I can’t finish that sentence, because my idea of romance is a guy who simply shows up when he’s supposed to. Which is starting to feel like a very low bar. While I keep pretending things are fine with me and Dale, he’s not even able to handle my very low bar.
I’m getting tired of this long-distance thing and being the one who always drives to Austin to see him. Maybe Dale is right, and I should just move. But something keeps me anchored here in Sheet Cake. I’m not sure if it’s just the fact that Dale hasn’t given me a ring, which would be a real reason to relocate, or if it’s the Sheet Cake roots I wish I could pull up. But so far, I don’t want to leave. And I’m getting tired of driving for Dale when he can’t do the same for me.
Anyway, leaving Sheet Cake isn’t on the table considering the new job I start tomorrow. I’ll be doing everything from web design to … I don’t actually know what. Because I have no idea what it takes to run a brewery. But I’m more than a little excited to find out.
Excited about everything but my boss, that is.
As if on cue, a voice cuts through the noise. A voice that is like a spear straight into my soul.
“Shouldn’t you be getting a good night’s sleep before your first day tomorrow?”
Does James Graham have to stand so close when he talks? And does he have to smell so good? It’s really unfortunate when the kind of man who is a total jerk is hotter than a pizza oven and smells just as good.
“Sleep is for the weak,” I say. “Plus, it’s only nine. I’ll be okay, but you should probably be in bed, grandpa.”
His scowl, which was already like a crater, deepens. Fascinating. I wonder just how deep it could go. Maybe that will be my new game—finding out just how much I can tick off my new boss.
James stares at me with that dead-eye look of his. Sometimes I really do question if the man has a soul. Right then, I get my answer because Jo runs up, flinging herself around James’s big, muscular legs. He definitely has at least a partial soul, and the man’s body is something else.
“Speaking of people who should be in bed—why are you still up, Jojo?” I ask, trying not to stare open-mouthed at the smile James aims Jo’s way. When the man smiles, he could almost be human.
“I’m going to Tank’s now,” she says, passing hugs on to me and Val. “Just wanted to say goodnight.”
“Night, little one,” James says.
He has his own nickname for her now? Ugh.
I try not to look like I’m watching, but it’s fascinating to me every time he cracks a smile. It only seems to happen with Jo. Otherwise, he seems to hate all people, especially women. And most especially me in particular, which is going to make working alongside him interesting.
Tank waves to Jo from the door, and she follows him out. I turn back to my pie and away from the man who is currently taking up too much of my brain power. Big Mo has really outdone himself with this pie. It’s incredible.
“What kind of bourbon did you use?” I ask, but before he can answer, a hand skates up my back.
And maybe it’s because I’m on high alert because of James, but I react quickly and violently. I haven’t taken self-defense classes, but after playing roller derby, I’ve got a few hits that can take out someone unprepared. The shoulder I throw back into the person standing behind me—who I assume is James—knocks him off his feet.
But when I spin around, ready to start yelling, James is still standing, his eyebrows almost at his hairline and his lip curved up in a smile. It’s Dale on the floor, eyes wide and mouth gasping. Looks like I knocked the wind out of him as well as taking him out.
“Dale!” I’m on the floor beside him in an instant, only thinking for a minute about the fact that I’m probably ruining my pantyhose—and they were a new pair too, with a cute little seam up the back. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he gasps a moment later, when he finally catches his breath. “Wow. That was some hit.”
“Yeah, it was,” James says.
I jerk my head up and glare at the infernal grouch, who only shrugs, whispering, “What? It was.”
“Do you need water? What can I get you?” I ask Dale.
He shakes his head and starts getting to his feet. I stand first and offer him my hand, but he uses a chair for leverage instead. He’s still blinking fast, with one hand pressed to his chest. “I’ll just use the restroom. Be right back.” And with that, he high-tails it to the bathroom.
I slump back down on my stool, jabbing my fork into the pie. But it seems to have lost all taste.
Val leans into me. “Your boyfriend is definitely not in the CIA.”
“That guy is your boyfriend?”
I don’t even know what James means by the tone in his voice, but it’s offensive any way you look at it. I spin on the stool and give him my fiercest look. While it would wither most people, he’s unaffected, still just looking shocked. “Yes, that’s my boyfriend.”
“Almost a fiancé,” Val adds, and I really wish she wouldn’t have, because honestly, it’s been a while since Dale and I have talked about the whole marriage thing.
Being an accountant, Dale is slightly obsessed with being fiscally responsible. Which has meant putting off even discussing the next step in our relationship again and again. I tried telling him once I’d happily live on ramen, and he looked so horrified, I didn’t bring it up again.
“What is an almost fiancé?” James scoffs.
“He’s not—whatever.” I wave my fork. “He’s my boyfriend. It’s serious.”
“That guy? The boring, buttoned-up one you just took out with one little hit?”
It’s the little hit comment that does it. I’m really not a violent person. I mean, not unless a situation calls for it. Even when I played derby, I was a jammer—more about speed and agility than big hits and blocking. Still, I know how to hit, and no one expects it coming from little ol’ me. When I stand and launch a hip hit into James’s thigh, I give it all I got.
Which leaves him on the floor exactly where Dale was just moments ago. Instead of getting down to help him, I stand over him, hands on my hips. He clutches his thigh, groaning.
“You gave me a charley horse!”
“You deserve worse.” I lift my chin. “And I regret nothing.”