by Annie Kelly
“Absolutely,” I finally answer, forcing a bright smile. Before I make a bigger fool of myself, I turn and unlock my car. Once I’m in the driver’s seat, I realize I haven’t taken a breath in a good thirty seconds. I exhale hard, and then inhale deeply through my nose.
Owen honks and waves as he pulls out of the parking lot, and I give a halfhearted honk back. But, for a long moment, I don’t start the car. I just sit there, thinking. Thinking about how I would have wanted that interaction to go in my perfect world.
In my perfect world, Owen would have backed me up until my ass hit my car door. He’d have leaned in, hovering his mouth just above mine to allow me the option to resist, to say no. But I know I wouldn’t. I know I’d have pushed up on my toes and pressed my mouth against his. I’d sweep my tongue out along the seam of his lips, hoping he’d open his mouth and devour me the way I wanted him to. I would have felt his erection—gloriously hard and above average—pressing against my deeply throbbing core.
And I would have tried to drag him into the backseat of my car like a horny sixteen-year-old boy.
So, maybe I should be grateful that we both held back. Or maybe I’m wrong. Despite what Owen said earlier about me inciting wet dreams, I have a feeling that I’m not inciting any of his.
And I should be happy about that . . . right?
***
Trivia Night wrapped up hours ago, but there are a ton of people still hanging around Dino’s for an average Wednesday night. When I pull into the parking lot, I see Smith’s discreet squad car. Ever since he started dating Cyn, he’s been doing a variety of undercover jobs, including the one he was on when they met for the first time. Just recently, though, he was promoted to detective, which took him off the street beat and back in the office—something Cyn loves and Smith has mixed feelings about. Smith Asher is the only police officer I know, save his older brother, Eric, and they’re both really good guys.
Which reminds me of Charlie and her stepdad.
Shit, I wonder if Smith actually knows him. He’s a county cop—Delauter is his last name, Charlie told us earlier—so their paths may not have crossed much, if at all. But it wouldn’t hurt to ask. To at least get some insight.
As I enter through the side door and come around the back end of the bar, I see a sight that I both love and loathe. I just can’t help it. Seeing both of my best friends, Cyn and Carson, with their boyfriends, Smith and Wyatt, shouldn’t be upsetting. I should be a bigger person than that. I should be able to just accept they’re moving forward with their lives. I should not believe that it’s a reflection of me and my life and my choices.
I should do and feel all of these things. But sometimes, I just feel jealous. And bitter.
Carson’s sitting on Wyatt’s lap. He’s been out of his wheelchair now for about six months, and, while he still needs a cane now and then, his recovery is going really well. He suffered from a traumatic brain injury after a really terrible car accident that killed a close friend. He’s also a phenomenal drummer. And, you know, super-hot.
Carson is one of those girls who could pretty much rock any look she tried, and right now she looks slamming—tight jeans, a leather biker vest, and an AC/DC T-shirt. She gives a little shriek as she hops up to hug me.
“You did come out! Yay! Cyn told me you said something about meeting up, so we stuck around. I’m so glad we didn’t miss you.”
I smile as I hug her back, exhaling as I do. Tonight, being around friends should be a good distraction. Something I could really use right now as I grapple with my emotions for Charlie’s situation—and grapple with my desire for my boss.
“It’s been a long day. I grabbed some dinner with my coworkers.”
Cyn raises a brow as she comes to kiss my cheek.
“Anything you want to talk about?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m okay.”
She smiles, and then looks back over at Smith. Her dark curls are a complete contrast to his much lighter, shortly shorn haircut—not to mention her fair complexion clashes with his bronzed one. But the two of them make an incredibly cute couple, and the way he looks at her? It’s like there’s no one else on earth.
I order a draft beer, then another for good measure, finishing the first one in record time. Wyatt raises a brow at me as I plunk my empty glass on the table.
“Thirsty?”
I smirk. “Something like that.”
The five of us manage to find a free table in the fairly packed bar, and I sip my second draft beer while I listen to Cyn tell a funny story about one of her students. She’s been at the Franklin School, an alternative high school, for over a year now. It’s challenging and sometimes frustrating, but she loves it.
“How about you, Rainey? Did things settle down after the shake-up with management?”
Everyone looks at me. I open my mouth, then close it.
What am I supposed to say? That I’m dealing with disgruntled employees on the regular? That I’ve got a transgender teen who needs guidance and I’m pretty sure I’m totally ill-equipped to handle the situation? Oh, and I want to fuck my boss.
“Actually,” I finally say, looking from Cyn to Smith, “I was hoping I could ask Smith a question. Um, privately. It has to do with a kid I’m working with.”
Cyn glances over at Smith, then back at me. “Sure, Rain—no worries.”
She hops up, then tugs Carson’s hand. “Come on—your man is going to buy us a few drinks.”
Wyatt chuckles and Carson rolls her eyes.
“Whatever happened to straight-edge Cyn?” she asks, clucking in mock disapproval. Cyn shrugs.
“She got a life.”
I watch my friends go, with Wyatt in tow, then turn back to Smith. He’s leaning forward, his hands clasped in front of him like he already knows that whatever I have to say is serious business.
“Hit me.”
I bark a mirthless laugh at his unintentional pun.
“Do you happen to know a cop named Delauter? He’s county, not city.”
Smith frowns, considering the question. “What’s his first name?”
“James. I think he might go by Jimmy.”
He looks up at the ceiling like he’s trying to picture a face he’s never actually seen.
“I don’t think I do,” he finally says slowly, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t get to know him, if needed.”
I smile at his turn of phrase, then press my fingertips to my temples.
“I have this girl—she’s transgender, but was assigned as male at birth. She lives as a female and her stepdad—this Jimmy Delauter—has been saying some really awful shit to her.”
Smith nods, watching me closely. One thing I’ve always liked about him is that he doesn’t jump to respond to something with an initial reaction. He thinks about what he wants to say.
“Words aren’t exactly a crime, Rainey,” he finally says, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, if he’s a total dick, that sucks, but it’s pretty hard to prosecute.”
I shake my head. “In this case, it’s leading to some self-harm behaviors. She got her ass kicked by some kids at school and this Jimmy prick essentially told her she deserved it.”
“What a dick,” Smith mutters. I inhale deeply, then nod.
“Pretty much.”
“Look, I can see what I can sniff out about him, okay?” Smith stretches his arms up over his head, then drops them to his sides. “If I hear anything you can use or that you should know, I’ll tell you. But, look, I gotta be honest—a lot of parents have trouble with their kids. This Jimmy guy might be a total asshole, but he also might just be a disliked stepparent.”
I nod, although I don’t technically believe what he’s saying. I know that Charlie is dealing with someone who hates her as a her and probably didn’t like her as a him all that much, either.
“Thank you.” I
smile. “I really do appreciate it.”
“Anytime.”
But Smith isn’t looking at me anymore. A glance over my shoulder reveals who he’s staring at with that goofy expression of awe all over his face. Cyn is standing at the bar with Carson and Wyatt. She’s laughing and, when she looks over at us, shoots a wink in our direction.
My friends. My best friends. They’re so damn happy that I’d probably hate them if I didn’t love them so much.
I just want to feel that same level of happiness. I just want to find someone who will watch me across the room and see me as the most beautiful, most sexy, most gorgeous woman alive.
And if that’s too much to ask, maybe I can just score someone who considers me “every college freshman’s wet dream.”
Might be a little less poetic, but it sure as fuck doesn’t make it any less hot.
Part Two
Chapter Seven
The first few weeks of Charlie’s internship are the best and worst thing to happen to my super-crazy boss crush.
It’s the best because Charlie keeps me occupied. She’s adorable and a hard worker. She loves the preschoolers and will volunteer to do anything with them. And they, in turn, love her back so freely, so openly, that it’s a joy to watch.
But it’s the worst thing because it keeps Owen and me apart. For the rest of his first week, he’s mostly out of the building anyway. He has a handful of budget meetings and annual staffing reviews, not to mention the trainings that Remy had already scheduled ahead of time. Multiply that with my new assistant being around constantly and it’s given us just about zero time to talk.
“I want to buy boots,” Charlie says. She’s had her face buried in her phone all afternoon, and, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t convince her to do locker room duty without throwing some cash in her direction. I can’t really blame her. The locker rooms are perpetually gross.
“What kind of boots?” I ask. I’m admittedly distracted. Charlie sighs.
“Uggs, I think. There are these kinds you can design yourself. I think they’re totally adorable.”
“That’s a good idea,” I say, but I’m only half paying attention. I’m shuffling through a stack of grant applications with deadlines due within the month. There haven’t been a lot of budget meetings lately, but today Owen went to the first one in at least six months. Last time Remy attended, he said there was huge talk about closing a few of the less-money-friendly centers. Some of the more suburban centers bring in a lot more money than we do. Their preschools and organized programing are huge factors. We just keep applying for grants and hoping we stay afloat.
“I wish I had a place I could keep all my stuff,” Charlie says quietly. She scrolls along her screen. “If I actually managed to afford these Uggs, my stepdad would totally set them on fire. Or give them to his daughter.”
I look up then, blinking at my new intern.
“Things aren’t any better? At home,?”
She shrugs. “I mean, they aren’t horrible or anything. I’m mostly ignored. But Jimmy—he always talks about me to my mom and uses guy pronouns all the time. ‘Charlie is such a problem. HE needs to grow up. HE needs to get a job. HE needs to move out.’”
I frown.
“You’re fifteen. Where are you supposed to be moving to?”
She shrugs again. “Dunno.”
A succinct, but effective, response. I purse my lips and look back down at the papers in front of me.
Twenty-five-thousand-dollar grants available to nonprofit organizations for after-school or out-of-school youth programing, primarily youth-centered programs which facilitate safe environments for at-risk populations.
Which gives me a very half-baked, but very persistent idea.
“Hey, Charlie?” I ask, the words slow and methodical.
“Yeah?”
“What if you were able to keep your stuff here?”
She looks up, her blue eyes wide—probably looking a little wider with the cobalt liner carefully drawn around them.
“You mean, like, have a room?”
I grin. “Probably not. But what if there were a safe space for you to lock up belongings that matter to you? Is that something you’d take advantage of?”
“Um, yeah!” Charlie says, nodding enthusiastically. “I tried that with my locker at school but it was busted and my lock didn’t work. If I could keep stuff here, I would totally do that.”
I narrow my eyes and look up at the ceiling. Grant money isn’t going to come to me for one kid I’m managing to help. Grant money is only coming to me if I can help a significant portion of people.
“Do you have friends at school that are like you?” I ask Charlie, looking back at her. She chews on her thumbnail as she considers my question.
“I mean . . . like, they’re like me how?”
I stand up and walk over to the front of my desk, leaning back against it.
“Like you in the sense that they don’t have a safe space to call their own—at school or at home.”
Charlie snorts. Literally.
“Uh, yeah, you could say that.”
I raise a brow.
“Meaning?”
She spins around on her rolling chair.
“Meaning that there have to be at least—God, I don’t know—fifty people who hate life as much as I usually do. I mean, they might not be transitioning, but they sure as shit hate who they are now.”
“Language, Charlie,” I admonish, but it’s a halfhearted version of scolding. I’ve already moved on in my mind to logistics. Where could I create a safe space for teens? What would I call it? How would we publicize it?
“Rainey?”
“Hmm?” I’m staring off into space, but I refocus on Charlie. She’s got her face tilted up and a small smile plays at her lips.
“If this were a safe place—for lots of people, not just me . . . they’d come here. Like, my friends and classmates and stuff? They’d come here every day.”
That’s enough incentive for me.
***
“So, let me make sure I’m following.”
Owen leans back in the plastic chair in the preschool classroom, which makes him look like a giant. It would be hilarious if I weren’t singularly focused on his reaction to my proposal.
“You want to apply for a grant that will allow us to open a what now?”
“A Safe Space,” I supply. “I mean, we don’t have to call it that, but that is what I was brainstorming. It would be a spot especially for older, high-school-age students. They would each be provided with a locker or some kind of locked space where they can keep things that are valuable and meaningful to them. They’d have a contract they sign—like a rental agreement or something.”
“And why would we do that?” Owen asks, eyebrows raised.
I sit on the windowsill and glance out over my shoulder at a group of boys playing street ball on our not-so-regulation basketball courts. The weather has been so warm lately that the kids have been spending more and more time outside instead of in. I watch them for a long moment—the pure joy on their faces, the perspiration on their brows. I like to think they’re more alive and happy when they’re here. I want to give them a reason to stay.
So, that’s what I say to Owen.
“I want to give them a reason to come here every day. We have snacks, we have a pool, we have basketball courts. After that, what do we have? Seriously? What can we offer them?”
Owen shrugs.
“I like snacks.”
I give him a look and he holds up both hands.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I was kidding. No, I think it’s a good idea. There is absolutely no money for this long term. We’d definitely need the grant. But if you can keep costs down, I think you could go ahead and start working on a basic proposal. Maybe start pitching it to the kids and see how th
ey react.”
“Seriously?” I ask, eyes wide. He tilts his head to one side.
“Did you really think I’d say no? It’s a good idea and it’s good for the population.”
I nod slowly. “No, I know . . . I guess I figured your budget meetings would have us cutting corners all over the damn place.”
“Oh,” Owen says. He stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Well, Remy gave you budget guidance in the past, right? Just be careful about expenses.”
“Can I use the county card?”
Owen blinks.
“You have a county card?”
I nod. “Remy had one made for me since I did most of the purchasing . . . Is that not okay?”
Owen shrugs. “I don’t know, honestly. I’ve got a budget meeting this week. I’ll find out for sure. But as long as you don’t spend more than you usually do for programs, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
I’m so incredibly thrilled, but I don’t say anything to Charlie for fear that things won’t work out. In fact, I force myself not to even do online research until she’s left for the afternoon with promises to be back here right after school tomorrow. Once she’s left for the day, I feel like my work can actually begin.
It’s dark when I finally manage to look up from my work and take stock of my surroundings.
“Shit—what time is it?” I say aloud to no one. The rest of the staff is long gone, and I stretch my arms over my head before glancing at the wall clock. Almost seven. Jesus. Since when do I stick around work this long?
There was a time when I’d go out with the girls on a Thursday night—a time when I’d be the first one at the bar at happy hour and the last person to leave, and rarely leave alone. Now, honestly, I’m not even sure I like going to the bar anymore. Most of the time, it comes in second to binge-watching Orange Is the New Black and eating cereal right out of the box.
