Off Sides (Off 1)

CHAPTER 2

Danny

I step out of my shower, shivering uncontrollably. It's the second day in a row our hot water heater has been broken and I'm getting ready to go off on the super's ass. If my roommate, Paula, and I weren't so damn poor, we'd move to a better apartment. But as it is, both of us are living hand to mouth and we just can't afford more than this squalid dump.

"Was there any hot water, Danny?"

I open the door to the bathroom and I can hear Paula in the kitchen banging pots around. I think she's making us some Ramen noodles for dinner.

"Nope. Still cold as ice," I answer her.

"Fuck. That no good fucker. Fuck."

"Language! My ears are bleeding from your potty mouth. And you owe me three cigarettes."

I hear Paula stomp down the hallway. She sticks her head in the door and hands me the cigarettes, shooting me a nasty glare. I promptly flush them down the toilet.

"You're such a bitch, Danny."

Blowing her a kiss, I reply, "I love you, too."

And I do love Paula. She is like my best friend and mother all rolled into one. We have been living together for almost two years and she's fifteen years older than me. We met working together at Sally's but she's since moved on to better things...working in a vintage record store.

Paula is a pro at cussing. I have been trying unsuccessfully since I first met her to get her to tone it down. It's not that I don't cuss, it's just that Paula does nothing but spout filthy words. So I made a bet with her that she couldn't stop using the "F" word to which she promptly sneered at me and said, "Easy Peasy". We agreed then that if she says the "F" word, she has to forfeit one of her precious cigarettes...which I happily destroy right in front of her. I figure I'll have her nicotine free before too long.

Walking out of the bathroom, she follows me into my bedroom. I drop my towel to the floor and start getting dressed.

"So, you got the late shift at Sally's?" she asks.

"Yup. I get off at 7:00 a.m."

I start getting dressed while she leans against my door jamb. "Girl, you got some crazy ass hours. Why don't you quit that fu--."

One of my eyebrows raises high to her, daring her to continuing on.

"--I mean that freakin' job?"

"Good girl," I commend her. "And get a job where? I'm a twenty-one year old junior in college with no work experience except for Sally's. Besides...the tips are pretty decent."

I thought back to the gorgeous guy who left me a fifty dollar tip a few nights ago. He was clearly a college student-- probably at Northeastern--same as me. And he clearly had money if he was throwing around fifty dollar tips. I giggled thinking about that group. I knew the minute that snotty looking brunette cast her eyes on me that she was going to try her best humiliation tactics. Luckily, she picked a subject she clearly knew nothing about and which I had done pretty well in.

Best of all was when I walked away, and the stud playing Angry Birds called my name. As I turned to look back at him, I almost flinched at the way he was looking at me. It was carnal...like he wanted to devour me. Just thinking about it made me blush. I glanced at him a few times while they ate, and he seemed to always be watching me. I thought about flirting a little but really, what was the use. It would never be anything more than flirting because we are from opposite sides of the track. I had tried dating someone once who was straight out of the pages of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous and that was a disaster. Besides, I don't have the time or the energy to mess with boys at this point in my life. But maybe one day.

After the rowdy group had left, I walked over and started busing off the table. I noticed they didn't leave a tip, which was usually typical with drunk students. I suppose the only reward I would have from this table was the satisfaction of making that uppity co-ed eat her condescending words to me. I snicker again just thinking about it.

When I had picked up the last dish and started back to the kitchen, the door opened and the hotty walked back in. I watched as he walked up to me and we just stared at each other.

Slipping his hand into the pocket of my apron, he said, "Here's your tip. I forgot to leave it." The move was calculated to impede on my personal space and was incredible sexy at the same time.

"Thanks," I said softly.

He looked at me for a few seconds, then said, "Well, thanks for being a good sport tonight. You sure managed to put Angeline in her place and I'm sorry for what she said."

I cocked my head at him. "Why are you sorry? You shouldn't have to apologize for her."

He gave me a wisp of a smile and replied, "No, I guess I don't."

A few seconds passed as we just held each others eyes and I thought he might say something else. But then he just turned around to leave, calling over his shoulder, "Have a good night."

He was already out the door when I said, "You too."

It wasn't until my shift ended and I was counting my tips that I realized he left me fifty bucks. That could buy a whole lot of Ramen noodles for me and Paula.

"I'm sure I could get you on at the record store."

Huh? My attention is brought back to Paula and away from hot men who leave me large tips. Looking at her, I smile.

"Not if I had to dress like that," I quip.

Paula is in the beginning of her mid-life crises. Her pitch black hair is now dyed with red streaks running through it. She cut her bangs short and severely across her forehead. The Goth look is her clothing of choice tonight and she is rockin' a short, plaid skirt in dark red and black, with a sexy off the shoulder, black top. Skull and cross-bone tights and combat boots complete her look.

"Puh-leeze, girlfriend. You are rockin' your own brand of weird with your hair and face metal. Pot...meet kettle."

I laugh as I put on my earrings and shake my head. I motion toward my face and then flip my lavender locks back. "Uh-uh. My look is pure art." Looking her up and down with my best attempt at distaste, I smirk. "You, however, are a fashion disaster."

"Bitch."

"Tramp."

"Floozy."

"Martyr."

"Strawberry Shortcake."

We both burst out into a fit of laughter. We always try to one up the other when name calling and see who can make the other laugh first. This one is a tie.

Sitting down on the edge of my bed, I put on my sneakers.

Paula walks over and sits next to me. "So, what do you have going on tomorrow?"

An inadvertent sigh escapes my lips. "Tomorrow's kind of hectic. I've got two classes in the morning and then a tutoring session at lunch. Then I promised Ann I'd fill in for her a few hours at the diner while she goes to a school meeting for her kid. And finally, I'll put in a couple of hours at the shelter."

God, my life is crazy.

Paula stands up and puts her hands on her hips. She's just looking at me, not saying a word.

"What's that look for?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, no you don't. Don't go all mommy on me."

"Well, come on, Danny. You're running yourself into the ground. I'm worried about you."

I stand from the bed and wrap my arms around Paula. "I know you're worried about me but I can take care of myself."

She squeezes me hard in return. "I know you can, honey. Doesn't stop me from worrying about you though."

I squeeze her back and then step away from her before I start blubbering like an idiot. Paula is the only one in the world I have that cares about me. Well, besides Sarge, but I just don't get to see him that often.

"I'm fine," I assure her. "Besides, this is just short term, right?"

"Sure, kiddo. Short term." She says the right words but by her tone I can see she thinks I'm in perpetual servitude.

***

It's 3:00 p.m. and my ass is dragging. After getting off work at 7:00 a.m., I had just enough time to get a quick shower and head to my morning classes. After a torturous hour of tutoring a soccer player in Western Civ--who was more interested in trying to cop a f

eel than studying--I'm now at Sally's to work part of Ann's shift. Two cups of coffee and I'm feeling marginally better. Lucky for me, it's pretty dead right now.

Bending over the Classified Ads at the counter, I'm browsing for some weekend work. If I can get a few houses to clean on the weekends, that would go a long way toward helping to pay my debts.

The jingle of bells indicates a new customer has arrived. I look up, folding the paper in half and then stop. It's Mr. Fifty Dollar Tipper. And I realize I had not built him up in my mind. He is still as hot as I remembered. He's wearing a gray t-shirt that's soaked in sweat and a navy pair of running shorts. He appears to be slightly out of breath so I'm assuming he has just finished a run.

"Sit anywhere you'd like," I tell him.

He walks up to the counter, holding my gaze. There is no doubt in my mind that he has stopped in here to see me. I can tell because there is purpose and intent in those whiskey colored eyes of his.

I watch mesmerized as he runs a hand through his damp hair to push it off his forehead. It's dark brown and wavy, and bordering on just a tad too long for a mother's taste. For me, it's perfect. Too bad I don't have the time or desire to act upon it.