Page 38 of DadBod
“Biologically, I’m twenty-seven. Emotionally, yes, I’m absolutely twelve.”
And that makes me laugh some more. She’s crazy. But I love her anyway.
* * *
“Everyone knows something’s up.”
“Huh?” I’m working frantically to get my salads prepped for my six-top because stupid Gianna seated all my tables at the same time again.
“I said,” Jeriann huffs. “There’s a lot of whispering going on around here. They know something’s up.”
“How could they?” I know I haven’t said a word. “Unless you opened that big piehole of yours.”
“You hush up.” Jeri looks a little angry. “I told you I wouldn’t tell, and I didn’t. Not one fucking soul.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“I’m not. You’ve just been too weeded to see it. Fucking Gianna.” That’s when we both look at each other and say it at the exact same time. “Gianna.”
“That bitch,” Jeriann hisses. “You know she knows.”
“Who else could it be?” I suspect she’s the source. Rome’s mom could have mentioned it to Ophelia, who in turned said something to her daughter, Gianna. “It’s the most feasible.”
“I’d love to kick her skinny little ass.”
She’s one to talk about skinny asses. “No.” I shake my head. “Everyone’s going to find out about it anyway.”
“Oh?” Jeri smiles. “You’re taking the job?”
“How can I pass it up? It’s a way to help my family.” And Calvin. I’m not sure I can help Ryann, but Cal is a possibility. I’ll try with Ryann because I get her, and I feel her pain. I’ll try.
Jeriann starts to step away but turns and whispers, “I’d better get at least one dong picture out of this.”
A giggle escapes me again as I place all six salads onto a large tray. Lifting that above my right shoulder, I make my way back into the dining room, when another voice sounds in my left ear. Monica.
“Well, well, well, you really did it this time, huh? You’re going to be living in the same house as our boss.” She snorts. “I bet you think you’re going to find your way into his bed that way, but he’ll never be into you. You with those hideous teeth can keep right on dreaming.”
Ignoring her as best I can, I march out to deliver my salads. I’ve got no time for Monica, and I never will. But, damn, that hurts.