Sweet Rush

Three

My system is awakened by SZA's "Kill Bill" while I ride the bumpiest bus I've ever been on. The realisation that my shift starts in 10 minutes and that I have 30 minutes to get there causes a dreadful sink in my chest. If this manifestation thing is true, I'd better get there as soon as possible. The annoyance of being late and having arrangements changed last-minute are two of my biggest pet peeves. If the older woman seated next to me hadn't been present I would have been having an outer-body meltdown because doing it internally doesn't do me justice.

Within my six months of working at Pritchard's I've never been late more than once and twice is a little too much for my liking.
I open my instagram app to surf like the predictable teen I am. Not even two seconds in and that face is on my screen. That beautiful brown face with eyes that I wish could actually stare into mine.

Wait. What?!
No way I actually thought that. Talk about intrusive thoughts. Jane Pritchard needs to remove himself from my head. I mean I know it's my fault why he's stuck there (watching endless photos and videos of him) but I think I'm actually getting ahead of myself.

Finally, I stop at my last location before sprinting towards the bar. I yank the heavy door open and dash through the hallway towards the back, but before I can do that, the eight sets of eyes force me to stop dead in my tracks. Only one pair of those eyes mattered.

The thought of someone watching me perspire and struggle for air worried me more than anything else. Being so humiliated in front of eight people was not at all what I had anticipated. Yet, I'm not worried about the other seven. He looks even better in person standing there.

" Hi Malia, running a little late I see." Mr. Pritchard's hollow voice calls out my tardiness.

"Oh yeah. Bus route. It won't happen again." I struggle to keep breathing pausing in between my sentences to seem less fatigued. Hearing myself I can tell I did not pull it off.

Of course this would happen in front of Jane. 

If I didn't think I had a crush before I definitely do now. My gaze wanders over his entire body, savouring the moment before I begin my shift and he's out of sight. He towers over his grandfather, exuding such masculine vigour. He looks like a boy and a man at the same time, which is exactly my type as of two minutes ago. His nutty brown eyes peer through the black baseball cap he's wearing. While I am stunned, he appears unimpressed and in the last place he'd rather be. 

"Everyone meet Jane, future CEO of the Pritchard franchise, however this will be where he is based because who can beat New York?" Mr.Pritchard chuckles while introducing the greek god we know all too well.
Jane doesn't even flex a smile, barely keeping his eyes towards us and staring off in the distance. I'd say that was pretty rude. Instead of acknowledging his grandad's words, he just looks at him and gives him a little smile.

Mr. Pritchard stands there with a smile as if he's waiting for Jane to say or do something and after two minutes of deafening silence he finally says "Nice meeting everyone." before walking off with his grandpa. Jane didn't strike me as the shy type, at least not on social media. This is a contrast to what I expected, he's more quiet than I thought.

The girls all return to their shift while I gather momentum to start mine. It's around five on a weekday so the bar isn't that buzzing. I head out to the front to set up my corner for when I have drink requests pouring in. Just when I'm wiping down a shaker, Crystal bumps my shoulder for no apparent reason. She's not the size of a whale and I'm not the biggest person in the room so she definitely has room to walk past me without letting a single hair touch my ass.
"I'm going to need you to stop touching me so much, thanks." I let her know which she glazes over and goes directly to her point.

" I heard he's got a thing for Latina girls but that's just the blogs and shit. But the way he was looking at me Malia, I definitely know he wants this." Her cherry-red lips spread into a smile.

Yeah she's a freaking psycho.

First off, that's such random, unimportant information and second of all I don't know who she's speaking of but the Jane I was looking at didn't bat an eye at any of us.

"Okay." I simply say, finding a million ways to appear busy so she would leave. Eventually she does.

The bar starts filling up and so does the orders. Drinks come one after the next and I struggle to keep up. Sweat starts kissing at my temple causing me to pat it away periodically. A gentleman with a blue and black suit catches my eyes and I walk right over to him to take his order.

"Black Russian" the stranger requests.

I spin around to start making the drink, pulling everything I need from the shelves. In my peripheral I see Jane standing at the end- I see Jane?!

I feel my eyes shift over to where he is, only to make awkward eye contact with the man. Why am I so embarrassing?

As I feel his eyes examining my every move, I scramble to remember what the last ingredient I require is. The tight leather skirt I'm wearing is almost invisible against my petite curves under his gaze. I pull myself together and reach for my preferred vodka. When the bottle is finally in place, I take a step around to place it on the counter before moving on to the rest. A deafening crash occurs just milliseconds after I realise I did not place the entire bottle on the counter. The copper brown drink is now all over my feet, and there are a billion pieces of glass everywhere. I frantically grab a towel to dry the floor, but by the time I lay it down, it's too late to prevent the splinters from jamming their way into my delicate palm. I quickly remove my hands, taking a look to see if they are bleeding. Not once did Jane move, not to help, not to see if I'm okay, nothing at all. 

It's funny how he's going to stand and stare. For being the future ceo, he's a little bit on the slower side. I mean where is the concern for safety?
Instead of bitching about how Jane never came to my rescue, I sprint to the washroom to get my hand properly dealt with.
I do two painful washes of soap and wrap both of my hands with spare clothes I found in my bag. After my short cleanup I head straight towards the bar once more. I take a few more orders, most of them being quick shots. The rush hour calms down just a bit, leaving me and my hand aching. The weight of humiliation I carried today is ludicrous.

The oversight head office over the bar lights up and there he is staring down at the bar. Not at me though-(I actually wish it was me then we'll have that Hardin and Tessa moment). I chuckle at how stupid I sound. Hardin and Tessa are fictional characters just like the scenario between Jane and I in my head. It's certainly not possible for him to even look at me with one ounce of desire. I return my eyes to the overhead office to see if Jane has left, which he had. I return to the shelf, placing the bottles in the area they should be, being extra precise with how I place them not wanting a replica of what occurred earlier on in the day.

"You'll need these." I am startled by a voice and turn to see where it is coming from. Jane hands me Tylenol with gauze. I slide the contents over the counter, brushing against his fingers with my hand. The flurries in my stomach didn't happen on purpose like my calculated move to brush his hand against mine. It's not even calculated. He probably caught on after that. Given that the incident occurred over four hours ago, I'm surprised he's actually here to help me.

Captivated by his eyes I say nothing but a meek thank you before scattering off in the back.

Once I'm cleaning my cuts again it occurs to me now that Jane Pritchard actually spoke to me, and I have no idea how I should act about it.