won’t budge. Frustrated that the door has decided to malfunction and make a liar out of me, I push on it with all my force, and it falls open.

  And of course I fall with it.

  Mr. Emerald Eyes has his back turned, but he obviously hears the commotion because he quickly spins to stop me from face planting.

  I trip into his arms, and he ends up catching me, awkwardly. And when I say awkward, I mean hide my face in shame awkward.

  Thankfully, my towel has somehow remained closed, but it has slipped, showing off the top of my breasts. Mercifully, no nipple has been exposed, but still, one wrong move and it’ll be a whole different story.

  To make matters worse, I’m mere inches away from a pair of lips, which look way too inviting when a set of perfect white teeth begin tugging on a lip ring.

  My eyes snap to his, and I see them not so subtly looking at my chest.

  I clear my throat.

  “My eyes are up here,” I say, rolling them.

  But he doesn’t meet them and continues his obvious appraisal of my upper torso.

  “I know where your eyes are,” he replies, and then meets them with a playful glimmer in his.

  My skin instantly tingles at his forwardness. But I need to snap the fuck out of this, because this isn’t me. I don’t ogle guys, and I most certainly don’t end up in the arms of one, all damsel in distress-like.

  I wiggle out of his hold, and he complies by dropping his arms, but holds his hands out to the side, just in case I’m going to fall again.

  Slapping his hands away, I take a step away from him, and I can’t believe when his full lips turn up into an amused smile. He’s actually finding this funny.

  “I don’t need you saving me,” I retort childishly, clutching my towel.

  “Oh, I beg to differ.” He chuckles that annoying laugh.

  “It was the shower door,” I say with sarcasm.

  “Yup, I know. That’s what I said,” he replies, rubbing his chin, attempting to hide his smile.

  I suddenly have the urge to right hook his self-righteous face, but refrain—only just.

  “Well, knock yourself out,” I reply, sweeping my hand toward the shower door.

  Attempting to make a quick exit, he thankfully shuffles out of my way, but I still have to touch him to get past, because he’s so freaking huge and taking up the whole doorway.

  “No, that would be you.” He smirks and I notice a silver flash inside of his mouth.

  Tongue ring?

  “Whatever,” I toss over my shoulder as I shove past him, running into the safety of my bedroom.

  “I’m Quinn, by the way,” I hear him mutter behind me.

  But I am rifling through my backpack, pulling out mismatched clothes, not caring what I grab, as I need to get away from the boy that makes me feel… something.

  Chapter 7

  Working Class Girl

  Than
kfully, Quinn is gone by the time I get back to my room. I’m still feeling a little unsettled by our strange encounter, but I’m finding my reaction to him even more puzzling.

  I’ve never had a boyfriend, as I never had the time for trivial drama that came with relationships. Therefore, I just didn’t date. It seemed way too much trouble, and I had enough trouble in my life, without adding anymore.

  So, the answer to your question is, yes, I’m a virgin. Lame, but true. Again, I reinforce the whole, ‘too busy being a drug peddler to worry about boys and sex.’ After the shit I saw, it was hard to get in the mood and have sex with a random stranger I had no emotional ties with. I would much rather work off my energy kicking the shit out of a boxing bag, or even better, sleep—something I never got enough of.

  All thoughts of Quinn aside, I slip under the scratchy covers of my double bed and drift into a deep sleep, and for once, I don’t dream.

  ***

  There aren’t many rooms to clean today, and I finish my shift early. I decide to hang out with Grandpa until I’m due at the diner, because quite frankly, I enjoy his company.

  Strolling into the office, I see him up on a stepladder, wobbly, trying to change a light bulb.

  “Hank, get down!” I screech, running around the counter and standing near the ladder, looking up at him.

  “Hey, Paige,” he says, looking down at me with a big smile on his crinkly face.

  Looking up at him, my eyes scolding, I say, “Get down from there! You’re going to fall.”

  Hank waves me off, and in turn, wobbles slightly.

  “Oh my God, down!” I command, and pull on his belt loop to coax him to come down.

  “I won’t be a minute. This damn light keeps flickering and Quinn isn’t in today, so I’ll do it myself.”

  That has my interest spiking.

  “Quinn?” I ask, attempting to appear nonchalant.

  Hank nods, and wobbles again.

  Thankfully, he listens to me, and begins descending the ladder slowly. As his two feet touch the floor, I exhale a breath I was unaware I was holding.