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Chapter Seven

"What a fucking mess."

Rog grabbed some of the limp napkins off the counter and dabbed his leg. The kid who spent seventy minutes gelling his hair this morning couldn't find the time to put the lid on Rog's iced mocha on tightly enough. What's his name. Looks like a Chad or a Trent. Rog glared over while the kid slid a cup back and forth from espresso machines. His name was Sean. What a fucking prick.

Rog's jeans looked damp. They were dark enough the brown stain wasn't totally visible. Hopefully Rita wouldn't care. She seems to think things like that mean a lot about a person. She's always pointing out stains on homeless people. She's such a bitch. But she's fucking sexy. A sexy fucking bitch who enjoys fucking me. It's not serious. Neither of his two "relationships" are. But he can only put up with so much. What the hell am I doing here?

"Where's my coffee?"

She slid into the seat across from me. The Coffee Hut wasn't the best, but it was close enough to walk. Rog worked as an Uber driver for a few years and toward the end he decided he'd rather get into data entry. He was lucky enough to get a gig that lets him work from home. Ever since then, he's been more and more into walking everywhere. In fact, once his current lease is done, he thinks he's just gonna use Ubers to get around wherever he wants to go. For as much as he needs it, it's gonna be way cheaper -- a fact that he likes stating to anyone who's listening.

"I sent you a text asking if you wanted one. You never responded."

"Oh. You did?"

I sure as shit did. Maybe get your head out of your Instagram stories and stop using your camera as a mirror and maybe you'll fucking notice.

"Yeah. I did."

What the hell am I doing? Fucking April is chill as hell. She personifies a librarian. Simple and plain? No. No no no. She's easy going. Chill. Relax. What the hell am I doing here?

"Never saw it!"

She's already in her phone. She's picking her teeth. I don't even think she's using the camera to see. I think she's reading Twitter or FaceBook or some shit and using the slight reflection. This is multi-tasking for her. Rog's glare must have exerted some sort of physical force against her because it makes her look at him for the first time since coming in. Actually look at him. And it unsettles her.

"What?"

"We're you gonna get a coffee or...?"

"Well, I thought that's what you were doing. Taking me out for coffee."

"You're twenty minutes late. And you didn't let me know."

"Oh my gosh, I'm busy. SORRY. Do I have to go get my own coffee?"

Remember that time, April made coffee before you woke up? Like it was just there. Waiting for you. And it was delicious. Is the extra sex worth this?

"Uh, yeah... I forgot my wallet. Only had enough cash for this."

That makes Rita laugh. More in a you're a fucking loser, Rog-kinda way than in a , oh, that happens to anyone-sort of way.

What the hell am I doing here?

She's just staring at Rog now. Like he's joking. Like he's gonna crack a smile, hop up, and grab her a mocha-choca-latte double expresso almond milk extravaganza. To her credit, he's done it before, but that was when he thought her being an asshole was an act. Now that he's realized it's just who she is... well, it makes him feel like it's his turn to be an asshole. He was sure she was seeing other people, so that didn't bother him much that he was seeing April as well. But when he thinks about April, he's pretty sure that even though they've never defined their relationship, she'd be hurt if she found out about Rita. She doesn't deserve that. I might deserve this, but I don't like it.

Rita drops her purse on the table with a little extra emphasis. She heads to the counter, gazing off into the distance, arms crossed. This is what Rog came to dub her "dramatic pose". What she does when she feels like she's been wronged to gain, I dunno, extra sympathy or something. It's all just such a fucking act.

Rog takes his phone. Shoots April a text, how's it going?

He knows all he needs from her is a smiley face and he's gone. He looks up at Rita. She's moved up two, maybe three spots. Caught in the mid-afternoon rush that came in right after Rog got his order. Lol, she deserves it.

I don't deserve this.

I'm not waiting.

He types back into the phone, hey, I was thinking we should get dinner tonight

And after that, he confirms that Rita is, still, aggressively looking away. And he wonders if there's some muscle group in her neck she's working while she does that. And he tucks his phone back into his pockets. And he pats his left pocket to make sure his wallet and keys are where they're supposed to be. And he gets up.

And he leaves. Quickly. Quietly. Pretty sure that Rita didn't notice him. Pretty sure.

He knows about April and her aunt and how shitty that must be. She needs someone. Can he be that someone? He was the other night... after Rita ghosted him (only to later "apologize" by saying they should get coffee today). Could he do it again? And again? He's not sure what's caused it, but recently meeting women, in real life, had come somewhat easily to him. It's been going on for the last couple months. And it's been a lot of fun. More fun than his virgin-until-senior-year-of-college-ass would have ever imagined it would be, now, about ten years later.

But, April is, like, this great person. So she seems anyways.

He hurries away from The Coffee Hut, around a corner just to make sure Rita can't see him. He'll probably get a text saying what a dick he is for leaving her purse unattended. Whatever. It feels good to be a dick to people who are assholes. There's a quote in there somewhere. Something that would be a good line in a movie. Oh, fuck. It's kinda like that thing from the movie with all the puppets. Never mind.

He presses call. Rehearses in his head how to say something about how he knows he just texted her, but decided to say, "fuck it", and give her a call, and be cool and sweet, yadda-yadda-yadda. His earnestness worked in his favor. It somehow led to his more fuckboy tendencies. Weird how that works, being nice and listening has gotten me laid a bunch.

He listens as the phone rings on April's end. And rings. And rings.

Usually she either answers by the second ring or sends the call almost instantly to voicemail before shooting him a text asking, "what's up".

It's about to go to voicemail -- for the first time naturally -- when he hears the click of answer.

"Hello?"

"Hey April--"

Rog stops himself once he realizes the voice was that of a man's.

A scared man's.

"Are you her friend?  Boyfriend?  Brother?  Husband?"

"What? No, I'm-- I'm her friend. Is she--?"

"There's been an accident. A horrible accident."

What the hell is he doing here?