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The squeak stops. “Wow, a whole minute. Poor Thea probably didn’t even get off.” I continue to scroll and finally click on his name. I’m surprised his page isn’t private. This guy is giving me full access to his life, and he doesn’t even care. I don’t even know why I hate him. Oh, yes, I do. He’s fucking rich. Driving around in daddy’s Maserati. I didn’t even look to see what kind of car he rolled up here in. I’m sure it’s a BMW or some shit like that. Something I can’t afford, at least at the moment.
He's touching Thea right now, moving between her legs, kissing her in places my mind has wandered. I hate it. I hate every single second of what’s going on upstairs. I want a night with her, where nothing in our lives will affect what we do. She doesn’t know me. I don’t know her. And then, nothing more. I won’t need anything from her again.
“You’re lying to yourself,” I say to my empty room. “And you’re talking to yourself.”
I need to get some sleep, but I’m on the cusp of a deep dive on this jackass’s page. There are pictures of him with other girls and when I look at who liked the photo, Thea’s name doesn’t show up. Interesting.
Almost every photo has comments on it and the same one appears over and over, “Where’s Austin?” Who the hell is Austin? I click a few more profiles trying to figure out who this mystery guy is, but nothing comes up. After a few more scrolls, I give up and put my phone back on its charger. I’m about to close my eyes when I hear movement upstairs. So help me, if they start going at it again, I’m going to pound on the ceiling.
Except I would never. The last thing I want to do is embarrass Thea. Banging on the ceiling or saying something will without a doubt mortify her. The floor creaks and there’s some muffled voices, and then a door closes. I roll onto my side, taking my pillow with me. Tomorrow, I’m going to borrow Devon’s noise canceling headphones. I need some sleep.
* * *
A loud thud startles me awake and Jude yells, “Dev, Nole, Ky! Street hockey in ten!”
Fuck. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. A ceiling I now hate. I know way too much about what goes on in the room above me and I’d love to find a way to erase my knowledge. I dress in the first thing I can find off the floor—a pair of gray sweatpants and a dark blue T-shirt. I’ll opt for no shirt once we start playing since we’ll end up splitting teams and one side has to be fully clothed.
My footsteps are heavy. I hope whoever is on my team is ready to carry us because I’m not sure I can get out of my own way right now. I need sleep, but I also don’t want to pass up an opportunity to chill with my friends.
What a pleasant surprise it is when I get downstairs, I find the rich boy gone. In fact, I’m sure I smile at the fact. That is until I see Thea eyeing me. I pretend I don’t see her and go right to the closet to grab my gear and some hockey sticks. I didn’t greet any of my other roommates. Why should she be special?
We get everything set up and teams picked, and half of us take our shirts off. Of course, Jude is on my team, which means it’s my job to score and his job to block this damn yellow ball from crossing the imaginary line. I look behind me and nod toward my goalie, and then face Mike. We tap our sticks three times to start the game. Mike is too slow, and I’ve sent the ball sailing toward Saul, who handles the ball until Mikko frees himself. Saul passes and Mikko sends the ball through the goal. The game goes back and forth, until Jude yells for a break. These guys are overexerting themselves just for bragging rights. I’m content to hang back and let them do all the work.
Thea and Millie are handing out glasses of lemonade. I need to put a wall up between us and decide to stay on the other side of the street. My shoulders are tight and need to be stretched. I put my stick behind my head and hang my wrists over the edge and bend back slightly, to the left, and then to the right. Millie isn’t shy about staring. I know exactly when she says something to Thea about me because her head pops up and she tries to act like she’s not mesmerized by me. It’s comical, honestly. She’s trying to not gawk and keeps looking away. As soon as she does, I dodge behind a car and wait for a second. Through the window of the car, I watch her frantically look for me. With her distracted, I make my way back to the yard and sneak up behind her.
“That for me?” I point to the last glass of lemonade on her tray.
“Sure.” She hands me the glass. I bring it to my lips and drink, never taking my eyes off her. This is probably the best damn glass of lemonade I’ve ever had, and I’m sure it’s because she made it. I really need to put some distance between us because my mind is out of control if I’m judging a fruit drink.
Nope, I’m judging her. Or at least I’m trying not to but each time I glance over, Thea is staring at me. Honestly, I like it. She makes me feel desirable in a way that’s different than when I’m being hit on. Those women are after one thing, which is what I want from Thea and will never have.
Play starts again and after a while the other team scores and I go get the ball from Jude. “I gotta go, man.”
“All right. I’ll call game.”
I walk back to the center and get ready to set the ball down when Jude yells, “Game.” He jumps up and down. We taunt the other guys and give everyone high fives. Devon yells that the house is having a barbeque and I’m instantly pissed. I haven’t seen the douchebag all day, which leads me to believe he’s gone, and while I’d really enjoy the torture of being near Thea, I have to work. I took last night off, and the missing tips will cost me. I head over to where I left my shirt and grab it along with my wallet and keys off the ground.
My car is an older Camry. There isn’t anything fancy about it except the power windows and locks. If I want to listen to music, I have to use an aux cable and if I lock the doors, I have to use a key. No fob for me. I suppose Thea is used to the finer things in life if she’s dating the rich boy. I unlock and open the door, toss my wallet and shirt onto the passenger-side seat.
“Please don’t tell me this means you’re skipping out on mealtime again?”
I glance over the roof and find Thea standing there. I fully expect her to have her hands on her hips in a scolding manner. Even though she looks relaxed, there’s a tightness in her eyes giving me the impression she’s a bit peeved. “I have someplace to be,” I tell her as I slide behind the driver’s seat. “Save me a plate?” I don’t even know why I asked her because I have a feeling she’ll do it regardless, even when I’m being a colossal jerk to her. Everything would be easier if she wrote me off, then I wouldn’t have to try to push her away or keep this concrete wall up between us. Honestly, it’s just for the best.
When I arrive at The Crease, the bar I work at, the parking lot is empty. I’m pulling a double today since I needed last night off. That’s the rule around here. If you want a night off, trade with someone. If you call out sick, you’re fired. Gino, the owner, doesn’t mess around. Jobs on the Boardwalk are hard to come by, especially in the summer. I’m thankful Gino gave me an opportunity when I got out of the junior hockey league even though I had zero experience. He’s a former player and has a soft spot for guys like me.
Inside, the sun shines through the large window which faces the Boardwalk. There’s a view of the beach and the two tables sitting in front of the window are our most sought-after tables in the place. Can’t say I blame them. The view is amazing, especially at night when everything is lit up. We have two televisions. A massive screen in the back is currently showing the second round of a golf tournament, and there is one at the bar for the old timers who still come in to watch Monday Night Football which is currently airing the twenty-four-hour-news channel. While The Crease is trying to be hip, it has a long way to go. Gino refuses to outfit his place with more TVs. He doesn’t want to be a sports bar, but a destination place for locals and tourists to hang out.
As soon as I turn the open sign on, people start to come in. The tourist population is dwindling down now it’s September, but there are still a few stragglers. Most of the locals know me by name and come to the games to cheer on Northport. More and more people come in, and finally, an hour after opening, the early evening waitress starts her shift, which allows me to stay behind the bar.
I’m not your typical bartender. I don’t spend hours chatting with the customers. I don’t hand out sage advice, and I definitely don’t sit and listen to anyone’s sob stories. We all have them and I’ve heard them all before. Nothing bothers me more than when someone starts drinking and then spills every secret they have. Northport is a small town and I know far more than I should about its residents.
All day and into the night, there’s a steady flow of customers. Each time I take a couple bucks off the table or process a credit card with a tip, my mood becomes a bit brighter because the cash in my pocket is putting food in my niece’s mouth, clothes on her back, and it’s keeping the lights on for my mom. Someday, I won’t have to worry about a paycheck or some generous person handing me an extra five bucks because they liked how I made their Long Island Iced Teas. When I’m in the NHL, I’m buying my mom a house. Whatever I can afford, to get her out of the mobile home park and into something that’s hers. If I continue to play the way I did last year, by the end of this season I should be a high draft prospect. There isn’t a doubt in my mind I’ll leave college and play professionally. I can always finish my degree online or something.
Once the sky turns dark, the crazies come out. The party goers. The drunk-ass guys who buy rounds for the entire bar not realizing how much it’ll cost them. My favorite is when some posh kid comes to the bar and says he wants to open a tab and I ask for his credit card. They look surprised at my request for them to hand over their precious. I’m not sure what they expect when they make a request, but their expressions are always comical. While the current pretty boy digs through his thousand-dollar wallet looking for mommy or daddy’s black Amex card, I help other customers. Cash customers are my favorite.
“Hey man, what can I get you?” This dude looks like he’s been through the wringer. A black eye, his nose might be broken, and he has a fat lip.
“Bud Light.”
