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Score one for Ethan.
And not a damn thing for me.
I glance around to make sure no one’s looking over my shoulder because God knows there is not a bit of privacy in the bull pen, and shoot Ethan an IM.
I’m out.
He looks up from his computer, through his fancy office’s glass walls, and sends a discreet nod my way.
This is our routine, at least it has been for the past few months I’ve been working atSports Inc.I throw my crossbody bag across my chest, and when I round the corner, reaching the last cluster of cubicles before my escape, I rap my knuckles on the desk of the third in our regular poker game, Leo Wemberly,Sports Inc. photographer and all-round workaholic.
Leo has a fucking awesome job too, attending endless sporting events and working with all the stringers—temps—photographing the events he and his team can’t get to themselves.
Go Leo.
I breathe deeply when I hit the street, ironic, given that at least in this part of town, the smell of exhaust and hotdog vendors fills the nostrils with their thick sweetness, leaving no chance to experience what most people would consider ‘fresh air.’ Regardless, I’m loving New York for a shitload of reasons, not least of which is the endless supply of beautiful women. Yeah, it’s expensive as fuck here, which means I have to live with a roommate, but I get by and it beats the pants off the small town I came from. Every damn day I am grateful I left behind the shit that was my upbringing—a drunk father, midnight knocks on the door from the sheriff, and Mom bawling her eyes out.
No thanks. That garbage is quickly becoming nothing more than a bad memory.
My thoughts shift to the evening ahead. On the way home, I detour into the corner bodega, the rusty bells on the door jingling loudly to announce my arrival.
It’s funny, when I first moved here I thought those bells were annoying. Now, I find them comforting and familiar, like when you’re a kid and come home from school to a house smelling of freshly baked goodies.
Not that my childhood was like that. But I know it was for some.
The scents in the bodega, of slightly overripe fruit and dusty cans of soup, are equally comforting. It’s odd, where you find your home.
Behind the counter, Raul chats with a customer who seems unhappy with a mango—or is it a papaya? I can never tell the difference—and his mini-me, the nine-year-old Maria, who twirls a strand of hair around her finger, her eyes fixated on the iPad she has propped up against the counter. I catch her attention when I approach, and her eyes widen in the cutest way possible.
“Hey princess,” I say, ruffling her curls.
“Jasper! You’re messing up my hair,” she squeals, a smile accenting her chubby cheeks.
“Maria, be nice to our customers now,” Raul chides.
Maria rolls her eyes with perfect nine-year-old drama, sighing like my attention is the worst thing she’ll ever experience.
I guess to a nine-year-old, it is.
I open the cooler and grab two six-packs, hesitating before claiming a third.
Purchasing alcohol is something that always gives me pause. I wish I could move beyond it, but certain things stick with you forever.
I grab a third but put it back. If we need more, we can always run out for it.
“Jasper, all that beer will make you fat,” Maria laughs.
I set my purchases on the counter and add a couple bags of chips to the pile. “It’s not all for me, princess. Having the guys over tonight for poker.”
Raul shakes a finger in my face while he rings up my purchase with his other hand. “I played last week and lost all my money. A word to the wise, my friend” he warns.
“I promise not to go broke because if I do, how could I come in here and torment my little friend?” I ask, ruffling her hair one last time.
I hustle home from the bodega in order to get things set up before the guys arrive. I put the beer in the fridge and set up the table for our game. My roommate has promised to be out tonight, so I have the place to myself, at least for a few hours, which does not happen often.
Ava doesn’t have much of a social life, at least not compared to me. Actually, few people do. What can I say? This city has no end of shit to do and hot women to fuck. Tonight is the first night I’ve been home in weeks. Maybe I’ll even get to bed before one a.m. for a change.
That would be something new.
