Free Beautiful Broken Mess by Kimberly Lauren Page B

don’t have to worry about a seventy-pound dog stomping around above them.
    I walk beside Lane up to our door, but before he can push it open, a red blur comes dashing out and begins circling our legs. I scratch behind Chuck’s ears and ask him about his day.
    Quickly, I run off to the bathroom to shower and get ready for my interview tonight. When I finish, I exit the steam-filled room and walk toward the kitchen in my bra and panties. I had forgotten my clothes were still in the dryer.
    I hear Lane in the kitchen, pulling an assortment of vegetables out of the refrigerator. I swear he eats every thirty minutes. He’s also the health food police. Once, I brought home a package of Oreos and let’s just say… my delicious chocolate cookies went straight into the dumpster. Typically, I don’t mind though. It’s nice to eat healthy meals for a change. When I told him I basically survived off of ramen noodles and peanut butter sandwiches before moving to California, I think he about had a small heart attack.
    He glances at me when I walk into the kitchen and does a double take. I pass right by him and walk into the laundry room to grab my clothes for tonight. With the pile in my arms, I make my way back through the kitchen.
    “Doll, you know I’m not your gay best friend, right?”
    “Lane, I’ve seen you with too many women to ever think that.”
    “Just checking,” he smirks, while blatantly checking me out.
    “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” I say and roll my eyes.
    “Doesn’t mean I won’t appreciate the view,” he replies brazenly.
    I stand in the middle of the kitchen and pull on my jeans and a white t-shirt. When I’m fully clothed again, I grin at him and turn to hunt down my own food.
    “You really don’t need to work,” he says, and I know exactly where this is going. “I hate when you work the bar late at night, especially when it’s not necessary. You know I can take care of everything.”
    “Not this discussion again, please. I like working and I like the atmosphere in bars. Usually it’s lively and upbeat, and I need to be around happy. Besides, it’s kind of empowering to cut off the drunks.”
    “Fine, fine...let’s not fight.” He raises his hands in surrender. I walk around the counter and hug him around the waist.
    “You know, for someone who fights as much as you do, you sure are sensitive about arguing,” I say and then add, “which we weren’t, by the way.” We actually never argue. He’s a beast in the ring, but outside of it, he’s probably the calmest person I know. I have no doubt I was meant to have him in my life, especially after the years of violence I endured while growing up. “I’m going to go finish getting ready.”
    He kisses me on the top of my head and says, “I’ll drop you off on my way to the gym.”
    ~~~~~~~~~~
    “So I’ll just let you get comfortable with the bar. Feel free to look around and start learning where everything is. Our other bartender should be here soon and she can start training you. Meanwhile, let’s head to the back and see if we can find a shirt that will fit you.”
    I haven’t been to many interviews, but I’m pretty sure that was probably the easiest one a person can go to. Ed, the owner and manager, didn’t even ask me for my bartending license or past experience. I don’t know if I should be happy to have such a laid-back boss, or weary that he may be too lackadaisical and thus careless.
    Ed walks me back to what looks like a storage room and tosses me a black shirt. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Change over and come out front,” he says in his retreat.
    Walking back out to the bar, I tug on the uncomfortable shirt Ed gave me. If I pull it down to cover more of my waist, the V-neck shows too much of my chest, but if I pull it up, it shows my stomach. Screw it, I’d rather show a little stomach than my non-existent breasts. Feeling as uncomfortable as I probably look, I push open the doors.
    “Here she