Loving You Differently

Seven

Aria Adkins

I've slowly but surely gotten the hang of things here at Vice. It's been a week and a half since my first shift and it's been exhausting as hell, but worth it. Nights like these are my favorite; bustling and busy, with big tippers.

Vice opens its doors in about twenty minutes, and I'm setting up barstools and wiping down tabletops when my overzealous co-worker Kaia skips towards me and playfully swats my ass with a dish rag.

I turn towards the tall blonde and raise a brow in amusement, "What's up?"

"Somebody impressed the boss," she teases.

Confused, I brush a few loose strands of hair from my face and turn towards her, "What do you mean?"

Now she's the one who looks confused. "Did you not see it?"

"Kaia," I huff impatiently, "Obviously not. What am I missing here?"

"The schedule on the bulletin board. You've got like, twice as many shifts as everyone else. I mean not that I'm jealous or anything, because God this job is demanding, and-"

I'm frozen as I tune out the rest of Kaia's frazzled ranting. Twice as many shifts as everyone else? What the fuck?

For a minute, I'm confused as to why Austin would do something like that. He knows that I'm still working at RJ's as well, and it's already tough juggling two shifts in one day. Not to mention that I've only been here for a week.

And then it hits me.

He knows I need the money.

I'm torn between embarrassment and gratitude. I'm not totally opposed to more shifts. Kaia's right—this job is demanding. Vice is always flooded with customers, meaning lots and lots of drink orders, but I do need the money. No matter how hectic working two jobs can be, the paychecks are consistent and secure.

But I think I'm embarrassed because he knows I need the money. I don't know why, but his opinion of me matters.

And I fucking hate it.

I've never let someone get under my skin. Never thought twice about just owning who I am, and if someone didn't like that, then fuck 'em. But he's different.

I push the feeling of embarrassment away, and allow anger to take over. Anger is something I'm good at, used to. It's easier to be angry.

"This schedule," I blurt out, "where is it?"

Kaia blinks in confusion. "Uh, it's posted on the bulletin board down the hall from Austin's office, but-"

I walk away before Kaia can finish speaking, partially aware of how rude I'm being, but determined to see this schedule for myself and get some answers.

I march up the winding staircase, turn a sharp corner, and stop abruptly in front of the large bulletin board at the end of the dimly lit hall.

Amidst a random array of reminders, phone numbers, and a calendar, a schedule for September sits proudly in the middle of the board. My index finger skims the list of employees, and I let out a frustrated huff when I finally see for myself that I am indeed on the schedule for every night that Vice is open.