This is the 84th installment of a 100-day challenge to write a new vignette every morning.
Flesh-colored yoga pants were far worse than even he feared. He stood in front of the mirror, turning and twisting, and he hoped he could eat up the clock in here.
Trish wouldn’t allow that, though. Knocking on the door, she called for him to come out of there.
He never should’ve agreed to that wager—but how could he have known she’d beat him at arm wrestling? She didn’t look that strong, but she’d won somehow. Even in best two out of three.
Even in best three out of five.
The bathroom door felt heavier, and he considered pretending that it’d gotten stuck, that he’d gotten trapped. But she’d already proven she was freakishly strong, and really, did he want to give her another opportunity to show off?
Slinking out into the hallway, he tried to retreat to the kitchen, but a handful of his employees loitered in the doorway. He wanted to snap at them and remind them he didn’t pay them to gawk, but he feared such a display might actually provoke a fit of laughter among them. He kept his mouth shut.
Trish handed him a tray and pointed at the dining area. “You know the deal.”
He’d paid for this building and designed the menu and rustled up customers for nearly a decade, but none of that mattered now. He took a lap around the main dining room wearing the uniform he’d selected all those years ago, and no one saw him for anything but those damn leggings.
When he returned to the hall—feeling somehow two-inches tall and massively conspicuous all at once—Trish smirked. “Now are you ready to talk about our uniforms?”
Miles Away 