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“Uh, yeah, hi. I have a rat in my apartment and need an exterminator.”
“How do you know it’s a rat? Not a mouse or insects?”
“I saw it sitting on my counter. In the kitchen.”
“Oh. Okay, then. You think you only have one rat? Usually where there’s one, there are many.”
Another terrifying thought.
“Pretty sure it’s just one. Long story.”
“Well, that’s an easy job then. We could make it out to you by Friday.”
“Friday! That’s three whole days from now!” I shriek, every muscle in my body trembling.
“Sorry, lady. We’re busy. Termites are swarming, and we’re pretty backed up. Every exterminator in town’s busy. You want to book or not?”
I bite down on my lip, debating. I may be able to find someone else sooner, but right now I have to get to work.
“Sure, I guess.”
“Great. We can do nine a.m. Friday.”
“Um—quick question. How much is this gonna cost?” I’m already hearing cha-ching, cha-ching sounds clanging in my head.
“Two fifty. Since you’re a new customer, we’ll waive the consult fee.”
“Two hundred and fifty dollars?” My voice tips up into hysteria. “For catching one rat?”
“You can try to catch the little bugger on your own, if you’d prefer.”
I shake my head at the phone, even though he can’t see me. “No. No, thanks. Fine, two fifty, Friday, nine a.m. Got it. I’m at the Seaglass Shore apartments, unit 236.”
“Got it. See you then.” He disconnects, and I shove my cell into my bag, the fear turning into hot anger. My stupid brothers are costing me money—and I have no idea where I’m sleeping tonight.
FML.
Defeated, I trudge to my SUV and head to work, uniform in hand. I’ll change in the bathroom at the Tipsy. There’s no way I’m going back inside the rat den.
Needless to say, I’m not in the friendliest of moods. Finding a rat in your apartment and breaking up with your boyfriend in one afternoon will do that to a girl, I suppose.
My shift drags, and the tips are meager, probably due to my less-than-stellar disposition. I alternate between being depressed about King and being furious with Jagger, Cash, and Damon. I’m not sure which feels worse, but by nine p.m. I have a pounding headache and desperately want to go home to my bed. But, of course, I can’t. One, because I still have another hour left in my shift, and two, because I have a fucking rat squatting in my apartment.
“You okay?” Sabby elbows me hard, the margarita on my tray sloshing out onto the paper napkin.
“Yeah. Fine.”
“For someone just back from vacation with her man, you’re in a pretty shitty mood.”
“He’s not my man. We broke up.”
“Already? That’s, like, record pace.” She scrunches up her nose at my news, popping the lid on a beer bottle. “What the hell happened?”
“We had a fight, and I can’t do it anymore, okay?” I snap at her, and she holds one hand up like a shield.
“Whoa—okay. Fine. Doesn’t hurt my feelings any.”
“Sorry. I’m having a bad day is all.”
