Too Far Gone (Urban)

03| Making Frienemies

"Thought you said you quit," Argo, manager of Freckle Bitches, said as he cleaned his glasses, looking up at Pierce with humor in his eyes. "Let me guess, rap career didn't 'take off' like you said, eh?" Argo smirked at this. He knew the answer. He just wanted Pierce to admit it. Pierce scratched his head, averting his gaze to the mob of football players that came through the door.

     "Nah," Pierce lied, "It's not that. I just—really need the money right now."

Argo leaned back against the wall, same fixed smirk on his face. "What do you need the money for then?"

     Pierce looked at him thin-lipped. "For bills..." He replied, his tone getting darker. Argo was one of those people who will push your buttons until you're about to snap. Today, he supposed Argo didn't have it in him to willingly get his face caved in for saying the wrong thing.

     "Well—lucky for you—nobody took your place in the kitchen. Get cooking," Argo demanded, slapping an apron onto him. Pierce started to head towards the kitchen, but Argo put his hand out to stop him. Pierce glanced down at the man's hand before bringing his eyes to his face, Pierce's void of emotion. "Welcome back," Argo grinned.

     Pierce wasn't too happy to be working at Freckle Bitches again, but at least it brought some cash into the house. He oftentimes wished he had a car, but in times like this, he was glad he didn't. He didn't even have much food in the fridge, so a car was the last thing on his mind. Besides, it wasn't a very long shift for him. He was going to be working from two in the afternoon to eight at night, a total six hours.

     The day seemed to pass him by as it was beginning to roll into evening. Freckle Bitches wasn't as full as it was earlier; the place was dead. Because of this, he was working register now.

     Pierce didn't too much favor being placed on register for the rest of the evening. He either had rude customers, obnoxiously flirty ones, super quiet or unnecessarily loud ones, or ones who simply couldn't make up their got damn mind. He was glad when it was finally time to clock out.

     Trinity, his girlfriend of six months, had called not too long ago telling him to be ready to leave. She had called even earlier than that complaining about some chop shop or whatever, but he was too busy to talk about it.

     "Pierce!" Trinity said in a harsh whisper as she stepped through the doors of Freckle Bitches. She looked as clean as she always did, hair neatly up in a high bun on top of her head. She was a bit taller than the average girl and very slim as well, but being slim didn't take away the hourglass-shaped curves she was blessed with. He had himself a trophy girl, the type of girl rappers swooned about being with in songs, though, she was a modest version of those women; a true lady.

     "Hey, shawty," he greeted as she stomped over, "How was—"

     "Somebody stole my car and I want you to get it back," she demanded. Pierce rolled his eyes. Of course, the first thing she talked about would be about her car, he thought.

     "My day at work was good by the way," he said, ignoring her request for just a moment.

     "I'm serious!" She growled, her small hands clenched into fists. Pierce just sighed whilst taking off his apron, placing it on its respectful hook. He heard the bell indicating another customer has entered as he pulled his work shirt off.

      His breath was withheld when he locked eyes with a beautiful young woman. Her mesmerizing hazel eyes sparkled at him at the realization of his presence. She was a luscious little thing, her soft-looking honey blonde curls resting tiredly on her shoulders. In those short seconds, he felt guilty for being attracted to somebody so, well, attractive.