Jeordie exhaled in annoyance as he heard the little bell above the door into the record shop ding. It was 10 minutes until closing, why couldn’t people just fuck off for once?
Manson was the culprit, walking towards him in the punk section.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’d been ignoring me,” He said, leaning against the wall as Jeordie re-organized one of the stacks.
He had called twice for him at work today, but Jeordie didn’t want to talk to him and told them to take a message.
“Busy, sorry,” he lied.
“When’s your shift end?” Manson asked.
“10 minutes,” He answered, placing a Black Flag cassette on the shelf in front of him.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Manson asked, trying to catch his eye.
Jeordie dreaded this would happen.
“I can’t,” Jeordie answered shortly.
“And why not?” Manson pried.
“Look, I have a boyfriend, OK? You know that. I’m sorry about last night,” He said, fidgeting with his hair.
“He doesn’t give a shit about you, Jeordie. He doesn’t appreciate you at all,” Manson said, half-stepping a little closer.
“You don’t see him all the time,” He weakly tried to defend.
“I’m better for you,” Manson said lowly.
Jeordie closed his eyes, his head felt like it was spinning.
“ONE drink,” He agreed, after a moment.
He knew damn well what he was getting himself into.