He gave a low chuckle and strode out to the main floor. I clutched the dolly, working to keep my cool. The faster I got out of this store, this town, the better. I’d prove to him I wasn’t a screw-up. Plenty of smart people didn’t make it through college. Granted, most of them were exceptionally gifted in other aspects, but it proved not finishing college wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe the police academy wasn’t my top choice, but I wasn’t going to sit around playing video games in my dad’s basement until I was forty while still trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I was going to make good use of that career book in the meantime but wasn’t holding my breath. Sure, I’d love to find something I was good at, but I needed to quit this overused I don’t know mantra.
As I pushed the dolly to the front, I took a long look at Peach as she messed with something in the printer section. Her black painted-on pants hugged every curve. She bent over to grab ink out of a display case, her shirt gaping open just enough to see the top of her lacy pink bra, her breasts spilling over the top. I quickly looked away, not wanting to openly check her out at work. As if Dad’s fucked up music station read my mind, Mariah Carey’s “Heartbreaker” boomed through the stereo system. I shuddered at the fact that I knew this song. Over the past six summers, Office Jax played the same loop of songs over and over. And over.
I stole another glance her way, Jules now standing straight, the outline of the bra pushing against the fabric of her shirt.
My cock twitched as I imagined her selling ink in just that pink bra and those ridiculously impractical heels. Come fill my ink cartridge, Ryan, she’d whisper in a husky voice.
I should punch myself. I was clearly deprived if my mind had turned into some cheesy eighties porno.
She looked up, and I quickly diverted my gaze to the paper display. What was with me? Normally, I was a lot smoother with girls. Peach had caught me checking her out at least twice now. Something about her, though—it’s like I was compelled to stare, which sounded really creepy to admit.
She walked over to the endcap, sucking in her cheeks and leveling me with a condescending raised brow. Some sick part of me got off on seeing her glare, let me know I was getting under her skin, which was probably the opposite of what I needed to do if I wanted to hook up with her. To my surprise, she smiled back, her cherry-red lips showcasing her Clorox-white teeth. I shifted uncomfortably, not sure what move to make next. I’d severely underestimated her tolerance for assholes if she beat me at my own game.
Leaning up against the side of the display, she crossed one ankle over the other and studied her nails. “You’re on time today.”
“Are you the warden in this place now? I thought that circle of hell was reserved for my dad.”
“A concerned citizen.”
Common ground. What better topic than my dad?
“It’s appreciated. Warden Jack is looking for any excuse to add to my life sentence.”
She giggled, keeping her eyes trained on her nails. The same shade as that damn pink bra. Which I should stop thinking about. “How long are you in town?”
“Already trying to get rid of me?” I smiled. Damn. I was more than a little rusty if this was my finer attempt at flirting.
She looked up at me, her crystal blue eyes glistening in the florescent lighting. “Maybe. I’m bad luck. You heard what happened to Mike.”
I scoffed. “You give yourself too much credit. That was too many cheeseburgers at In-N- Out.”
She giggled, the sound a sweet distraction from the mundane paper task. One that I wanted to hear over the intercom rather than the nineties pop station Dad said would feed into customers’ nostalgia, making them buy more products. Listening to Hanson didn’t make me want to buy pens; it made me want to scratch my eyes out with a rusty spoon.
“Today’s Wednesday. Guess that means it’s asshole day. Give me your best shot.” She scrunched her nose and motioned with her fingers to bring it on.
“I decided I’d put it on hold for today.”
She bit her lip and looked down at her shoes.
Or indefinitely if you keep chewing on your lip like that.
“Don’t let it bleed into Compliment Thursday.”
I bumped her in the shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Dad walked up beside us, clipboard in hand, looking especially impatient. “Ryan, I’ll need you to continue stocking the endcap. Jules, can you restock ink? We’re low on Epson.”
Jules straightened and clasped her hands behind her back. “Sure thing.”
She sauntered to the printer section, her hips swaying a little more than they had the other day. She looked over her shoulder, catching me in the act of blatantly checking her out. I expected a scowl, or at least a dirty look. Instead she smirked, raising her brow, asking a silent like what you see?
Yes, Peach, I do like what I see—cute and sexy.
And I was one step closer to tasting those glossy bow lips.
Small businesses sucked in the sense that everything was the owner’s responsibility, stock and delivery included. Dad hadn’t expanded enough that we could pay a delivery service to ship directly to customers. That was his job, usually, but during busy seasons, that responsibility went to his favorite minion…me.
Dad glanced over the mountain of paperwork on his desk. “I need you to run this shipment up to Howard Fern today.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. The fifteenth text this morning. I pulled it out of my pocket and swiped my thumb across the screen to unlock it.
Lex. Again.