Desmond's lighter is at the end of its life, barely sputtering out a flame big enough to ignite the end of his fat blunt. He sucks in a few puffs, and trails of smoke billow around us before disappearing into thin air. A blissful smile crosses his face as he stares at the lit end of his joint.
The alleyway behind the restaurant is quiet, and for the next few minutes, our tables will be too. Des got stuck with a twelve top, and I had two families. Per usual, we placed our orders one after another, so we were able to sneak away for a break once we got their meals and drink orders settled.
The alley is nothing special. There's two upside down wooden crates for employees to take their breaks and one mysterious, locked gate. I've worked here for over a year, and I still have no idea where the black wrought iron bars lead.
Des sucks in a sharp breath and holds the smoke in, passing the blunt to me—or he tries to. I shake my head, smirking. This is a game we play, where he pretends to have no idea I'm as lame as I am, and I pretend he's not doing something illegal while we're supposed to be working.
He shrugs and takes another drag. "So how was it?"
"Honestly, pretty stupid." His eyes widen in surprise. I continue, "There was no real point to it all, you know? The characters had no depth, and while I'm all for zombie gore—"
"I was talking about the girl, dude. How was the girl?"
How was she? Surprising. Emma practically cheered when the zombies devoured the flesh off the father's face, and I think that says a lot about her overall feelings she has toward her own parents. I try not the judge. I'd be upset too if my mom had zero trust in me.
"She's cool."
"She's cool?" Des grunts. "No way. I've heard about this chick more times than I can count—"
"Which isn't very high."
"No, no. I'm very high, thank you. And you can't cop out on the details now. Spill." Des shakes the end of his lit joint at me, as if that's going to change my mind.
"Nothing happened."
"Bullshit."
"I'm telling you. I took her to dinner—"
"Didn't she drive?"
I lean against the cold brick wall, eyes narrowing. "Fine. She took me to dinner, which I paid for."
"Good man."
"And then she paid for the movie, even though she didn't have to, and chose Dead Shore over the sappy romance. But I think The Silver Envelopes would have had a better plot."
"Dude, I don't give a shit about the movie. What about the girl?"
"She drove me home. We talked." I shrug. "That's it."
"That's it," Des repeats. He spits out a glob of sticky saliva onto the pavement. It oozes through the grooves and settles at the bottom of the ciga-rut, the sandy break in the pavement where everyone stubs out their cigarettes in between shifts. "That's boring."
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Something with flare, anything more than that. Maybe a glimpse of side boob?"
I shake my head and wave away some of the smoke that hangs in the air. "No side boob."
I don't tell him about the dress she wore, and how it had me lying awake thinking about her flawlessness. She was embarrassed about the dress, I could tell, but her outfit made me wish that I had put in more effort.
Despite Des's social shortcomings, he's a good guy. He needs to get a girlfriend, or a hobby, or really anything to make him less obsessed with sex, but he has a great heart. When it comes down to it, he's been a good friend. Best I've ever had, which isn't saying all that much.
He pushes his blonde hair back, and it falls over his ears again. Any longer, and they'll make him wear a hair net just like some of the girls have to. His brown eyes are sharp and relaxed at the same time. He leans against the wall, only moving to bring his hand up to his mouth.
We've been coworkers for a year and a half, ever since I turned sixteen. He's a year older than me and has been working here longer, so he ended up training me, much to the dismay of my now supervisor—then coworker—Celia. At my job, they say things about Des that my peers say about me at school. No drive, wasted potential, lazy, the list goes on.
Thing is, if Des was just a stoner, I wouldn't hang out with him. He's not. His anxiety is crazy, and he hides it all behind his false bravado. The weed helps him calm down, makes him focus on the moment instead of getting lost in his toxic, obsessive thoughts.
"You know I love you, man, but you really need to up your game."
I arch an eyebrow. "I need to up my game? When's the last time you went on a date?"
He smirks. "A player never tells."
"Bullshit."
"No, bullshit. If I'm going on a date and paying for part of it, I'm going to close the deal. Every single time."
I snort. "If you did, you wouldn't be asking me about side boob on the girl that I've liked since kindergarten."
"Why you got to make it weird?"
I stare at him. He brings the cherried blunt up to his mouth, and just as he's inhaling another long breath, the back door of the restaurant swings open.
Celia takes up the entire door frame, not because of her stature, but because she's trying to be intimidating. She's a tiny twig of a girl, who somehow stopped growing at about five feet. She's one of the sassiest people I've ever met, and I don't like being on her bad side. Since becoming manager, she's taken less and less of our crap. And we give her a lot of crap.
"Desmond. Carter." Celia puts her hands on her hips and stares at the lit joint in between Desmond's lips. He inhales a final breath and lets it out slowly. The smoke hangs around him like a challenge.
"This would be medically legal in any other state," he states unprompted.
"It's not here."
Des grumbles, flicks the burning ember off the end, wets his finger, and snuffs the rest out. Flipping open his mint tin, he stuffs the rest of it unceremoniously inside. He clips the tin shut with a final snap.
"Go wash your hands, Des." Celia steps to the side, letting out a breath as Des makes the march back to his tables. I start to go after him, but she places a hand on my chest. She steps out of the doorway and lets the door shut behind her.
"I know you two have been buddies since you started, but you need to be careful."
"Why?"
"Hanging out with guys like that—"
I hold up my hand, teeth grinding together. Guys like that. At my school, this is what everyone thinks about me, and Celia should know better. "I don't smoke. I won't ever smoke, and you know why Des does."
"But at work, Carter? I can't protect him forever just because he's him. If word gets out—"
I place my hands on her shoulders. She's worried about people finding out about their very brief fling. "It's okay. I'll keep Des in check, if that's what you need."
Her light brown eyes drift to the pavement.
"He's still going to do his job, you know that." I let my hands drop to my sides.
Frowning, her auburn hair swings in her ponytail as she looks back up at me. She knows I'm right, even if she doesn't want to admit it.
"Besides, he's still job searching for something more permanent."
Celia lets out a breath and leans against the steel door. "I don't think he's looking anymore, Carter." Her fingers reach up to the end of her pony, and she tugs on a lock of hair. "He spent four months looking, and four months of getting rejections. I think that's all he had in him. That boy can only take so much."
"I'll talk to him."
"I want what's best for him, you know?"
"I know." I swallow, and silence fills in the space around us. After a beat, I ask, "Are you sure this isn't about something more personal?"
Celia rolls her eyes, taking a step back from me. "It's ancient history."
"You sure?"
She points to the door, straightening her spine to rise to her full, albeit short, height. "Go work."
I give her a wry smile, because even I can see through her forced ferocity. Celia and Des may be over, but she still cares about him more than she wants to admit. She's been the one to mention their fling, the one to harp on him whenever he messes up, and the one to drag up the past.
On the other hand, Des acts like they never happened. She told him she wanted them to be cordial and professional, and he listened. He looks at her with longing, and I know it hurts him that they aren't together. He won't talk about it with me though; he won't talk to anyone.
Sure, he might not make the best life choices, and he might objectify some girls, but he respects Celia—a girl he's actually been with.
So when it comes down to it, yes, I want to hang out with guys like that.
- - -
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What do you all think of Desmond and Celia? Spin off story material, perhaps?