Reckless (35 page)

Spiridon chuckled. “Send her my way first,” he grinned. “I’ll set her straight.”

I gawked at Spiridon. My grandparents never talked like that!

“I’ll bust that Hunter character’s head myself,” Spiridon finished. He leveled a gaze at me. “You tell him Spiridon Manos is still young and spry, and he better not lay a finger on you,” he chuckled.

Christos grinned. “He’s not joking. He can still throw a wicked uppercut. I know from experience.”

“And don’t you forget it,
paidí.
” Spiridon said to Christos shrewdly.

When we finished eating, I cleared the table and did the dishes while Spiridon and Christos chatted and joked with me from the table. I so loved being in their house.

When everything was rinsed and in the dishwasher or put away in the fridge, I leaned against the countertop, watching the two of them.

“So,
Pappoús
, did I tell you that Brandon’s phone is ringing off the hook?” Christos asked. “Seems like everybody wants my paintings after my show.”

“The Charboneaus do good work,” Spiridon said. “I knew choosing them for your first solo show was a wise decision. And that Franco Viviano acted like there was no art market in San Diego.”

Franco was the guy Christos had introduced me to in Los Angeles, the owner of Spada Gallery, which sold Nikolos Manos’ paintings. I felt like I was listening to some private, upper echelon art talk or big back-room deal making bull session.

“Yeah,” Christos continued, “Brandon’s got buyers lining up. He keeps raising the prices every time someone new calls begging for my work.”

“Congratulations, Christos. You’ve worked hard to get this far. You deserve it.”

“I totally forgot!” I blurted. “I need to look for a job!”

Christos and Spiridon turned to face me.

“I’m sorry, I totally interrupted you guys,” I said. All their deal-making money talk reminded me that I wasn’t in nearly such an enviable financial position. It was such a dramatic contrast between Christos’ situation and mine. I had rent to worry about, and groceries, and everything else.

“No worries,” Christos said, slightly confused. “I thought you said you found a job at the museum?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “but it’s only like ten hours a week. I’m still looking for a second job to pay all my bills.”

“Do you want to use the internet here?” Christos suggested. “See what you can find?”

“Uhhh,” the idea of looking for a minimum wage part-time job while surrounded by the Manos Mansion and the Manos family’s love was somehow depressing, like the good vibes were only fleeting for me, and my reality was back in my lonely one-bedroom apartment.

“I’ll grab my laptop and you can work right here on the kitchen table with us,” Christos said.

“Stay,
koritsáki mou
,” Spiridon said warmly.

I wanted to cry again. Compared to the way my parents had thrown me to the wolves, I felt like this was a hero’s homecoming.
 

“I should go home and do it there,” I said, holding back my tears. “I have Sociology and History homework anyway.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Christos asked.

“No, I, I bah-better go,” I hitched, heading out the kitchen and toward the front door, hoping to reach my car before tears fell.

SAMANTHA

I was almost to my VW when Christos ran outside behind me. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Home,” I said, grabbing the door handle of my VW.

“Why don’t you move in with me?”

“What?! I couldn’t do that!” I yanked my car door open, my tears threatening to spill.

“Sure you could.”
 

“No, Christos.” I dropped into the driver’s seat.

He squatted down beside the open door and smiled at me with his comforting blue eyes.

Why was I panicking? The man I was desperately in love with was asking me to live with him. Wasn’t I supposed to be excited and thrilled instead of scared? Maybe if he’d asked five months from now.

“Why not?” he asked, his brows tight.

Despite all the things Christos and I had been through together, it just seemed too soon.
 

To say that my life had become a whirlwind of change, both good and bad, was the understatement of my short life. I don’t think I’d experienced so much dramatic change so quickly ever before.

Why was Christos’ offer making me so nervous?

For one thing, I imagined there’d need to be some kind of Manos family conference where everyone sat around in a meeting hall voting on whether or not the family could withstand the terrible impact of me moving into their house.

At least, that’s what I imagined would happen if I asked
my
parents to let Christos move into
their
house. Not that I’d ever subject Christos to such a horrid punishment.

Maybe the other thing that bothered me was that if I’d ever entertained thoughts about living with Christos, it was picturing him in my little one bedroom apartment. A romantic little place for a romantic little couple making their way in the world together.

But that wasn’t reality.

Reality was the Manos Mansion and Christos’ family having buckets of money to throw around, and they were already pouring some onto my head. Sure, taking a cash bath under a shower of Benjamin Franklins had a certain appeal. But, I don’t know, I somehow felt indebted just thinking about it. And look where that had gotten me with my parents.

They’d hung me out to dry while the family greenbacks evaporated under the heat of their ultimatums. I think my long face betrayed my sadness and sense of parental abandonment to Christos.

“Look, Samantha,” Christos soothed, “my grandfather has plenty of room. He’s always talking about how the house is too big for just me and him.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose.” It sounded like a weak excuse.

“You saw him in there. He loves you, Samantha. He’s basically calling you his daughter. How much more of an invitation do you need?”

I couldn’t deny his logic. But it felt wrong. It felt scary. The question for me was whether I was scared for a good reason, or scared simply because this was all so new and overwhelming. Was it possible that unconditional love could make a person nervous? Probably. It was doing it to me. I’d never felt it so strongly since meeting Christos, and now I was getting it from his grandfather. I mean,
both
of them had set up that studio space for me.

For
me
.

I was freaking out.

My heart jackrabbited into my throat.

I needed to get out of there before I had a heart attack.

“I’m sorry, Christos,” my voice quivered. “I really need to go. I need some time to think about all this.”

“Take all the time you need,
agápi mou
,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere. You still have the key to the house, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me see it.”

Did he want it back? I panicked, despite my confusion and reluctance. Giving it to him would either be a relief or the biggest disappointment of my life. I fished it from the pocket of my jeans and handed it to him with a shaky hand.

He took it and also took my key ring from my hand. Then he worked the Manos house key around my key ring. “For safe keeping,” he said. “I love you, Samantha. Whatever you decide, whenever you decide it, will be perfect. I will wait as long as you need me to.” He cracked a dimpled grin. “Besides, you live so close, we’re practically next door neighbors.”

He handed my keys back to me.

“Okay,” I said randomly. I twisted my car key in the ignition and started my VW. The engine purred to life. “I should go.”

He leaned into the car and kissed me softly on the forehead.

“You sure you don’t want me to come over and help you look for a job at your apartment?”

“I—”

“Or, we could go to a coffee shop someplace close, for a change of scenery. They’ll have wi-fi.”

I winced. “I don’t know, I just, I—”

He stroked my cheek lovingly. “Samantha, remember. You have options. You don’t need to stress about getting a second job. One is plenty. You have a ton of work ahead of you with all your classes. You shouldn’t spend half your waking hours working in a convenience store or an office supply store, or whatever, when you shouldn’t have to. You should be focusing on your studies more than anything else.”

“I know, but—”

He held a finger to my lips. “It’s okay,” he nodded reassuringly, then stroked my chin with his thumb. “I totally get it. Go home, relax, do what you need to do.” He smiled at me confidently and stood up. “Drive safe.”

I gave him a wave and he closed my door.
 

I drove home and pulled out my laptop. I searched the job websites with fresh confidence.

Knowing I had some kind of a safety net had filled me with renewed vigor, but I wanted to do this on my own. I needed to prove to myself, and to my parents, that I could handle all my classes and studies,
and
find a decent part-time job that would allow me to pay all my bills myself, all while maintaining a relationship with the most wonderful man in the world.

Things were going to be great. I was going to show my parents what I could do when I put my mind to it.

I shook my head and laughed to myself.

I mean, seriously, what were the chances I’d be stuck working the late shift at a fast-food joint or some crappy convenience store?

I was totally going to find an awesome job.

Chapter 18

SAMANTHA

Ten days later, I stood behind the counter of the local Grab-n-Dash, an all night convenience store. It was still early in the afternoon, but I was already zombie-tired and had raccoon circles around my eyes.

When the manager had hired me, he’d said I couldn’t work the late shift because it was too dangerous. So he gave me the afternoon shift.
 

Nothing like two jobs and four classes and tons of homework to tire a girl out.

The neon-urine colored uniform shirt with the Grab-n-Dash logo I had to wear was a nightmare unto itself. Made from some sort of material that only bunched and wrinkled, it made me look like a Chinese paper lantern, or the person with the lowest score on Project Runway’s alternative materials challenge.
 

So not flattering.
 

Worse, the shirt trapped odors like a sponge, and I had to hand-wash it in my kitchen sink every night after work or else it smelled like grilled hot dogs.
 

My manager said the bright color was exciting for the customers. Yeah, maybe if it triggered seizures. I’m telling you, looking at it too long made your eyes vibrate. Beyond that, I couldn’t see what was so exciting about it.

Oh yeah. I forgot to mention the equally glowing Grab-n-Dash baseball cap. My pony tail stuck out the opening in the back.

Super sexy.

But hey, I was getting paid nine bucks an hour to whore out the Grab-n-Dash mantra to everyone who walked through the doors.

“Welcome to Grab-n-Dash. How can I brighten your day?”

I had to say it every damn time.

Wasn’t the blinding yellow shirt and cap enough?

My customers were teenagers off from school during the first half of my shift, and people coming home from work during the second.
 

The school kids always stared at me. I was never entirely sure why. One of them, who couldn’t have been more than twelve years old, talked like a cross between rappers 50 Cent and Eminem. I dubbed him Eminickle, because he was about a tenth the size of 50 Cent. Eminickle asked me out every time he came in. Flattered, but no. He hadn’t even hit puberty, from what I could tell.
 

The working stiffs were either angry and clearly irritated after a long day of work, or exhausted and mellow because they were too tired to care.

All were jonesing for sugary snacks, cigarettes, energy drinks, lottery tickets, or beer. The high school kids wanted beer and cigarettes too, but they were S.O.L.

I totally felt their pain. I suspected working at the Grab-n-Dash would inevitably turn me into a chain smoker or closet drunk. Maybe my parents were onto something by making me get a crappy job.
 

I hated them.

:-P

When the shop was slow, things were no better. Like now. Grab-n-Dash was a wasteland. Devoid of all activity. I stared at the clock hanging on the far wall.

The second hand seemed frozen.

I waited for it to tick. Was it stuck? I didn’t remember it being stuck. It had worked earlier. Come on, move, stupid second hand! I stared at it as hard as I could. It wasn’t going anywhere. I kept staring. One of us was going to blink sooner or later.

MOVE!

Nothing.

MOOOOOOOOOVE!!!!

Click.

Finally! What took you so damn long?

Okay, one second down. How many more to go? I did a quick mental approximation. My dad was right. My math skills were
always
handy. Twenty thousand? I wasn’t going to make it to the end of my shift at this rate.

Amongst sundry automotive items like motor oil, wiper blades, and air fresheners, we also sold radiator fluid. You know, antifreeze. Customers actually bought it now and then. I’d heard it was sweet, and dogs would drink it, not realizing it was lethally poisonous, and it killed you slowly and painfully.

I considered pouring myself a glass.

Mmmm.

So neon green. I bet it would match my shirt and cap.

Groan.

I stared at the ICEE machines. They hummed hypnotically, always tempting me to nap while standing up. They weren’t helping my focus. But I refused to fall under their sleepy spell. That didn’t stop me from thinking about their cool sugary treasure waiting to tickle my tongue.
 

I’d always wanted to do that thing where you stuck your head under the spigot and filled your mouth until you got brain freeze.

I glanced from side to side. The store was empty.

Now would be a good time to try.

As I walked out from behind the counter to give it a try, the front door’s alarm-bell bing-bonged as a new customer walked inside.