Take My Hand (2 page)

Dexter

“
I
need you early
again tomorrow,” Mick barked while grabbing his jacket and keys after deciding
to give himself the night off, even though there were more bodies than seats
surrounding us. I’d never seen the place so busy before. As usual he didn’t
ask, he told.

“Sure,” I agreed. I didn’t have another choice
if I wanted to keep my job in this shithole. Fuck knows why the miserable shit
employed me. He quite clearly hates my guts. I don’t take it too personally
though – I’m pretty sure he hates everyone’s guts.

“Jared!” Mick snapped, scratching at his unkempt
beard. “The cellar’s a fucking disgrace. Get it sorted before I get back.” See?
He’s a jackass to
everyone.
Jared needs his job too if he has any hope
of paying off his student loans and I guess that’s why he simply nodded and
didn’t cuss under his breath until Mick tottered off to the back room to do
whatever it is lazy bastards with too much authority do.

I suppose you could class Jared as my friend,
seeing as he’s the only person that’s really spoken to me since I arrived in
this country. Mind you, I can’t really expect anything else when I couldn’t
give a monkey’s ass about talking back. But Jared’s one of those guys who
doesn’t let things drop. He will quite happily talk and talk until there’s
blood dripping from your ears. I eventually figured it was less painful just to
answer him.

He’s twenty-eight – four years older than
me and is now working his ass off trying to pay for the pointless years of
studying towards a degree in media studies. I say pointless because let’s face
it, he’s working in a freakin’ pub. But then, media studies? In my book that’s
a made up module designed for people who want to stretch out their party years
a little longer while actually learning diddlysquat.

It’s actually quite amusing watching him work
sometimes. From what I hear his parents are loaded and it’s obvious he’d never
had to work a day in his life until he was forced to get this job. He said it’s
his father’s way of punishing him for fucking around with his education –
dragging it out for three extra years by failing and re-taking exams, only to
end up giving up completely. So now Daddy’s refusing to settle his loans and
the poor little sap has got to work like the rest of us little people to pay
for it.

He’s actually got the nerve to feel put over by it
too. Yet the student fees are the
only
thing
Daddy doesn’t pay for. He still gets to live the ultimate bachelor lifestyle in
his swanky apartment and his red Beemer convertible. But the bottom line is, if
you look past the silver spoon in his mouth, he’s a cool enough guy.

“Will you be okay up here on your own while I
make a start on the cellar?” Jared asked, pointing to the floor as if the
cellar was visible beneath our feet. Was he fucking kidding me? The place was
packed.

“You better make it quick,” I declared with what
I hoped was a ‘but I’m not happy about it’ scowl.

“Twenty minutes tops,” he assured, clapping my
shoulder. “On second thoughts…” he trailed off, his tongue practically slapping
against his chin. I followed his gaze towards the entrance at the other end of
the bar and sure enough it was a girl capturing his short attention span.
Figures.

“You’ve got no chance.” I smirked at him, amused
by the sight of him trying to smooth out his hair (which would rival any
woman’s in the highlights department) with his fingers.

I couldn’t deny the woman in question was hot.
But it was obvious immediately she wasn’t Jared’s type – AKA the type
that’ll drop their panties for a wink and a Diet Coke. For starters she was
pushing a girl in a wheelchair. That on its own should tell him she’s
compassionate enough to have brain cells underneath those fiery locks of hers,
and I know from experience smart girls don’t drop their pants on a whim. They
need a little more carefully crafted coaxing. You have to put extra effort into
your flattery skills and you need to make sure you never,
ever
, stare at
their tits when you’re talking.

I could also tell she was the nervous kind
– she didn’t look comfortable being here at all. Her eyes rarely left the
ground, only looking up to try and navigate her friend’s wheelchair through the
compact crowd. Then if someone looked at her, she’d blush – a dusting of
pale pink smattering across her cheeks. If Jared was successful in his attempts
to lure her, it would definitely only be because she was either too nice or
nervous to turn him down.

“Whatever, mate. Looks like she’s struggling
with that chair. I’m gonna go and rescue her.” His face lit up like he was
genuinely pleased there was a disabled person for him to use as part of his
master plan to show what a nice guy he was. Sometimes he was douchebag to the
point of hilarity and I couldn’t seem to stop my eyes flitting between the
customers demanding my attention, and the girl who was about to shoot Jared
down in flames.

Fifteen minutes passed and Jared was still over
there. Meanwhile I was sweating my balls off trying to serve a thousand and one
different people at once. It was the friend in the chair who looked to be doing
most of the talking (I could hear her grating laugh across the room) and when
Jared looked away I saw her give the flame-haired cutie an encouraging clap on
the shoulder. Encouraging her to
what
though?

“Today preferably,” a smart-assed little shit
groaned while waving his hand in front of my face. I pried my eyes away from
Jared and the girls and mouthed a reluctant ‘sorry’ before getting the prick
his beer.

Seconds later I caught Jared’s eye and so I
cocked my head and set my face into a firm scowl which I intended to read ‘if
you value your balls get your ass back here NOW’. He saluted me and sauntered
leisurely back over to the bar sporting a beaming grin like a fourteen year old
boy who’d just copped his first feel of a tit.

“What the fuck, dude? It’s manic in here,” I
blasted. Although he was stood right by me, he was still staring at the
housed-in bench-seats where his challenge sat. “JARED!” Yeah that got his
attention… and that of half the pub.

“Sorry, mate.” He so wasn’t. “I’m deffo in with
that chick. She doesn’t even know it yet but I’m telling you, if her friend’s
got anything to do with it, it’s a done deal.”

“I’ll take your word for it. In the meantime
start doing what you’re paid to do and quit putting it all on me,” I snapped.
I’d gotten myself into such a shitty mood and I had a feeling closing time was
gonna drag like a cancer diagnosis.

The crowd started to die down after a half-hour
or so. Turned out some rock band I’d never heard of were playing nearby and it
seemed our place was in a prime location for pre-head-banging drinks. Throwing
a dishcloth over my shoulder, I’d just set about clearing the empties from the
walnut bar when Jared squealed like a cheerleader on crack behind me.

“She’s comin’ over! Play it cool, mate. Play it
cooool
.”

“Why do I need to play it anything? She’s your
screw, dude.” Not hearing a word I said, Jared rubbed his hands down his pants
before straightening himself up and propping himself up against the bar, posing
like some kind of underwear model.

The cute redhead approached the bar with her
head down and I wondered if she’d purposely let her loose curls fall into her
face to hide how nervous she was.

“Same again?” Jared asked her. He sounded weird.
I assumed it was his flirting voice but he sounded fucking Italian or
something.

“Um, I’ll have a vodka and Diet Coke, and Rachel
will take a pint of your cheapest lager please,” she mumbled without making eye-contact.
Why do girls only ever drink the Diet shit? She didn’t need it – I’d seen
more meat on a chicken wing. As for Wheelie Girl, the loud-mouth and full
sleeves fitted her order of lager perfectly.

“Sure thing, sugar. Ice?” Freakin’
sugar?
I
could see I was gonna have to give Jared some lessons. Surely this shit hadn’t
worked for him before? In that moment I decided Jared
had
to have been a
virgin. The redhead nodded briefly without ever making eye-contact. And this
was the ‘done deal?’
Seriously?

“Comin’ right u-”

“I thought I said sort the bleedin’ cellar out!”
Mick blared, interrupting Jared’s efforts to get laid tonight. “Take over,” he
ordered, turning to me. Cursing under his breath, Jared grudgingly handed me
the empty glass in his hands.

“Be right back,” he said to his prize, throwing
her a smile so sickeningly desperate it could’ve curdled milk. When I turned to
serve her I noticed Wheelie Girl had joined us. She looked me up and down like
I had shit seeping from my pores, so I did the same to her. Jesus, I thought
I
was an unsociable person. This chick made Adolf Hitler look like Mother
freakin’ Teresa.

“Vodka Coke and a lager right?” I asked. Our
eyes met for the briefest of seconds while she nodded. This girl was definitely
a Tootsie. Her friend? Well she was a whole new breed I hadn’t ever come across
before. Maybe a Snickers – completely fucking nuts.

“You’re American?” Wheelie girl asked, looking
either surprised or disgusted. I didn’t get her deal at all.

“Only on Mondays.”

“Today’s Tuesday.”

“Guess you caught me.” I hurried with their
order. I wasn’t one for idle chitchat, especially not with someone that looked
like they were waiting for me to turn around so they could stab me repeatedly.
“Five-fifty please.” Snickers reached up and handed me a ten-pound note across
the bar she couldn’t even see across. I gathered her change as quickly as
humanly possible, forced a smile in place as I passed it back and prayed they’d
fuck off back to their table.

No such luck.

“I’m Rachel, this is Emily.”

“Nice to meet you,” I lied. What the hell was
taking Jared so long?

“You not got a name?” This girl was becoming
extremely annoying extremely quickly.

“Yes thanks.” Okay so I was being a dick. But I
could rarely be assed talking to people I actually knew let alone strangers.

“Whatever,” she shrugged. Good. She’d got the
message. “I’m nipping to the bathroom, Ho.”

Ho?

 
‘Ho’
pulled a face and grabbed onto her arm, but Snickers just laughed and wheeled
away from her. She caught my eye again and smiled anxiously, shaking her fiery
curls back around her face. Yep, that was definitely a hiding mechanism. She
needn’t bother - I wasn’t planning to make her feel awkward with conversation.
Instead I plucked the dishcloth from my shoulder and wiped down the bar.

“Get more drinks in!” Snickers turned her head
and yelled as she reached the ladies room. Christ she had a mouth on her.

“Same again?” I asked dutifully. I might’ve said
I wasn’t planning to talk but if drinks were involved, it was my job.

“Actually could you skip the vodka?” she said,
stealing an inconspicuous glance towards the ladies room under the veil of her
hair. “But don’t tell Rachel,” she added – like it was any of my freakin’
business. I figured Snickers was a pushy bitch and I bet it was all her idea to
come tonight because I was certain it wasn’t Emily’s. Hold up… Did I just call
her Emily? Like I
actually
knew her? What’s that all about?

“No problem,” I said with what felt like a
genuine smile. Huh. I
never
smile. Smiling just isn’t my thing.

“So where abouts in America are you from?” she
asked faintly – so quiet I could barely hear her. I think she was as
reluctant to make idle chatter with strangers as I was, but she was making the
effort so I decided I would too.

“Ohio.”

“Oh! Like Glee?” she beamed, braving full-on eye
contact with me for more than a split second.

“Um, if you say so. Can’t say I’ve ever watched
it.”

“Oh.” She looked down again, circling the rim of
her still-full glass with the tip of her finger. It was hard to see through the
hair concealing her cheek but I was pretty sure she was blushing. Now she
seemed not only nervous but embarrassed too. Shit, was I being a dick again? I
didn’t
think
I was, but then again it comes so naturally to me I barely
notice it anymore.

“So you’re one of them Gleeks I take it?” I
asked in a softer tone as I attempted to make her feel less uncomfortable in my
presence. Though I couldn’t quite figure out why I gave a shit. And before you
start, I’m not a closet Glee fan. I know what a Gleek is because I read about
it on Facebook.

“Yeah. Guess I am,” she admitted with a soft
giggle. Yep, she was
definitely
a Tootsie, which was my cue to leave
well alone.

“Wouldn’t kill you guys to clean those toilets
every once in a while. I swear I just wheeled over a lump of actual shit in
there.” Good, Snickers was back. I could leave.

“I’ll get right on it,” I said. I had no
intentions of doing so of course – Mick hired a cleaner for the gross
stuff - but it sounded like the perfect excuse. Feeling a bizarre ache in my
chest, another involuntary smile invaded my face when I looked to Emily, so I
immediately wiped it off and practically ran to the other end of the bar.