I can't stop thinking about this morning.

     And all I want to do is march back into that kitchen and—what exactly? I'm in no place to tell to Dres how I actually feel and whenever's he's close, I just want to reach out and touch him. Which would be inappropriate. Grounds for firing.

     It feels like I'm getting somewhere with Dres.

     But I also have no idea where that somewhere is. It's quickly becoming not enough, all of it. And the wanting more? It fucking sucks.

    I'm in a pissy mood when I return to work for my second shift. Grace and Halston are here, seated at a table on the upper level where they've been powering through our homework. Before I can clock in, Grace waves me over to where they're seated.

     "What's up?" I say when I get to them.

     "You will never believe what happened," Grace practically screams.

     Halston, notably, looks green in the face, her head bowed so she can hide as much as she can behind her short blond hair. Grace is quick to divulge the story, explaining how she scripted Halston's flirtation with Dres and not only was Dres nice to her, but he also offered her a job.

     I'm trying not to gawk through the entire story, but when Grace finishes with a triumphant smile I can't stop the scowl that breaks out on my face. Am I betrayed? Annoyed? Jealous? All of the above. It's all of the above for me. The question is, by my friends or by Dres?

     Halston looks up, then, and blurts, "I'm so sorry, Cas. I didn't mean for it to go that way but we were talking about your swim meets and how this place is always busy and one thing led to another. I'm only going to be working when you can't work. Or I can tell him that I can't do it at all."

     My mouth falls slightly. With Halston's foot in the door, I've basically got one out it. "No, I mean this is good, right? I mean now you know he's straight, Grace. He just wasn't into you. But Halston you should totally go for it. Anyway, I've got to clock in. I'll talk to you guys later."

     I don't wait for them to respond before I hurry down the steps and make my way to the employee room. I round the corner as Dres is exiting the kitchen with a tray of cupcakes.

     I frown despite every reason I shouldn't. Namely, that I have no reason to be mad. Or jealous. It's not his fault that I like him. It's not his fault that he apparently likes Halston. Or women. Whatever.

     "Hey," he says nodding at me.

     "Hey," I respond coldly, making me feel even worse. I don't want to be mad at him. I feel stupid for even developing a crush on a straight guy, my boss no less. And now I'm going to make matters worse by acting weird with him.

     Decidedly, I have to let it go. To get over my feelings for Dres. 

     Easier said than done, I think as I clock in and head back to the front. The only way I'm going to get over him is I give myself the space to do so and that's not going to happen since I see him everyday. Unless I quit. Which I could safely do now that Halston works here. It's not like I'd be leaving him high and dry.

     Dolores is behind the counter, waiting for me to relieve her. As I walk up, she says, "Did you hear Drezy hired your friend Halston?"

     I say flatly, "I heard."

     I want to punch myself in the face for sounding like an insolent child.

     She smiles, clearly not noticing that I don't want to have this conversation. "I think it's a good idea. When you're not here, it's tough." She pauses, thoughtfully, then adds, "I could be wrong, but I think your friends have little crushes on Dres."

     I roll my eyes. "You're not wrong." Although I'm not so sure about Halston, can never really tell.

     Dolores laughs. "I just think it's too funny. But you're all so young, what could ya' know?"

     Before I can stop myself, I find myself asking, "Does Dres have a girlfriend?"

     Dolores continues to laugh. "Oh no."

     I frown. She says that like it's completely absurd. Okay, so Dres takes some time getting warmed up to but I think it's pretty plausible that he could have a girlfriend. Plenty of girlfriends. A litany of girlfriends.

     Something about Dolores's response has me moving to another question before I've weighed the repercussions of this conservation. "Dres is straight, right? He likes women?"

     Dolores stops laughing, looking at me critically. Whatever is happening on my face garners her sympathy. "Oh, Calvin," she says softly, placing a hand on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

     Blood shoots into my face and I jump away from her touch, quickly saying, "Never mind, never mind. Please just forget I even asked. Just – let's never bring this up again."

     I back away from her, moving to the counter, willing a bunch of customers to come in so I can help them and pretend this conversation took place. Erase it from the timeline, erase it from my brain, and above all else, erase it from Dolores's memory.

     Dolores does me a solid and makes herself scarce, thankfully. I'm embarrassed enough as it is. I don't need her standing there as a reminder. She doesn't return until we're closing and the place has emptied. She has to ask a few stragglers to leave before flipping the closed sign on the door and taking the register out to count it.

     It's been a relatively slow night, so I've started most of the closing tasks. It's just me in the front. It'd be silent if not for the music that's still playing, some old song. It's always an old song when Dres controls the music. Dolores likes to play Pink and Kelly Clarkson. I know the song, don't know how I know it, and hum along as I grab what's left in the displays and bring it to the kitchen.

     Dres is hand-washing pans in the sink when I enter. I try to quietly set the food down and dart out of there but he hears me, somehow, with his hawk-like hearing, and glances at me over his shoulder. "Slow day today," he says.

     "Uh huh," I say with a sharp nod before I turn and exit quickly.

     I head back into the front to finish cleaning. The sooner I finish, the sooner I can get away from this disaster of a day.

     I've got three tables done when Dres walks in, glancing around casually like there's nothing wrong. There isn't. He shouldn't think so but everything feels wrong. I'm annoyed and, sad, too, jealous somehow of all the girls who have been with Dres and will be with Dres even though I don't know them, haven't met them, aren't even sure they exist.

     Dres silently joins me, tackling a table beside me. I have half the mind to cross the room and clean the tables over there to avoid being this close to him but I know that it would just be an obvious move and I'm trying not to be petty. It's not really working but I really am trying.

     "Cas," he says suddenly, abruptly straightening as he drops his rag on the table. I'm working circles with my left hand, which has me slower than usual. I don't stop — don't even look at him. "Calvin," he says again. I glance up at him briefly as an acknowledgement. "What really happened to your hand?"

     I'm surprised by his question. I thought maybe he would bring up Halston, the fact that he hired her even though he told me he probably wouldn't hire anybody. I want him to ask me what's wrong, for him to notice that there is something wrong to begin with, that I am not myself. I want him to care more than he obviously does. It hurts knowing these things.

     "I tripped," I say with emphasis, already defensive. I take a breath and try to sound calm when I add, "The tiles are slippery and I'd just gotten out of the water."

     "You tripped," he repeats flatly.

     "I'm clumsy." This isn't even a lie. It's a well-known fact that I'm not exactly great on my feet. But my tone is argumentative, too much that it puts Dres on the alert. He moves so now he's on the other side of the table I'm cleaning, staring at me. I avoid his gaze as best I can but he keeps turning his head to lock eyes with me.

     "I think it's interesting that a bunch of kids from your school show up at the place you work and give you shit and then you end up dislocating a finger, at school. People don't just dislocate fingers. That's not a normal thing that just happens."

     "Yeah, well," I mumble.

     "Yeah, well, what?" he asks, his tone agitated.

     "What does it even matter to you what happened?" I ask harshly.

     He avoids my question, saying, "If they're bullying you—."

     I roll my eyes. "They're not, okay? So just drop it. I don't understand why this is even a conversation right now."

     Dres's tone heats up. "And I don't understand why you're covering for them."

     "I'm done talking about this with you."

     He stares at me in that hard Dresden way and I know he's not going to let this go.

     My resolve wavers and I try for some line of honesty, hoping that will get him to back down. "If someone did this to me then my mom would pull me out of school and probably move us to Florida to live with my grandparents. So no one pushed me. I tripped."

     Dres's expression tells me he's digesting what I've just said and I've said entirely too much on the matter and just want to drop it altogether.

     "You've been bullied at your school before."

     I shake my head. "I haven't been bullied," I snap sort of defensive on the matter.

     Dres doesn't say anything and I know he's going to think what he's going to think no matter what I say. There's nothing I can do to change his mind. I go back to cleaning the tables, desperate to get out of there.

     "Why do they do it?" he finally asks.

     "They don't do anything so I don't know what you're asking me."

     I move to the next table. Dres follows slowly after me.

     "You can tell me," Dres says.

     "Please just let it go, Dres," I say, looking at him levelly. "Please."

     He stares at me a moment longer and then moves to a different table. We finish cleaning in silence.

     I get through the last tasks of the night without another word from Dres. He glances at me once in a while but I don't think there's anything to it. Not the way that I wish there would be. It's a little after ten when I think mostly everything's done for the night. I've grabbed my things from the employee room and have clocked out when I head back to the front. Dres is there, shutting off lights on the upper level.

     "Cas," he calls and I stop. There's something in the way that he says my name that makes my heart beat faster, like we haven't covered everything. Like something else is about to be addressed.

     The room is dark, save for the light in the hallway, and the lights outside. It's enough to barely illuminate us. Dres is just a shadowy figure.

     He says, "The next time you have a question about my sexuality ask me, not Dolores."

     My whole body seizes. Of course, of course, Dolores told Dres. I said too much, overstepped in the worse way. My body goes hot and cold at the same time, the sweat slicking my back making me shiver.

     I turn around and say, with more confidence than I can fathom at this point, "Okay, yeah, you know what? Fine. I'm asking."

     Dres takes his time walking down the platform, leaving only a few feet between us. I'm not expecting this and my confidence depletes rapidly. "Asking what?" he goes.

     I roll my eyes and say boldly, "Are you straight, gay, bi, curious, undecided, undeclared?"

     He rolls his eyes back at me. "I'm not a college student deciding his major."

     "I know." I'm glaring now.

     "But I am your boss."

     "Well aware."

     Dres shakes his head. "Go home, Cas."