Page 38 of I Saw You First

Go, Wil!

Courtney ignores this. “And you—you’re such an asshole!” Her face is getting redder. “You only get away with it because of Daddy!”

“That’s uncalled for⁠—”

She cuts him off. “I quit! I hate this job anyway!” She storms up the aisle, pulling her Hometown jersey over her head and throwing it toward the customer service desk, missing by about twenty feet. She barrels through the automated doors in a hot pink tank top.

Aurora tugs me toward the desk. “Christ, Wil, what did you say to her?” she asks. I hang back, slightly embarrassed by Courtney’s allegations.

“Only that we promoted Abbey. I didn’t get a chance to say much else.” He shrugs. He doesn’t look at me, either. “I’m not sorry to see her go. Off the record, of course.”

“Me, neither, but shoot, Wil! Now we’re down two full-timers!” Aurora’s chest heaves. “And it’s already Christmas according to the warehouse! Is my eye twitching? Oh, god, it is. I need a cigarette.”

I look at Wil with wide eyes as she speeds up to the front door. “Is she going to be all right?”

He holds my gaze for one, two, three beats, and I feel that damn swizzle throughout my body. He’s not even touching me. We haven’t talked much since the Ruh-Roh show a few nights ago. Even though I would never, ever do something inappropriate at work—like tackle him in the media warehouse for a hot make-out session—I don’t one-hundred percent trust myself around him. I find ways to keep busy and give him a wide berth—not avoid him, exactly, but close. I spend extra time with fans, and I’ve dusted the tops of the CD gondolas at least three times in the last week. I know now how he responds in a crisis, and let me tell you, those strong arms and whispered I’ve got you... I’m always here… have infiltrated my dreams.

I let out a huge sigh.

“She’ll be fine after another cigarette.” He looks away and clears his throat. “How do you feel about overtime until we can get the department staffed up again?”

I feel pretty damn good about overtime, considering that I’ve taken a page out of the Reality Bites playbook and I’m buying staples like boxed macaroni and cheese, bananas, and Diet RC Cola (because it’s cheaper than Diet Coke) with my gas station credit card. Every single time I get in the car, my eyes land on the closed ashtray. Life would be a lot easier if I cashed that check, but that’s not going to happen. Give me all the OT.

“Of course. Whatever you need.” I smile. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize my employment. I need this job, this paycheck—as measly as it is—at least until someone reads my resume and gives me a shot or picks up a copy of psycho logic for 50 cents and is blown away by my unparalleled writing talent.

Wil looks down at his clipboard. “Great.”

“Great,” I repeat.

We stand there without speaking, not looking at each other, until Wil says, “I need to terminate Courtney in the system and issue her final paycheck.” He pauses. Then he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear and trails his hand down my cheek. I suck in a breath at the intensity of the swizzle, and then my lungs and other important internal organs completely freeze.

“You’re worth two of her, Rhodes.” He drops his hand and every cell in my body cries out no! And then he’s gone.

Later that night, I log into my AOL account. Holy shit, Hal writes, that article about your near-death experience at Ruh-Roh is hella good. Lead story if you can get a photo from the show. What’s on deck?

I spend the next two hours searching AOL chat rooms for Scooby Snaxxers who might have photos from that night but come up empty. I’ll ask Donnie and Devin if they know anyone tomorrow. I’ve got to get that feature, even if it is only in a 50-cent zine.

I shut down my computer and half-heartedly flip through this week’s employment classifieds. The only job that stands out is a promotions assistant position at a new alternative rock radio station in downtown Minneapolis, down the block from The Golden. A radio station wouldn’t be horrible. My mind whirls with visions of concerts and in-studio musician appearances… maybe even a partnership with Hometown Electronics. Lots of fodder for the zine, too, even if Hal says he doesn’t need more concert reviews. Interviews! I could interview the musicians.

Part of me doesn’t want to leave Hometown, though. Even if—when!—I leave, I’ll still want to hang out with Cesar and Sam and Eric.

And Wil…

Because if we’re not working together…

I bite my lower lip, thinking of his movie star hair, strong jawline, and flashing, icy blue eyes.

Nope. No more. Focus, Abbey.

The idea of leaving my friends at Hometown has me thinking about Tamsa. I haven’t heard from her since right after I left and she invited me to see Dave Matthews Band at Target Center. But I was broke and hadn’t gotten my first Hometown paycheck yet.

I didn’t tell her about the hush money. Because I’m going to tear up that check. As soon as I remember to take it out of the ashtray.

I power up my computer again and send her an email: Hey, what’s new? How’s TC? Any good gossip? Let’s meet for lunch. I’ve got next weekend off if you’re not busy.

I print my resume and update my cover letter for the radio station job. This one’s got to be special. This one’s got to grab their attention and hold on. I find a clip art silhouette of a man with a guitar and drop it as a watermark in the background of the letter. It takes me three tries, but I even print the addresses on the envelope.

This could be the job I’ve been waiting for.