Pieces of Summer

“I don’t get it. This is huge for me, and you act like you don’t want to know anything about it. You haven’t even asked who my boss is or what she’s like. You haven’t asked about what my responsibilities will be or… Well, anything. You don’t even listen when I try to tell you about it.”

Whit’s not usually so dramatic, hence the reason I’ve been with her for five months instead of one.

“Last I checked, you don’t exactly know anything about my business, Whit. I don’t give a fuck about the bowling alley. Sorry. It’s a stupid waste of time. That place is a money pit and will fold after the summer. Just watch and see. Someone is committing business suicide.”

When I turn around, she’s glaring at me like she’s wishing she had the power to incinerate things on command. I don’t need this shit right now. Just knowing someone bought that place has been pissing me off. Knowing someone is probably fucking up the plan I once had is… Fuck it. I’m not going to think about this high school pipe dream bullshit.

“Finally,” I growl, seeing my belt peeking out from under the recliner.

Just as I grab it, Whit snatches it out of my hand, forcing me to groan in frustration.

“I’m late, Whit.”

“You’re having beers with Blake. It’s not like you’re on your way to a job—like me.”

“What do you want to discuss?” I ask, exasperated. “What’s the wonderful world of working in a bowling alley like?”

I finally feel like an ass when tears well up in her eyes.

“You know what, screw you,” she mumbles, tossing my belt at me.

Running a hand through my hair, I follow her into the bedroom.

“Sorry. Okay? Just… You know summer makes me cranky. This isn’t news.”

She cuts her eyes toward me. “So I’m supposed to grit and bear it for three months because you hate tourist season. Which by the way, tourist season brings everyone a lot of business. A lot of people need that money to last them until the next summer.”

Pointing at my chest, I narrow my eyes. “I don’t. I specifically set up a business where I didn’t have to rely on tourists. Not my fault that others didn’t do the same.”

“Good for you,” she says bitterly, jerking her shirt over her head to pull on another one.

“Damn it, Whit. I’m sorry. Okay? I just… Fuck it. Sorry.”

Telling her I don’t want to hear about the bowling alley will just make her confused, which will lead to questions I won’t answer, and more fighting I’d like to avoid.

“Will you now ask me about what I’m so excited about?” she asks me, putting on a white, button-down shirt.

“The fact you won’t smell like fryer grease?” I ask jokingly, hoping to defuse her bad mood and also sideline the bowling alley speak.

Lanes to Strike? The fuck kind of stupid name is that?

Endless Summer… That was supposed to be the cheeseball name I concocted once upon a time when I was a pussy-whipped, dumbass teenager in love with a girl I never should have had.

“No,” Whit says, smiling. Right. We’re talking. “My favorite part is that I had a conversation with my new boss lady. That’s right. Boss lady. I called her about some of the rules I was going over, and we drifted into a discussion about some of the drinkers eventually grabbing my ass or coming on too strong. You know Emit won’t kick them out at the diner, but I was telling her about some of my concerns since there won’t be just beer at the bowling alley; there’ll also be liquor. Which means more grabby hands.”

“If you need me to handle something, call me,” I say with a shrug.

When her eyes narrow on me, I realize that I apparently interrupted before she was finished.

“Way to sound completely indifferent, jackass. Would it kill you to get pissed about guys wanting what’s supposed to be yours? Or maybe feel an ounce of jealousy?”

There’s a trick question in there. I feel it.

“I’m not a caveman, Whit. Jealousy is a stupid waste of energy. Either you’re going to be faithful or you’re not. Simple as that. As far as guys grabbing at you, you’ve always handled yourself just fine. It’d be a bit dickheaded of me to step in and belittle you by handling it without letting you stand up for yourself. But if any guy ever crosses a line and you can’t handle it, I’ll gladly take care of it and you know it.”

Why am I still getting glared at? I think that was a well-executed speech.

“Anyway, that’s not even what I was trying to get at. I spoke to her about it, and she said if any guy so much as breathes on me disrespectfully, to kick their asses out. Security will back me. It’s… I feel like I’m finally being taken seriously, Chase. It’s a huge deal to me.”