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“So what are you doing working in a bar?” he asked, mimicking my tone from when I’d asked him the same question only a few weeks ago.
“It’s temporary.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“Besides, my training comes in handy now and again when people you know keep taking hits to the face.”
“Faces were made to break,” he muttered.
“In a way. Doesn’t mean you should make it a weekly goal.” I rounded the counter and stepped closer to him, holding my hands out, palms up, waiting for his permission.
Rolling his eyes, he swiveled on the stool and tilted his head back so I could see his face better. At least he wasn’t being stubborn about it this time.
I grabbed a napkin from the counter and dabbed at the blood that had moistened again from the peas. Once that was out of the way, I felt along his cheekbone carefully, happy to see it wasn’t broken. It was still going to hurt like hell, though.
“Let me get you something for the swelling,” I said, retreating to grab him some water and a bottle of pills.
“It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”
By the time I turned back around, he was holding his head with his eyes squeezed shut. Not the look of someone tired, I decided, but someone who was in pain.
“You probably have a concussion.” I set the glass and little white bottle in front of him.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Then you know the protocol is rest.”
“Protocol?” He opened his eyes and blinked, like it was a foreign word.
“Yes, protocol. Which means you’re not working tomorrow night.”
“Don’t know if you know this or not, but Sergei doesn’t offer sick time. If I don’t work, I don’t get paid. So yeah, Iamworking tomorrow night.” He slid off the stool and trudged toward the bedroom.
“I’ll make sure you’re paid,” I said, following him with the pills and the glass.
“So Hayden can jump my shit again? No thank you.”
“Is he causing problems for you?” If my blood pressure got any higher, I was going to have a stroke, I swear to God. This wasexactlywhy I told Hayden to leave Marek alone. I knew how petty he could be. It was one of the thousand reasons I was relieved I’d finally called off our arrangement.
Marek didn’t answer. He was too busy falling face-first onto the bed, clothes and all, scrunching a pillow into the perfect position.
“If he is a problem,” I continued, “the new general manager will have to sort it out.”
“Good luck tothatidiot.”
“You’re that idiot.”
He cracked an eye and looked up at me. “What?”
“If you want the general manager job, it’s yours.”
“Yeah, ok. Sure.” He closed his eye again and nestled into the pillow. “Anyone ever tell you your sense of humor blows?”
I sighed. It was a terrible time to tell him, I admit, but I couldn’t believe he thought it was all a joke. “Marek?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for taking care of Sveta.”
