Phone Company - do not answer: You're quiet. No bailing right? In or out? [Sent: 17:31]
Jaime Lane took a deep breath and leaned his back against the wall of Lucky Thirteen, an infamous fast food restaurant. He looked at the trash bags on the concrete. With his luck, “Phone Company” was a psycho, and he'd end up stuffed into one of the trash bags after being cut into tiny Jaime filets.
Was he really chatting with and meeting with a stranger? A male stranger? This was so unlike him. Too many things could go wrong. For starters, the guy said his name was Al and that he was seventeen just like Jaime, but it's not like Jaime could check. Hell, he'd told the guy his own name was James. It was a safety precaution, just like storing his gay internet hookup’s number as “Phone Company” was. He had to stave off a snooping sister and friends.
Lying was easy online. He should really be backing out, instead of typing out the message he was about to send.
Me: In. I'm just at work, but I'm still in. [Sent: 17:32]
Was he crazy for doing this? Everything had fallen into place for tonight: his dad was working late, and his twin sister Olivia would be at soccer practice, so she couldn't whine about wanting to use the car. She often ate at the Lucky Thirteen before practice because it was close to the fields. Well, that, and to take advantage of Jaime's employee discount while pretending to want to spend time with her dear twin brother.
Jaime saw her through the window. She was sitting at a table, flipping through a magazine while waiting for her food.
Phone Company - do not answer: and how's the fast food business treating you? [Sent: 17:33]
Me: oh, the regular. it's like food Armageddon in there, my coworker's a total and unhelpful asshat, and I don't get paid enough to put up with any of this [Sent: 17:34]
He'd just finished cleaning up a literal explosion of fries drowned in ketchup and mayonnaise. Jaime was pretty sure more ingredients had ended on the floor than in the bratty mouths of the kids at the table. Of course, the parents had only laughed at how adorable their spawns of Satan were.
Phone Company - do not answer: Lol. That deserves an ouch: [Sent: 17:35]
Phone Company - do not answer: Ouch [Sent: 17:35]
Me: Thanks, that makes me feel so much better [Sent: 17:35]
Phone Company - do not answer: Yeah? I can cheer you up even better than that. Tonight. [Sent: 17:35]
Jaime's cheeks burned at the casual remark. Obviously, they both knew what they were meeting for, and, newsflash, it wasn't to have a casual conversation.
Having no idea how to react to this kind of forward flirting, he quickly exited the messaging app. Hopefully “Phone Company” Al was as forward in real life as he was online and would do most of the work. Hopefully, Jaime would be able to do more than sputter and gape in response when he was actually in front of Al.
His shift ended in less than half an hour. That was how much mental preparation time he had left. Switching to camera, Jaime pointed his phone at himself. The sight wasn't too horrible. A few small pimples here and there, but at least his face didn't resemble the pizzas they sold. His hair had all but collapsed though: gravity had won against gel. He should really get a haircut... Honestly, he should’ve gotten one months ago.
"Try a duck face, petiso."
A sharp pain on his ass accompanied by a whoosh of air nearly made Jaime leap up and drop his phone. Whipping around, he glared at the culprit.
Isaac Carrillo was behind him, the towel he'd used to assault his ass with casually swung over his shoulder. There was an infuriating smirk on his face.
"Or do you need my help creating that perfect Myspace angle?"
Isaac made a grab for Jaime's phone, but Jaime quickly pulled it out of his reach, glaring up at the other boy. Asshat. Always had to remind Jaime of his height, or lack thereof, by calling him petiso—shorty. He had to tilt his head up to even look Isaac—who was over six feet tall—in the eyes, and he hated that.
“Shut up,” Jaime snapped. "And we're not supposed to use any Spanish at work. Customers complained, remember?"
Isaac laughed. “What? You mean the same customers who told you, ‘oh you speak English so good, JAY-MEE.’”
"Some people don't have a mom who's friends with the boss, and actually have to follow the rules to keep their job."
"Whatever you say, petiso. Back to work. The floor won't clean itself."
Isaac just laughed some more as he dropped a trash bag in the dumpster and brushed past Jaime on his way inside the building.
"And of course you won't help me clean," Jaime grumbled at Isaac's back, following him.