Deeper. Megan Hart

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       Then

      Sugarland wasn’t the worst place Bess had ever worked. That honor would’ve gone without a second thought to the summer camp counselor position she’d held between her sophomore and junior years of high school. The trauma of that experience had been so severe she was still convinced she’d never have kids.

      Waiting on tourists wasn’t as difficult as keeping twenty third-graders interested in weaving lanyards, even when the tourists got pissy about waiting for their food. Bess reminded herself over and over that not everyone in the world had been raised by apes. It just seemed like it.

      “Where’s my damned waffle cone?” The red-faced man pounded the counter hard enough to make the napkin holder jump.

      He hardly needed any sort of cone, much less a waffle one, but Bess pasted on a bright smile for him, anyway. “Just another three minutes, sir. The machine broke down and we weren’t able to prebake the cones. But yours will be fresh.”

      The woman with him, who’d already been handed her cone, but hadn’t offered to share, stopped in midlick. “You mean, mine ain’t fresh?”

      Bess bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, but by that time it was too late. The woman wanted her money back on a cone she’d already eaten most of, and her husband was pounding the counter and demanding two new cones. It was quickly heading into chaos, and Bess’s co-worker, Eddie, wasn’t much help. Only a senior in high school, he suffered from a god-awful case of acne that made him so self-conscious he never looked anyone in the eye. Plus he harbored a not-so-secret crush on Bess that rendered him nearly helpless in her presence.

      Brian had called in sick, and the other counter girl, Tammy, was even worse than Eddie. She couldn’t make change without a calculator, and wore her Sugarland T-shirts cut off so they’d show her tanned and taut tummy. She spent more time filing her nails and flirting with the lifeguards than anything else. If Tammy hadn’t been screwing the boss’s son, Ronnie, Bess would’ve fired her.

      “Are you listening to me?” the red-faced tourist-troll hollered, while slamming a meaty fist onto the countertop.

      Maybe being a camp counselor hadn’t been so bad, after all.

      So caught up in squaring away the greedy husband-and-wife team, who were finally mollified with two new, “fresh” waffle cones and a tub of caramel corn on the house, Bess didn’t notice who else had come into the shop. Missy wasn’t one to be ignored for long. She sidled up to the counter and flipped Bess a five, then pointed at the slushy machine.

      She wasn’t alone.

      Nick Hamilton was with her. Tonight instead of a ball cap he wore a red bandanna with tattered edges folded over his sleek dark hair and tied in the back. Among the cloying sweet odors of caramel and fudge, he smelled like fresh air and sunshine and sunscreen. His skin glistened with it, and his cheeks and the bridge of his nose bore a faint pinkish stripe. Proof of his day in the sun.

      “Blue,” said Missy. “Nicky, you want any?”

      He shook his head and smiled at Bess. “Hey.”

      “Hey.” She nodded, her gaze going back and forth before focusing on Missy. “What’re you up to?”

      Missy shrugged as she lolled against the counter. Her sly glance over her shoulder at Nick told Bess more than she wanted to know. “You know. Little of this, little of that.”

      A whole lot of that, was more like it. Bess forced away a frown but couldn’t stop herself from looking at Nick again. Missy was eyeing him like he was a big old bowl of ice cream and she wasn’t even going to wait for a spoon to eat him with. Jealousy, stupid and formless, stabbed into Bess’s stomach and tightened her throat. Nick wasn’t hers. From what Missy said, he wasn’t going to be hers, either. Unless, of course, Missy had lied. It all made sense. It wouldn’t be the first time Missy’d told Bess a story to get something she wanted, and Bess couldn’t believe she’d fallen for it.

      She grabbed up Missy’s money from the counter and filled a slushy cup three-quarters full before shoving it across the counter. She made change and slapped that down, too. Rage stiffened her fingers and hooked them into clumsy claws. The coins scattered on the counter before some clinked to the floor.

      “Hey!” Missy protested, bending to pick up her fallen dimes. “What’s up your ass?”

      Bess glanced around the small shop, but no other customers had come in. Tammy cracked her gum and looked away when Bess glared at her, and Eddie had already disappeared into the back room. Bess folded her arms across her chest.

      “Sorry.”

      Missy looked up as she shoved her money into the pocket of her tiny jean shorts. “Yeah, well, not all of us can just go throwing our money all over the place, rich girl.”

      The way she said it was more insulting than being called bitch, but Bess did her best not to react. “I said I was sorry.”

      Missy appeared soothed, or more likely couldn’t be bothered to care. She sucked suggestively on her straw, hollowing her cheeks and sliding her mouth up and down the plastic tube. “Mmmm. Nick, sure you don’t want any?”

      Nick hadn’t been watching her display. He’d been watching Bess. “No, thanks. Can I get a soft pretzel with extra salt, though?”

      He dug in his pocket while Bess reached into the hot case for an extra salty pretzel. She handed it to him wrapped in the tissue paper she’d used to grab it, took his money and made change. Sucking on her slushy, Missy watched the transaction closely. Her gaze weighed on Bess’s shoulders and they hunched until Bess forced herself to stand up straight and stare her sometime friend in the face.

      Missy smirked. Bess’s answering smile seemed to surprise her. Bess turned to Nick. “So, Nick. I heard the Pink Porpoise is closing.”

      The Porpoise was the most popular local gay bar. Bess had been to it once or twice because it was one of the few bars that let underage kids in to dance. It wasn’t the sort of place most straight guys went by themselves, even when they got a good band to play.

      “Yeah?” He tore off a bite of mustard-smeared pretzel with sharp, white teeth.

      “You didn’t hear that?” Bess wiped at the counter, forcing Missy to move. “I’d have thought you would have.”

      Missy tugged on his sleeve. “C’mon, Nick. Let’s get out of here.”

      Bess looked up. Nick’s brow had furrowed, but he was stepping backward as Missy pulled him. Missy waved her slushy toward Bess.

      “See you later!”

      Nick raised the hand clutching the pretzel and followed her out of the shop. The bell jangled as the door closed. Bess slapped the counter with the damp cloth she’d been using to wipe it, and muttered a curse.

      “Did you just say…pissflaps?” Tammy cracked her gum and leaned on the counter next to Bess.

      “Yes, I did.”

      “Gross!” She made a face and angled her head to follow Bess’s gaze out the door. “He’s cute.”

      “Apparently, СКАЧАТЬ