Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 2 -Callie

"Heads up, Sharon is on the warpath. Husband got caught cheating again."

         "Seriously? Can't she just divorce the pig and stop taking it out on us?" I groan into my mug of mediocre break room coffee. I have no clue where they get this tar, but it does the job at making me functional. It's made just this side of drinkable by way too much powdered creamer and imitation sugar. The branch manager was too cheap to splurge on actual Splenda. I'm pretty sure he keeps the good stuff hidden in his office.

         "Who knows. Must have an impossible prenup. Just warning you, she's been ranting about little brown headed demons all morning. I'm just glad it wasn't another blonde. That week almost had me quit. I mean who even uses the word trollop anymore? Good luck Callie," she adds with a shrug and smile that's closer to a wince.

         "Thanks for the heads up," I wave Nicole away absently. Just what I need. It isn't bad enough that I'm stuck with this day shift instead of cuddled up in my bed. I mean I do owe Alissa since she covered for me, but try telling my body that. It's going to be one of those days, I can just tell.

         Downing my coffee in one last bitter gulp, I attempt to straighten out the outdated navy blazer and skirt of my uniform. At least they've relaxed the dress code enough that I can wear flats instead of the ridiculous kitten heels we used to wear when I started . The blisters alone had me begging for someone to rob the place so I had an excuse to take them off.

         The wrinkles are minimal so it'll have to do. My crooked name tag is fastenedin place over my heart with my full name, just another bit of passive aggressionfrom the world's best boss. If Sharon's pissed, she'll notice but there isn't much I can do about it now. This morning was a rush and my best meant I only had time to make sure my hair wasn't my usual day off messy bun. It's a slicked back pony, not much better, but I don't think I look homely, as Sharon has often remarked. I make my way out to my window, ready to start counting my till when the devil herself starts breathing heavily behind me, the overpowering scent of White Diamonds announcing her arrival well before her grating voice.

         "You could at least pretend to put a modicum of effort into your appearance Miss Danvers. This is a professional environment. At least make use of an iron before coming to work, perhaps a quick swipe of lipstick," she sneers through her overly painted face.

         With the way her face is done up, it's hard to tell if it's supposed to be a bank or a brothel. Perhaps that's what Sharon needs. It could only improve her mood. God only knows it could improve mine.

         Nicole eyes me from her till and gives a smile that looks more like a grimace of support. "Sorry," she mouths.

         "I'll try to make more of an effort in the future Sharon." The words sound hollow, even to me. With no one around my service voice is fairly absent. All that's left is me.

         "See to it that you do," she huffs as she walks over to her next victim.

         I take a deep inhale, repeating my mantra to myself. I need this job. I need this job more than I need to tell Sharon off. I need this job more than I need to tell her that her husband is an out of shape prick, way too many years removed from his glory days and none of the women she works with want the creep. He smells like he bathes in cologne rather than soap and water. Lastly, I think of Rachel. I need this job most of all for her, although she would certainly tell me off if she heard me think that way.

         All right, serious moment over. Just have to get through this day, stop by the store for groceries, check in with Rachel, and attempt to get some sleep. Totally doable.

         Thankfully Wednesdays are relatively slow. Resisting the urge to text Mya and see how Rachel is doing is hard, but I manage. Yesterday wasn't a good day for her even though she tried to hide it. 

         "I'm making a lunch run to the deli. Any requests?" Nicole asks.

         "Turkey swiss, mayo and mustard please."

         "You are the only person I know who like mayo and mustard. Can't you just pick one? Sure, anyone else?"

         A few other girls call out their order, Blake our favorite security guy even comes out of his office to request a roast beef sandwich. With my order the same as always, I cash app her my total since I know it by heart. She never takes it because her parents have more money than sense, but I never want her to think I take her for granted.

         "Thanks Nicole. I'll get next run."

         "Don't worry about it. This is my escape from the she-devil. You can't take it from me," she laughs as she walks out the door.

         Blake manages to catch my attention before heading back into his office with an enthusiastic wave and blinding white smile. He reminds of an excited golden retriever, probably with a stupidly cute name like Buddy or Scout. He looks like a Buddy. All he's missing is a tail.

         "Callie." Blake is a total sweetheart. Only a few years older than me, he's cute. Clean cut blonde hair that he tends to run his fingers through when he's nervous which he seems to be almost every time I see him and bright blue eyes give him that boy next door look. I hate when he looks at me like that. Not only is it a terrible idea to date someone I work with; I honestly don't have the time. My free time is spent with Rachel or attempting to find some other job that will work with my hours here to give me the money I need to give her the care she deserves.

         "Hey Blake," I smile.

         Blake starts to run his fingers through his hair in that awkward adorable way and I cringe inside. I don't want to hurt his feelings, but it's inevitable. Is there ever a nice way to let someone down? Yeah, I didn't think so either.

         "So I know you usually work Saturdays but I was thinking, maybe after we could meet up for drinks. Riprock's around nine sound good?"

         My eyes look everywhere but his face as I try to come up with an excuse. My eyes drift upwards as if the answers lie there. Ceiling tiles. Has anyone ever looked up at them? The white paint is fading in spots and could probably do with a touchup, probably a dusting as well. How would they get up there to dust anyway? Seems a bit tedious to constantly have to move a ladder around. Stilts would work but does anyone outside of a circus really use stilts anyway? Already I can hear Rachel in my head telling me that a truth that brings tears is better than a lie served with a smile. "Blake, you know I don't date coworkers."

         "This doesn't have to be a date. Think of it as just two friends hanging out."

         "I can't. I'm sorry." My stomach twists and my cheeks tighten up in what I hope is a smile, but I can feel it, too many teeth to be right. I need Nicole to come back with our food, anything to get me out of this conversation. It's not likely though a girl can hope.

         With Blake distracted with his lunch order and date attempt, it's clear he forgot to lock the door for lunch. His mistake gives me the perfect out as I make my way over to let the customers on their way in know we're closed.

         "Hey guys, I'm sorry but we're closed for lunch. We'll be back open at two," I start off but my words trail away as I find myself looking into the eyes of God; God according to the title written on his forehead of his porcelain looking mask. The rest of his face is hidden behind a mask straight out of the Purge, no discernible features to be seen. Clad in camo cargo pants and a long-sleeved black shirt and matching black beanie, he looks like every man in town during hunting season which we are deep in the midst off, down to the Barrett Rec 7 slung around his chest.

         "Callie, I wasn't done with you," Blake attempts, but he must've just noticed that these are not your average customers as God brought friends.