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9
Randi
I wish Sam didn’t need to leave in the middle of the night, but I understood. He had to be up and ready for work very early. So did I. But here I was, still in bed and not feeling guilty about it at all.
Was it my imagination or was that annoying sound my doorbell? I rolled over and looked at the clock. It was almost seven in the morning. Who would come by to visit at this time?
A flood of excitement rushed through me as I hoped it was Sam. Throwing the blankets off me, I got up, put on my robe, and went to answer the door. When I opened it I found I was right, and wrong.
“Hi Sam, what brings you here so early?” I asked my sister.
“You. How come you didn’t text me when you got home? I even called you and you didn’t answer. You had me scared half to death,” she said, coming in holding a coffee.
So scared that you stopped for breakfast first?
“Since when do I need to check in with you when I get home?” I asked.
“Since I want to hear all the juicy details,” she replied and plopped on the couch. “There better be some since I came all the way over here.”
“You live only a couple of blocks away.”
“Distance doesn’t matter. Why you didn’t answer my text does. I take it you were…too busy to answer it?”
“Or sleeping,” I said, avoiding answering.
“That’s a possibility, but for someone who went to bed early, you look like you haven’t gotten much sleep. Maybe you were in bed doing something else?” she questioned.
“I am not in the mood for your games this morning. I have a lot of work to do. I picked up a client last night and it’s a big job,” I stated.
“Yet here you look like I just dragged you out of bed. Hmm. This all adds up to one thing. You had sex last night. And I don’t mean all by yourself either,” she smirked. “So, tell me. How was it?”
Fucking amazing.
“I’m not going to discuss my personal life with you.”
“Why not? I tell you everything,” she said.
Whether I want to hear it or not.
“I’m serious Samantha. I have too much work to do to sit here debating this with you. Don’t you have a job to go to as well?” I reminded her.
“Well, there’s a problem,” she sighed.
“And what is that?” I asked.
“I got fired last night,” she stated. “And before you go yelling at me, it wasn’t my fault. The guy was being a total ass and I threw a drink in his face. The owner fired me on the spot.”
As he should.
“Samantha, how many times have I told you that you need to walk away from people who are pushing your buttons? This is the third job you’ve lost because you can’t control yourself,” I reminded her.
“The other two were different situations. I’m telling you, this guy was a creep. He kept hitting on me and wouldn’t take no for an answer,” she said.
“Did you go and tell the owner?” She shook her head. “And that’s why you’re fired. I know you think handling it yourself is showing your independence, but with that comes a price. This time it was your job. Now what are you going to do for employment?” I asked.
She smiled. “I’m glad you asked that. Since your business is growing so quickly, I thought I could work for you.”
“For me? I’ve seen your painting skills. All you’re good at is spilling the paint. And the last picture you hung on your own wall fell, because you don’t know how to look for a stud.”
