Misdemeanor (Responsible Adult #1)

3: It's Not All Work Work Work

"So what time did you finish up the other night, then?" Dougie, the rotund shelf-stacker, sorry grocery floor assistant, asked his boss while bringing forward all the jars on the preserves aisle.

Dan groaned. He tucked in the new label behind the plastic casing that signified the on-sale price of the latest delivery of limited-edition SuperJam range—kumquat and passionfruit flavor. Dan didn't hold much hope for it to be flying off the shelf like Tiptree Strawberry did. He ruffled a hand through his thick hazel-brown hair and stood from his crouched position.

"Probably a few hours after I should have." He scanned through the other labels piled up in his hand and checked the shelves for the products he was reducing that week in an attempt to keep the middle-class shoppers there rather than drifting to the newly opened Aldi across the high street.

"Go home on your own?" Dougie asked, raising his voice along with his caterpillar eyebrows.

Dan liked Dougie. He asked too many questions and talked too much while on the shop floor, but he was a hard worker who said yes to any crappy shift sent his way. He was a big bloke. Could use cutting down on the pies and chips he consumed most lunchtimes in the staff canteen in favor of a salad and a walk around the block, but he was a decent sort. His dark hair was always closely cropped and his newly grown beard managed to mask his many chins. It'd started as a Movember Charity mustache, but November had been over for four months, so he'd clearly decided the look suited him. The long brown overall uniform Dougie wore was one of the largest sizes Dan had ever ordered and yet the buttons still stretched around Dougie's midsection. His standard-wear black trousers frayed at the bottom where they dragged along the floor. Not only was Dougie relatively short for a twenty-something bloke, but he also had to tuck the waistband under his protruding gut, making the trousers that slight bit longer than they should have been.

"Of course," Dan replied, checking the shelf for the next bargain-hunt of the week.

"You didn't go off to one of those disco gay bars?" Dougie asked. He pulled out a jar of peanut butter, gone past the use-by date on its label, and showed it to his boss.

Dan pointed his pen at the crate behind him. Dougie threw the jar into an open cardboard box steadily filling up with all the out-of-date products found during that morning's shelf shuffling.

"No, Dougie. You know that's not really my scene." Dan placed his hands on his hips while eyeing the new preserves.

"That's why you're still single," Dougie stated.

Dan snorted in agreement. He'd never hidden his sexuality from anyone. Especially not those who worked for him on his section of the supermarket. Open and honest was his policy as a manager. He hoped by doing so, his team would return the favor. Not so much divulge their sex lives to him—he was quite content on not hearing about what his staff, mainly Dougie, got up to in the privacy of a bedroom—but more when they tried to hide mistakes or pull sickies.

Dougie, however, seemed to be fascinated by Dan's revelation and constantly asked questions about his life. Dan felt as though he let him down most of the time with his mundane answers. Dougie expected Dan to be a playboy. To wear tight pink sparkly shorts and dance in the cages at G-A-Y in London. He didn't. He much preferred a pair of comfy trackie bottoms, a good book or chick flick on the sofa with his flatmate. Meaning Dougie was probably right—his avoidance of the lively gay scene, a mere twenty minutes' fast train ride away from Heathwood, didn't do him any favors at being two years still single.

"I'm not looking for anyone, Doug. Happy being me," Dan finally replied. He walked past him, farther down the preserves aisle, to push forward and twist around jars facing the wrong way. Neat and tidy aisle. That made him feel better. Who needs a boyfriend when I have a section filled with turned-out labels?