Ashley
This is my life now.
Paper? Plastic? Beep, beep, beep.
Nothing against being a cashier at the grocery store. In fact, my supermarket phone app game history reveals I'm quite good at it. Despite what my boss thinks, I'm probably the best cashier they've ever had. A lifetime of staying at home with two precocious children, keeping a neat, orderly house, attending every school event, volunteering for neighborhood activities, and making home cooked meals every night will teach you a thing or two about multitasking.
So, I can ring up groceries, make small talk, sneak in texts to my daughter, Marley, and overanalyze my entire life all at once.
Boss Bailey thinks I'm distracted, especially by my phone.
Which is kind of rude coming from a girl a couple years younger than my twenty-five year old son, Max.
Doesn't that generation live on their phones? Marley certainly does.
At one time, despite all my home duties, life was simpler.
Boy was I oblivious to the world around me.
My customer service smile remains fixed as I fly through checking people out. Bailey may not like me for whatever reasons—and I really hope Max never slept with her or something—but I move my line, my customers are happy, and I'm always here.
I don't miss work. Ever.
Because I can't afford to.
Not after I lost everything…the fancy house, the luxury cars, the designer purses, my marriage, and my dignity.
My stomach twists and I force myself to focus on the elderly woman who has individually bagged each produce item she's buying. I'm not sure the reasoning behind bagging her apples one by one, but I grin through the exchange and ask about her grandkids.
I could do this job in my sleep.
A buzzing from my phone steals my attention from our conversation and I have to force myself to focus on her instead.
“…just got a job at the police department,” the woman says, beaming at me. “We're so proud.”
Is this a good time to tell her I know someone in prison and I'm so not proud?
“As you should be,” I tell her with an even wider smile, keeping my ridiculous life out of our small talk conversation. “You paying with cash or card today, hon?”
While she digs around in her purse, I sneak a glance at my phone. It's going to either be Marley asking for me to bring her food, money for her to DoorDash food, to complain about something, or to ask to go somewhere with her friends. Or…
Don't lose your streak!
Crap.
My newest obsession is a phone game called Royal Smash. There's something excessively satisfying about destroying things and earning points from it. Since it's irresponsible to do that with my dishes at home when I'm feeling particularly ragey (that has zero to do with perimenopause), I'll settle for destroying the other players in the game.
That means keeping my streak.
While the old woman drops loose coins and crumpled coupons from her wallet, I discreetly swipe open my phone, log into the app, and play a level at record speed.
Did I mention I'm really good at this game?
Before it can finish shooting me with dopamine and tossing confetti, I flip the phone over and turn to the lady just in time to take her crisp fifty-dollar bill. The ads for the game can play without me actually having to impatiently watch them. One day I might splurge on the $7.99 and go ad-free.
Yep, this is my life now.
I feel eyes on me and I just know it's Bailey with her super-cool nose piercing and pretty pink hair. She watches me like a hawk, always expecting me to fail.
Dammit, Max. I'm starting to really believe you broke this girl's heart, because why else would she be so hard on me?
Thoughts of Max make me think of my husband, er, ex-husband, and I can't afford to do that right now. Jax destroyed our lives. Reliving every awful detail while an old lady continues to tell me her life story isn't something I'm mentally capable of right now.
That wound is too fresh.
It's why I disassociate each night with a Kindle binge and reading steamy forbidden novellas, or playing my phone games until the wee hours of the night, no respect for “Morning Me.”
“Have a great day, Ashley,” the old woman says, momentarily startling me.
She waggles an arthritic finger at my name tag and I chuckle sheepishly. Maybe Bailey is right. I am always distracted. Ugh.
“You can take your break now,” Bailey says, materializing behind me like the Ghost of Max's Ex-Girlfriends Past. “Try not to be late this time.”
Rather than explaining that sometimes women in their mid-forties need to pee twice in fifteen minutes, and sometimes it makes us late from break, I grin and nod at her. It'll get me out of here quicker.
As soon as I clock out and flip off my lane light, I snatch my phone and scurry out of the grocery store as fast as my short legs will take me. I'd love to pop into the Starbucks just inside the building and grab something new and loaded with caffeine and caramel, but at six to seven dollars a pop, I honestly can't afford to.
Thanks, Jax.
Everything always circles back to my husband.
Ex.
Before I even make it to my car where I have a Yeti full of home-brewed coffee (blah!), I have Royal Smash open and am crushing pretty colored jars. So satisfying.
“Oof.”
I nearly drop my phone when I smack right into the hard chest of a man. As soon as I peel my eyes from my phone screen and peer up at him, I realize he's a gorgeous man.
Tall. A roguish grin. Intense, dark gray eyes. Dark, expensive dress clothes. Smells too damn good for the grocery store. Mafia man, perhaps?
Someone's been reading a little too much dark romance on her Kindle lately…
His gaze penetrates me and there's a trickle of awareness that I can't quite shake.
Do I know him?
He opens his mouth to say something, but my phone starts to ring. With heat flooding my cheeks, I excuse myself and skirt around him toward my daughter's car we now share—and the one thing that wasn't seized when all the shit hit the fan. When I look down at my phone, I groan.
Jax.
Calling collect from the state penitentiary.
As much as I want to ignore the call, I won't. I never do.
With a sigh, I answer and approve the collect call. Then, Jax's deep voice rumbles through the line, tickling good memories I spend most of my days trying to forget.
“Hey, babe, so listen,” he says, voice urgent. “I need you to be careful.”
The familiar frustration twists my gut despite the warmth at hearing his voice. “What have you done to our family now, Jax?”
“I know, I know, I'm an asshole,” he practically growls. “We can discuss that another time. Right now I need you to watch out. Someone may be, uh…just come see me tomorrow. I know it's your day off. I'll explain then. You could be in danger.”
There's a seriousness to his words, but I'm not sure I care anymore.
Seeing him hurts too much anyway.
“Miss?” a voice says from behind me.
When I whirl around, I see the obnoxiously good-looking man grinning my way. My heart hammers in my chest. I can hear Jax demanding to know who's talking to me. And though his protective nature used to be such a turn-on, I'm a little bitter on his lack of protecting my heart these past six months.
“Sorry,” I tell Jax. “I need to go. Call me later?”
Rather than waiting, I end the call and smile at the man.
“Yes?”
He steps close enough to me that I'm awarded another whiff of his lovely scent. Whatever cologne it is, I'm a fan.
“This may be forward,” he says, lips quirking up in a sexy way on one side, “but, are you married?”
Jax, the love of my life and father of my two children, is no longer my husband. He's some muscular, hardened, newly tattooed criminal who can no longer touch me because he's behind bars.
“No,” I mutter, defeat in my tone.
The man's granite eyes brighten. “Can I take you out tomorrow? The name's Matteo.”
I blink at him, caught somewhere between holding on to a past that's been locked up tight and a future that's offering me a handsome stranger's hand to hold onto.
What happens next?
A. THE MAFIA MAN: Go on a date with the dangerously handsome stranger because he's hot, mysterious, and it'll piss Jax off.
B. THE PRISONER: Go see Jax. He may have destroyed my entire life, but he was my husband for twenty-six years. Maybe he deserves five minutes to explain himself.
C. SCREW THEM BOTH: Take Marley to eat sushi and spend my entire day off smashing shit on my game.
What will Ashley do next? ***Newsletter subscribers get to vote each week for where the story goes next. If you're not on my newsletter, you can sign up here: https://authorkwebster.myflodesk.com/newsletter