Free The Edge of Night by Jill Sorenson

Cristina,” she said, dropping the attitude. “This is Jack.”
    Jack passed her an application. “Meghan Young,” she murmured, introducing herself. “Do you mind if I fill it out here?”
    “Be my guest.”
    “I have work to do,” Cristina sighed.
    Jack watched her walk away. His eyes were glazed and a bit bloodshot.
    “Are you hiring?” Meghan asked.
    He turned his attention back to her, drumming his fingertips against the counter. “Depends.”
    “On what?”
    “Do you have any experience bagging?”
    She didn’t have any experience, period. “You put cold stuff with cold stuff,” she said. “Heavy on bottom, light on top.”
    He smiled lazily. “What do you say to customers?”
    “ ‘Need any help out with that, ma’am?’ ”
    “How do you do a price check?”
    Meghan shrugged. “Take the product back to its place on the shelves and read the tag.”
    “What’s Brie?”
    “Cheese.”
    “Where would you find falafel?”
    She had no idea what that was. “Ethnic-foods aisle?”
    “Habla español?”
    “No. Sorry. I know some sign language.”
    “Okay,” he said, coming out from behind the counter. “You seem like a fast learner, and I have enough dipshits on staff. Come on back for a W-2.”
    She hadn’t even filled out the application yet. “I’m hired?”
    “Yep. Can you start right now? We’re shorthanded.”
    She followed him through a set of double doors with flaps around the edges. “Okay,” she said, looking around the storage area. It was chaotic. There were boxes of produce stacked up to the ceiling. Eric and another man were moving cartons of milk.
    Perhaps because the workers had to come in and out from the unloading dock so often, there was no air-conditioning in the back room.
    After spending time in the front of the store, Meghan felt comfortable and cool. Eric and his coworker weren’t so lucky. She saw beads of sweat gathered at Eric’s hairline. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he lifted two gallons.
    “How many times do I have to talk to you guys about hygiene?” Jack said in a loud voice. “We sell antiperspirant in aisle five.”
    “Fuck off,” Eric grunted, not breaking his stride.
    Jack laughed, as if Eric was joking. Meghan didn’t think he was. “Here’s a shirt,” he said, handing her a royal-blue polo. “We have large and extra-large.”
    “Large is fine,” she said, accepting the garment. It wasn’t new, but it looked clean.
    “Bathroom’s there.” He pointed at a door with male and female symbols in a blue circle on the front. “Fill out all that stuff and clock in.”
    She hugged the shirt to her chest, swallowing drily.
    “Cristina will train you.”
    “Great.”
    Eric and his coworker didn’t slow down after Jack exited the storage area. They kept the same steady pace, stocking gallon after gallon. Meghan tried not to stare at them as she filled out the necessary forms, but her interest was piqued.
    Eric was the taller of the two, and he had a strong, lean physique. There was a brown bandanna tied in a cuff around his wrist. An odd fashion accessory, but not unattractive. As he stocked the upper levels of the milk cooler, his short sleeve fell back a few inches, revealing a line of tattooed script curling around his biceps.
    Meghan didn’t find that glimpse of skin unattractive, either.
    Flushing, she glanced away, studying her surroundings. The small table was flanked by three plastic chairs. There was a microwave and mini-fridge near the time clock. As employee lounges went, it was pretty dismal, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She completed the application, leaving the desired pay box empty.
    This position had minimum wage written all over it.
    It took her a few more minutes to fill out the W-2 and to figure out how to clock in with a time sheet. When that was done, she retreated to the bathroom to change her shirt. The energy-efficient lighting made her face look wan and her eyes hollow.
    Shuddering, she rearranged