She shook her head, the laugh that left her lips dry, humorless, sarcastic. “Still think you’re so fucking funny. Same ol’ John.” Yes, she was still mad at him. It wasn’t surprising to her that he was back in Brooklyn. In fact, whenever she tried to find him she searched here first. It was inevitable that he’d return to the site of the worst of the transgressions against him.
“I live here now, actually, with Kate and Nicky.” She answered, eyes briefly meeting his before she looked up the street. A slight breeze disrupted the thick, humid air blowing the loose tendrils around her forehead. There was a significant part of her that wanted to grab him, shake him, yell and scream but she held back this time. He worked here and knowing he had a job was really the only positive thing she was sure of in this moment. She wouldn’t jeopardize that.
“Nicky is teaching in the city and Kate is on tv…” she elaborated not knowing why she did. He didn’t care. They could carry on for hours like they had many times before but she knew he had to get back and for that she was thankful. “Anyway, I should get back inside. You probably should too. I’ll uh,” she pressed together her lips, looking down and away, biting on her lower lip before looking back at him. “I’ll make sure to tip you well, okay? And if I don’t talk to you again before I leave, I’m glad you’re still, you know.”
With that she turned away, pausing as another group reached the door before she did, giving them a polite smile as they entered the bar.
“I’m sorry,” he replied sarcastically with another grin, as he lit a second cigarette. He watched as her eyes avoided his and she rambled on about her new living situation. He watched as her body language became less and less comfortable; she was hiding something and he knew it. Why was she living with her brother and his psycho girlfriend? Wasn’t she living with Will? Had they split up? Was Jill really so angry with him that she hadn’t bothered to reach out? Fuck. But his pride wouldn’t let him utter a true apology or push to ask her for details. “That sounds fucking horrible. No offense to your brother or whatever, I’m sure she’s doing...something for him, but fuck, I do not miss that bitch.”
Truthfully, he didn’t have enough time left on his impromptu break to dive into whatever was behind her small talk, and he was itching to get high, but he also wasn’t ready to walk away from her. If she wanted to talk about, well, anything, he was going to stand outside and let her. Fuck his manager, and his limited smoke break, he’d make up some excuse later, tip out extra to the other bartender, and it would be fine. And yet, she dodged the conversation, making excuses about needing to get back inside -- sure, he had work to do, but she was out partying with friends who likely had all but forgotten she’d walked away. Why the fuck was she suddenly being so closed off to him?
I’m glad you’re still, you know..
Oh. So not only was she upset about her own shit, she was upset about his too. Great. Fucking fantastic. “Yeah, thanks,” he said with mild annoyance, crushing the remains of his cigarette out on the curb with his shoe. So much for a calming cigarette break. He’d assumed that would be the end of it, that she’d disappear back into the bar, leave some cash for him on the counter, and go back to being angry with him. But she stopped short, letting some new annoying group get the jump on the door -- leave it to Jillian to always bend to someone else. Without thinking, he reached out to grab her arm and pull her back to him. “Come over tonight,” he mumbled softly, pressing his lips to hers. “Seriously.” The kiss didn’t last very long, but it was enough to make his intentions clear--he was sorry, and he missed her in several ways, and hopefully she wasn’t about to start ranting about how she had a boyfriend.
True to his word, John texted Jill an address, it just wasn’t his address, per se. There would be no “catching up” or casual fucking in his crowded apartment, even if everyone else was asleep by the time he rolled in. And the place was a shit hole, not a space he really wanted to share with Jill, even if she would be polite enough to keep her mouth shut about it. No, the address he’d sent her was Craig’s place. A simple one-bedroom, third-floor walkup in Hell’s Kitchen. John had pressured the super into making an extra key for him, spinning some lie about needing to take care of the plants while his little brother was out of town. It was half true–Craig was out of town, in Paris on for four months on some research sabbatical, but his brother’s place didn’t even have plastic plants let alone real ones.
Beth had somehow convinced Craig not to sublet the apartment while he was away, to concerned what the tenants would do while he was too far away to hold them accountable. And that worked to John’s advantage, an extra place to crash that he could take all his one-night stands home to without consequence. He’d been staying there off-and-on for two weeks now, but the fridge was still void of anything but some condiments Craig had left before heading to France. And the sheets were…questionably clean. But truth be told, it wasn’t the sexual hot bed John wanted it to be, instead it was mostly an easy, safe place to pass out after working a double at the bar followed by a shift at the bakery (a nearly 24-hour workday).
He wasn’t sure if Jill would show, or if she’d gotten too drunk at another bar with her pink boa-wearing friend. Or worse, if she’d just decided coming over to see him was a bad idea. He’d lost sight of her shortly after they’d gone back inside, busy with other customers. And when the rush finally died down, he’d looked for her again, only to come up empty-handed. It was well enough, John had to work the entire shift without so much as a bathroom break let alone a break long enough to get high, and when the withdrawal symptoms hit 6 hours in, he was miserable and unforgiving (as if he wasn’t that already).
First thing he did when he got to Craig’s was crush the two blues that were burning a hole in his pocket, and smoke another cigarette. Then he took a shower, tossing his clothes in a heap near the bed. After yet one more cigarette, John dug through Craig’s closet for a clean t-shirt and boxers. He ended up with an oversized pair of pajama pants (well, oversized for Craig), and a heather gray t-shirt. Finally, he made himself a cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine would push off the nod so if Jill did show up, he’d be alert enough to hold a regular conversation (or more). There was a bottle with a few pills tucked away for the morning, which, if Jill did show up and did spend the night (or morning, as it was) he’d have to find a way to sneak away to take. But that was a problem for tomorrow. Right now, he was alternating between his phone screen and staring out the window hoping to catch sight of her. She would come, wouldn’t she?
