Chapter 4
He was right there, I could feel him behind me, waiting in line for fried chicken of all things.
His breath tickled the hair on my neck, slightly sweaty from the stifling air on the too-crowded bus.
His feet shuffled behind me and I thought I'd die thinking about those ratty sneakers he probably had on.
His favorites. The ones he wore onstage.
The ones I dreamed about him kicking off as he undid his belt, looming over me, shirtless.
I stepped forward in the line, paper in hand. I could turn around, check his order with him. That would be a good excuse to acknowledge him.
But why had he come in? Maybe his order wasn't on the paper. Or maybe he thought I couldn't handle the task. Lord knows the only time I'd interacted with him these last two weeks I'd made a fool of myself in front of everyone.
In front of that blonde. The one with her pointy, trashy nails and obvious roots. She'd had her arm around him. Right across where I knew from years of gazing at his picture and seeing him perform, held the tattoo of a fire-breathing dragon.
He was the dragon, though, wasn't he? I'd seen him demanding things from others, witnessed him losing his temper when his whiskey wasn't on the table or his glass had a straw in it. Or when his preferred picks weren't handy. Tell a girl to move along once he'd tired of her sitting on his lap. Maybe he wanted me to fuck up. Wanted it so he could finally berate me for that one, small fumble with the water. As minor as it was.
But I couldn't - no, wouldn't - let that happen again. Wouldn't give him a reason to be the dragon. My parents were just waiting to tell me 'I told you so' and send me off to the college holding a place for me.
And I couldn't bear to disappoint Uncle Carlisle.
He'd been so generous, giving me this chance. Just a stupid high school graduate that couldn't imagine life in a library writing papers. He knew what my dad was like, he'd grown up with him. He'd left Charlie to the 'reliable' nine to five while he dreamt bigger. Dreamt of a life without a suit and tie while my dad frowned and watched him go.
Carlisle would be responsible for me, Dad had said after he finally agreed, so I would make sure to be the best assistant Carlisle ever had so he didn't have to regret giving me this chance and let Dad think he'd failed because I had failed.
I had about ten seconds to decide my course of action. Turn around and confirm the order, possibly looking like an idiot that couldn't handle a simple job, or be confident I'd gotten it right and avoid contact with him, something that maybe I wasn't allowed to do anyway.
I chose confidence and avoidance.
The guy ahead of me grabbed his paper sack and turned to go, so I stepped up and rested my hand holding the order on the counter.
Just as I heard 'Welcome to Popeyes.' and was about to answer, I felt it.
Something touched my neck. Warm and unexpected. Barely a whisper of a solitary finger.
His finger.