Playing with Fire

“Tongs can be deadly, too.”

I opened the truck window with a smile, determined to push last night away from my mind.

“Good mornin’ and welcome to That Taco Truck! How may I hel—”

The last word clogged up in my throat when I saw his face. A line of people trailed behind him.

West St. Claire.

My smile dissolved.

Why was he back?

“Is this about the tip Tess left yesterday? Because you can have it. Maybe buy some manners.” My gut clenched, my mouth faster than my brain.

Why did I insist on getting socially murdered? Was I subconsciously suicidal? Either way, I didn’t regret what I’d said. I doubted West wanted tacos or a civilized conversation. I knew going toe-to-toe with a guy like him was a bad idea, but he’d been cold and mean yesterday, and I couldn’t help but call him out on that.

West looked like he hadn’t slept all night. He was still wearing the same jeans and faded shirt combo, his steadfast, bored gaze making me feel like dirt. His eyes were bloodshot.

Wordlessly, West handed me a ball of paper. I immediately recognized it. My face clouded as I unfolded it. It was the ad he’d ripped from the truck yesterday.

“Already made a new one,” I clipped, dunking the paper into the trashcan under my feet. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Get the manager,” he clipped.

It took me by surprise. First of all that he spoke at all. I’d never heard him talk before. His voice matched his looks. Low, smoky, and depraved. Second, it shocked me that he spoke to me. But most of all, I was surprised he had the audacity to boss me around.

“I beg your pardon?” I lifted an eyebrow. My good, right eyebrow. The left one didn’t exist anymore. I penciled it in, though, and since I always wore my gray ball cap, people could hardly tell. The customers behind him lost their patience, shaking their heads, bouncing on their feet. Of course, no one actually said anything to West St. Claire. God forbid someone called him out on his BS.

“Manager. Also known as the person in charge of this truck. You slow?”

“No, I’m disgusted.”

“Well, hurry up and get me off your hands, then. Call your supervisor.”

His eyes were dead on mine. Up close, they weren’t exactly green. They were a wild mixture of sage and blue, rimmed by dark jade.

He and his friends had had fun guessing what happened to my face last night. West had examined me like I was a circus freak. I’d felt like a caged three-headed animal. Desperate to bend the bars, pounce forth, and rip them to shreds with my pointy claws.

Back in reality, I smoothed the clinging nylon wrap sealing the guac in the toppings bar.

“Excuse me for being blunt, but the chances of you wantin’ to work in this food truck are akin to the chances of my joinin’ the Bolshoi. Now get on with your order or move along. I have customers waitin’.”

“Manager. Now,” he repeated, ignoring my words. I felt my nostrils flaring with frustration. I’d heard he was intense, but experiencing it firsthand made me feel like someone had put my heart in a blender and forced me to watch it minced into a puree.

Karlie’s face popped from behind me. She yelped in surprise when she saw him. “Oh my God. I mean, hi. West, right?”

Smooth. She would recognize him in Sheridan University’s crab mascot costume.

He eyed her, not bothering to confirm his identity. Karlie stuck her hand out through the window. He pretended not to notice.

She drew it back to her side, snickering.

“I’m Karlie. We go to Sher U together. I’m the manager here. Well, her daughter anyway. How can I help?”

“I’m here for the job.”

“Serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

And just as deadly. Turn him away, Karl.

“Fantastic. You’re hired,” she chirped, not missing one single heartbeat.

A hysterical, high-pitched laugh involuntarily burst out of me. Karlie and West turned to me like I was crazy. Wait … they were serious? I looked between them, a chill rolling through my spine. An elderly woman behind West cleared her throat, waving at me as if I was the person responsible for the delay.

“You’re joking, right?” I turned to Karlie.

She winced.

“I mean, we do need another employee …”

West jerked his chin behind my back, focusing on my best friend now. “Let’s take this somewhere private.”

“Hop on in through the door.”

For the next few minutes, time moved sideways. Karlie and West scurried to the back of the truck while I stayed at the window, serving customers. Ten minutes later, Karlie came out of the truck, peeled off the want ad, and slipped back in.

“Congratulations! You have a new coworker,” she sing-songed, shuffling back to the grill, flipping a piece of fish that was ten minutes past charred.

I ignored her, preparing tacos as fast as I could and internally convincing myself my life was not over and West St. Claire wasn’t going to kill me as some part of an elaborate bet.