August & Colin | WRU series | book 1
We take risks. We make mistakes. We lie. We love. We hurt. We lose total control.
I took a risk. I paid the price.
I made a mistake. I felt the guilt.
I lied. I lie.
I loved. I try not to.
I hurt. I still do.
...
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My hands are tucked inside the pockets of my pants as I'm leaning against my jeep, waiting for her to show up.
Even if she would decide against my proposition, she'd still have to pass me to get to her bicycle, which is probably one of the five parked a few feet away from my parking spot in the small parking lot of Sorrisetto.
And like hell that I'm going to let her cycle home all alone in the middle of the night.
My mind might be one big mess of mixed feelings but that doesn't mean I would ever stop caring about her safety.
My head snaps up at the sound of her shouting her goodbye at, what I imagine, are Theo and his husband Elijah, who keeps him company almost every night while Theo prepares his kitchen for the next day.
"She arrives at last." I tease as she approaches. Her normally big, round eyes are now dull, portraying her tiredness, which isn't abnormal after the shift we pulled.
The restaurant was swamped, the kitchen bell was ringing non-stop, and Marcia, our bartender, had a new order ready every few minutes.
Having this kind of shift as your first one is more than a little challenging, not only because she had no clue about how we work, but also because the stress levels during a shift can easily peak causing a few heated arguments if mistakes are being made or if customers are being difficult.
Luckily, we have mama Marcia to save us from those stressful situations. She's an absolute sweetheart and a professional in calming people down. Maybe she's a natural, or maybe she has been trained by her three children to put people at ease, or maybe her 23 years of experience have learned her how to deal with pressured circumstances.
Whatever it is, she's a true blessing. A momma bear at heart and if she was here she would strongly disagree with August's next statement too.
"I would've been fine cycling home."
"And I wouldn't have been fine with that." I shoot back and for a moment I expect her to protest again or make a small comment to make sure I know she doesn't need any help, yet her answer is nowhere close to that.
"Thank you." It's soft, warm, and genuine and maybe it's the sincerity or maybe it's the fact that it's a silent 'you're right', but her thank-you quirks up one corner of my mouth.
I push myself away from my car and saunter toward the bicycle rack. "Which one is yours?"
"The red one." She hurries to the dark red bicycle with a wicker basket in the front and removes the lock from the frame before bringing it to my car.
"You know, I could pick you up or drop you off on the days we work the same shift." I begin as I open my trunk to lift her bike in it. "It'd save you time and before you say anything, you wouldn't be a burden. Your apartment is on my way home." It totally isn't but this white lie might exceed the chance of her accepting my help.
