No one knows that I'm homeless.
Thank God for my 1994 Honda. I sleep in it every night.
It's okay. It could be worse. Some people don't even have that.
Anything is better than living with my dysfunctional mom and her abusive boyfriend.
They drink too much. They argue. They use me for my money, when I can barely afford books for college or clothes for work...
No one knows. Not even my best friend. If she offered me to stay at her place, I'd feel like a burden.
Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I have a problem with asking for help.
Right now, I'm at a cafe with great WiFi, sipping on cold brew like a lazy sloth, hoping the waitress won't kick me out. It's a chill place to do homework and charge my electronics.
Suddenly the doors open, and through the June sunlight and the noise of the air-conditioner, a man strides in.
God damn.
No, listen. I'm picky, okay? Extremely picky.
But this stranger is a ten out of ten.
First of all, he's tall. Short kings deserve love too, but they don't tickle my pickle the same way.
He's just my type. Dark features. Masculine. Like a Greek sculpture who can lift me like I weigh nothing, but also won't say no to a donut. He can easily make me hold onto the headboard for my dear life, then cuddle after for the best nap.
Interesting outfit, though. Charcoal, high-performance pants with a thousand pockets and a black polo. An earpiece and an Apple Watch.
His boots are covered in dirt. Maybe he works outdoors. Definitely not an office worker.
I watch him place an order, then mosey over to a cork board and pin a piece of paper in the corner.
"Would you like something to eat?" A cheerful waitress pops beside me and I flinch.
"Maybe later?" When I'm super rich.
"No problem, babe. Let me know if you need anything, okay?" She's actually so sweet.
"What's that cork board over there?"
"Oh, that's just for job posts and news. Nothing special."
I catch a glimpse of the man disappear with his coffee and a paper bag of food.
"Huh. I was wondering what that guy-"
"Hayden?" She groans like he's cake and she's on a strict sugar-free diet. "Ughhh my God. How hot is he? Am I right or am I fucking right?"
I can't help but laugh. She's so open. It puts me at ease. "Dude. My jaw fell when he walked in."
"He's a regular. Always orders the same thing. Always tips well. Always polite."
"That's a rare combination."
"Tell me about it. But he's closed off. I've thrown sooo many hints before. Nothing-"
A customer from a nearby table calls for her and she scrambles over to help. I approach the cork board and check out what he put up there.
A Housekeeper Wanted.
Housekeeper? Ooh La La. Like a topless maid?
Calm down.
He's looking for a housekeeper for his two bedroom house, in a neighborhood that's only thirty minutes away from my college.
YOU ARE READING
Attitude Adjustment
RomanceSecretly living in her car, Hazel lies to get a job as a housekeeper for a brooding, sexually intense man who seems to hate everyone, including her.
