Usually, I don't remember my dreams. Or I don't dream at all. But today's dream was vibrant. I was kissing George in the rain. Because the feeling of his lips on mine was still fresh in my memory, the dream felt excessively real.

Then at some point, it got too real and I started feeling the raindrops on my face. That's when I opened my eyes.

"What the fuck?" I sleepily mumble and sit up, trying to wipe my face with my hands. I was surprised to find real water drops on my skin.

Clay is standing at the bed with my plant sprayer. It's 8 p.m.. My face is wet. And he's smiling.

"Rise and shine," Clay sprays me one more time. He's not even scared. I could kick him in the balls. I could have anger issues and kill him.

But I guess he knows me already.

"Thank you," I use his pillow to dry my face, "very creative of you."

I didn't think he'd actually wake me up. And I grew up with my brother, he used to dunk a whole bottle of water on my face. I'm very used to this as of now. And it's better than nothing.

"Oh c'mon, you're not even gonna get mad at me?" He's utterly disappointed. Only if he knew that I'd get mad if he didn't wake me up at all. All this effort from him for nothing.

"Uhhh, no.." I press my lips together, breaking the news to him.

He puts the sprayer away, "Told you, no emotional range at all."

If I keep talking to him we'll start arguing again and I'll be late for work. So I guess it's better to agree with him and get ready.

"Are you gonna leave or do you wanna watch me change?" I know what his phobia is, he'll never willingly look at my boobs.

My words were followed by Clay's stunned face. Then he hesitantly started walking towards the door. Wouldn't it be funny if he actually was scared?

"You're kinda fucked in the head," he's in disbelief and it's extremely funny that he sounds triggered, "like you have a few screws missing up there and the important parts are rotting."

Okay, now he sounds like my math teacher. I wave at him goodbye as the door closes, leaving me alone in the room. I'm so grateful for washing my working clothes today. I'm so used to them reeking of cigarettes that the detergent smell sends me into paradise.

All the time I had to get ready flew by quicker than ever, and I have to run to work again. It's like no matter when I wake up and start getting ready, I always run late.

Before getting out of the house, I look at Clay, "Don't burn the house down," I warn, "do I need to take keys with me?"

"Yeah," he speaks, not even looking up from his phone, "I'm gonna be asleep, don't knock when you come back."

With that in my mind, I grab the keys and quickly leave. Whoever is waiting for their shift to be over is going to be pissed cause I'm late again. But work is gonna be fun today cause it saves so many of my braincells from getting tortured by Clay.

Throughout the first 3 hours, I check my phone regularly, hoping to see a notification that George texted. I get that he's probably busy, it's just a habit by now. He always texts me at least once when I'm at work.

I wonder if he's thinking about me. Probably not, I'm sure he has more important things to think about at the moment. And so do I. Clay is probably poisoning my water bottle back home.

And what the fuck, speak of the devil.

I need to blink rapidly to make sure that my eyes are not deceiving me. Tall, black hoodie, beany with the blonde strands peaking from under it, brows pulled together as always. It's him.

His eyes scan the whole place until they land on me. I stare him down as he approaches the bar stools. I hope he's just here because he wanted to tell me something and didn't have my number. I hope he's that dumb.

But he takes a seat. I get to take a good look at his face. Definitely darker circles around his eyes and grumpier face than the last time I saw him. Which was 3 hours ago. He either just woke up or cried for 3 hours.

"Good morning," he half-smiles at me, looking proud that he used my trick against me. It's past midnight. At least we can scratch out the crying option, I think he just woke up, "missed me?"

I raise a brow at him and continue minding my own business. There are way more important things I need to do. For example, I have to look hot opening a beer bottle for this guy going through a midlife crisis so he tips me well.

"Umm.." I unsurely look at Clay, "could go another 6 hours without seeing you."

I'm glad every person sitting infront of me is drunk. And the music is kinda loud, so it feels like the privacy of our conversation is somewhat maintained.

I'm sure he had something smart in his mind to say, but as soon as he sees me opening two beer bottles with my ring, he falls silent. Took me a few calluses to master it, but works like a charm every time.

"So why are you here?" I look back at Clay after serving the beers.

"I don't know, why do people usually come here?"

"To stare at my tits as I shake drinks?" He thought he did something with his question. My answer definitely did something.. to him.

Because he is still recovering from my words and doesn't seem to get himself to speak anytime soon, I take the wheel again.

"Go home."

"Can I get a... whiskey on the rocks?"

I stare at him with a frown.

"No."

He chuckles at my rejection, "That's not very professional of you."

I can't believe I have to do this. Why am I the one babysitting him all the time? Couldn't he go get drunk somewhere else? Or at least get drunk when his friends were home.

"Go home, Clay," I try to warn him again, "or I can make you something non-alcoholic."

He's chewing gum carelessly and it makes him look ten times more unbothered by my words. The staring game continues for a few more seconds before he speaks.

"Whiskey on the rocks," he repeats. But this time with a smile, "please."