I struggle with the simultaneous urge to both screech and burst out laughing. The men’s Disco Diner uniforms include flared jeans with an iridescent stripe along each side.
“Penn told me you wouldn’t be in today,” he says.
“I wasn’t feeling so hot this morning, but I’m fine.”
Theo looks left, then right, eyeing me conspicuously as he leans in and says, “You got a call this morning from Sloane at Rollerworld. I wrote down her message.” He reaches into his jeans pocket, then hands me a wadded-up pink note. “I like the way you think. Keep your enemies close, and all that.”
I nod like I know what’s up. “Thanks. We can, uh, circle back on this.”
“Sure thing, boss.” He points a thumb over his shoulder. “I need to clean up the staff room. Claire got a little too excited about the snack restock and spilled a three-pound bag of M&M’s.”
I manage a grin. “Thanks, Theo. Way to be on top of it.”
He skates off, and perhaps I should’ve waited to dismiss him, because the message may as well be written in hieroglyphics. I make out nothing but the wordschecking inandemail, and when I pull out my phone to investigate further, I can’t find the email app. Surely, MASH Ruby can’t be irresponsible enough to have removed email from her phone.
Then again, she’s full of surprises.God help me.
I spin around, wondering where I might find some financial statements, only to run right into another employee. With an especially broad chest. “Sorry,” I sputter.
“You and Theo are circling back on what, now?”
It’s Penn. Who’s also on pink roller skates. And in full uniform.
I yelp.
After all that my brain has been through today, it simply cannot take in theSaturday Night Fever–dream in front of me. Penn’s snazzy jeans are at least two sizes too small. He can’t even get his hands into the pockets, forced to hook his thumbs through the belt loops instead. Meanwhile, the button-up shirt stretches just as tautly across his chest, and unlike Theo, Penn isn’t wearing an undershirt. Enter: chest hair.
He looks like he’s auditioning for an off-off-Broadway production ofMamma Mia!
With his hands on his hips, he asks, “Everything alright?”
“It’s just—you. In those jeans.”
I’m too shocked to formulate a proper joke, which is tragic, because Penn’s never offered me better material. Even in the dim light, nothing is left to the imagination. It will have to be my first order of business: buying this man some new pants. For his sake. For his balls’ sake. For my eyeballs’ sake. “This is a family establishment, Penn.”
“Theo insisted I wear the uniform if I plan to help out around here,” he protests. “And I figured you might kick me out of your place if I ruffle any feathers on day one.” He throws his arms to his sides, and I’m surprised the buttons precariously holding his shirt together don’t pop off with the movement, one by one. “So, here you go. Last uniform on the rack. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” I mean it. This singular moment almost makes getting trapped here worth it.
“Well, unspeakable wedgies aside,” Penn says, “I’ve been looking around, and I have some ideas for this place, if you’d care to hear them.”
I cross my arms, skeptical. “Why should I listen to you?”
“Because managing a rink and managing a bar aren’t so different.”
“And tell me why you’re offering to help me again?”
“Because I need—” He stops himself and shrugs. “Because I needed a place to stay, and you were my best bet.”
I grimace. “Bleak.”
“Listen, I wish it weren’t the case, either, but your brother lives inside a sad diorama, and everybody else I could ask works with me, and that’s just weird.” He leans on the chair in front of him, looking up at me through lashes so long, it’s honestly rude. “Plus, with your four bedrooms, I figured you have so much space, I wouldn’t be an imposition.”
I must look doubtful, because he cracks a smile.
“Nottoomuch of an imposition,” he corrects. “Worst-case scenario, I can just sleep on one of those foam things in the Laser Tag room.”
Note to self: Check out the basement.