In My Neighbor's Bed

Ch. 21: Boxes

As fun as the "fun and games" part of our day had been, I knew it couldn't last forever. I left the house early this morning and it was just past lunch now. Any more than another hour or two and rumors would start flying. A sad, but unfortunate truth that hung forebodingly in the air as we shuffled around boxes.

I let out a small grunt as I moved a particularly heavy one from the floor to the table for easier access. I wiped my face as a bead of sweat rolled down my temple. Well, at least my cover story about sweating up a storm here would pan out now.

Mason, however, didn't seem to have that problem. I watched as he shifted boxes here, there, and everywhere. Boxes that I'd given up on myself just because of how heavy they were. Yet he moved them effortlessly. As if they were nearly empty.

Finally, I could stand it no more. My disbelief and curiosity got the better of me. "Alright, come on, spill. How exactly did you get so jacked?"

"Huh? What do you mean?" He asked, glancing up from the box he was unpacking.

"What do I mean?! Come on, don't act like you don't see me struggling to move one of these boxes while you're over there carrying six. And do I even need to remind you about our little session in the shower not long ago?" I hinted.

"Yes, please, remind me of everything," he teased.

I threw a wadded-up ball of newspaper at him. "Come on, spill. I mean, I know I'm not exactly injecting melted cheese into my veins or anything, but I'd hardly call myself a lightweight either. No way in hell you could lift me that way for that long without some kind of trick behind it."

"No trick involved. Just hard work," he explained, shrugging. "I used to work in the warehouses moving inventory around. Nine to five of that five days a week will make anybody jacked. And, trust me, compared to some of the boxes, you are a lightweight."

I was surprised. Not about his explanation itself. I mean, he was right. I'm pretty sure a workout like that would give anybody a few muscles.

Instead, I was more surprised to hear that he'd worked in a warehouse at all. Classism being what it is, you didn't really find a lot of laborers in this kind of neighborhood. Most of the neighborhood was office workers, attorneys, and other white-collar jobs. The few laborers who did manage to find themselves here usually did it through dumb luck. Inheritance, family connections, and one stockbroker who lost everything in the market and had to sell his house at a rock-bottom price just to break even.

A fucked up and unfortunate truth? Yes. But a truth nonetheless. Which is what made his answer so shocking to hear.

Still, a part of me was happy to hear it. As much as Mason and I had been talking, I felt like I barely knew anything about him. It was nice to learn something new about him. Unrelated to sex for once.

"I don't know how you do it," I commented, shaking my head. "We've only been moving shit around for about an hour and I'm already sick of it."

"Ah, well, honestly, it was a while ago," he clarified. "I haven't been in the warehouse for a few years now. But yeah, it wasn't fun. Honestly, I think that might be part of the reason I have such a hard time moving my ass and actually unpacking."

"Can't blame you there," I sighed, grabbing another armful of things from the box. "So, what finally made you quit?"

"Nothing." He chuckled at my confused expression. "I never quit. I got moved into a higher position."

"Oh, cool. You got promoted?"

He grimaced slightly. "Not exactly. It's... kind of the family business, I guess. The position's basically been reserved for me since before I was born. My dad just believes that a good leader should know how to do every job in the company. That way he understands how his workers feel and won't take them for granted. So, he started me at the warehouses. You know, to 'work my way up' and all that."