Page 21 of Pieces Into Place

“Sounds like it should be an easy job for you then,” he states.

“Except, that I’m a janitor,” I remind him. “Have you ever done this kind of work before?”

“Nope,” he responds with a laugh.

“Hey, those people deserve a raise and a blow job,” I joke, which makes Henry erupt in laughter. “This scenario creates extra difficulties though,” I tell him. “I thought it would be nice to observe the subject from afar but now I am rethinking that decision.”

“Do you think she would let you into her life if she knew who you are?” he queries.

I shake my head. “No way in hell. She’s a prissy she-devil. Plus, she is too stubborn to accept help, especially from me.”

“I thought you two were getting along better?” he asks.

I drop my head back and exhale loudly. “We just don’t interact much. That seems to take care of it for the most part.”

“You’re oil and water, huh?” Henry jokes.

It’s not the worst analogy, but Olivia and I are much more combustible than that. “More like gasoline and fire.” I laugh as I glance away from him.

Henry looks over my shoulder with a smirk on his face. “Looks like your girl has decided to be less boring this evening,” he comments, motioning with a jut of his chin toward the entrance of the bar.

My eyes widen as I turn to see who just entered. It’s a woman – blonde, attractive, confident – as she takes her seat at one of the stools and picks up a menu. As she turns her head toward me, I get a closer look and realize in shock that it’s Olivia. Her usual teacher clothes have been replaced by an outfit that is unlike anything I’ve ever seen her wear before: a tight black dress hugging her hourglass shape, tall black boots, a blonde wig, and bright red lipstick meant to draw attention to her full lips. I narrow my eyes in confusion as I try to figure out what she’s up to.

“That’s new,” I tell Henry as my eyes drift toward the figure sitting at the far end of the bar. Although momentarily intrigued, a feeling of dread washes over me. I have a sneaking suspicion whatever she is up to is going to give me a headache.

“Indeed,” he says before offering me a sly smile.

An unknown force compels me to get a closer vantage point.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I tell him after downing the remainder of my beer.

Standing, I carefully make my way across the smoky room and take refuge behind a large wooden beam near where she is seated. Peeking out from my hiding spot, I watch with curiosity as an awkwardly dressed man saunters in and takes a seat beside her. His pants are noticeably too baggy and too short, his haircut reminiscent of a fifteen-year-old boy, and his posture gives away his lack of confidence.

“Stacy?” he asks tentatively. Stacy? Did she give him a fake name? This should be good.

“Tom?” she replies with an awkward giggle before adding, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Wow. You’re beautiful,” he starts, his lips curling into an awkward smile. He’s short, a few inches over five feet, and has a slight frame; not quite scrawny but certainly not a bodybuilder. His eyes dart around the place as if he can’t quite believe he’s here.

Olivia giggles and pushes her hair behind her ear. “Thank you,” she says meekly.

Behind them, I step out from behind the beam and cross my arms over my chest. I could take him down in seconds if needed; but he isn’t here to hurt her, just another horny guy who messaged the wrong woman. But this behavior makes my job more difficult, so I need to nip it in the bud. Tom notices me then, seeing me for the first time with a look of surprise on his face.

He tries to ignore me at first glance. He catches my eye and looks over his shoulder, likely assuming I’m not glaring at him. When he sees no one behind him, he nervously shifts his body and looks back at Olivia, trying to listen to whatever she’s saying. After a moment, he interrupts her.

“I’m sorry, but do you know that guy?” he asks.

“What guy?” she says, clearly confused by the abrupt conversation change.

“That guy right there,” he says, motioning behind her to where I stand.

Olivia slowly turns her head, the blonde wig atop her head briefly swaying. Her sky-blue eyes widen as they meet mine and she freezes mid-sentence. For a tense moment, she glares at me before turning back to Tom with a cheery “Nope!” accompanied by a playful pop of her lips on the “p” for emphasis.

“Are you sure? He’s still looking over here and he seems furious,” Tom observes.

“It’s probably someone from work, but he doesn’t matter,” Olivia replies casually.

Taking my cue, I stride to the bar and order a Buffalo Trace neat, before approaching them again. Leaning against the bar just behind Olivia, I can feel her tension radiating off her body.