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This is going to be my life.
The dinner rush dies down sometime around ten p.m. Right around the time the urge to blow my own brains out to escape this hellscape gets almost overwhelming.
From there on it’s another few hours of occasional customers coming in. A lot of college students enjoying their free weekend, grabbing a bite before heading off to a party. A few people coming off their evening shifts. Random late-night dwellers who only want coffee.
The kitchen finally closes at midnight.
I’m cleaning up the mess on the counters and organizing the leftovers, sweaty, hungry, thirsty, and exhausted to the bone, when Indy peeks her head into the kitchen. “There’s some guy looking for you.”
Looking up feels like a chore. It takes my sluggish brain a while to decipher the message. “Me?”
“Yeah. He’s been waiting for you to finish your shift. Want me to send him to the back?”
I look around blearily. My brain is way too tired for good decisions after the night I’ve had, so I say, “Sure. Whatever,” before it really registers that it’s a stupid idea, and by then it’s too late.
I’m too exhausted to even really be surprised when Ryker walks in.
He looks offensively good in his not-sweaty jeans and not-sweaty T-shirt, an equally offensive air of enjoying his life all around him.
He looks around, brows furrowing. “Is it supposed to be this hot in here?”
“You spend half your life in the rink. I figure everything feels like a sauna to you. But yes. A hundred and twenty degrees is the mild, toasty perfection we strive to achieve,” I say tiredly before I grab a bottle of water and lean my ass against the counter. “The air’s fucked. It’s been fucked for close to a week now. It’ll probably be fucked the next week. And the next. And the—Well, let’s just say I’m not optimistic about the air conditioner’s chances of getting fixed anytime soon and leave it at that.” I send him a contemplative look and take a long drink. “Think I might eventually get used to the temperature? Adapt? That happens, right?”
“I’m a math major, so my knowledge of human biology isn’t as great as yours, but no? I don’t think that’s how it works. Heatstroke sounds more likely. There are people who can fix air conditioners. Seems like a more reasonable solution.”
“Francis is way too cheap to fix anything. The owner,” I add as an explanation.
He looks at me thoughtfully.
“Sounds like a dick. These are not normal conditions. Why do you work here?”
I laugh out loud. “Shits and giggles, mostly. The minimum wage is just an added bonus.”
He drags his thumb along the edge of the stainless-steel counter.
“I’m sure you could find something better.”
“Are you offering?”
There’s a faint smile on his lips as he quirks his brow in challenge.
“Because you’d work for me?”
“Never say never. You probably need a—” I pause to think. “—a caddie?”
“That’s golf.”
I widen my eyes at him. “Isn’t that what you do?”
“Funny,” he says.
“I do try. So what brings you by this lovely evening?
“I wanted to talk to you about school.”
“What about it?” I roll my eyes. “Are you concussed? We already had that conversation.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Are you going to drop out?”
