“I’ll be just fine, but thanks for the concern.” She grabbed five reams of paper and made her way across the freight area, stopping just short of the double doors to the main floor entrance. She spun around on her heels and said, “By the way, my name’s not chick or princess, it’s Jules.”
Shit. She heard me call her chick? I forgot the walls were made out of one-ply toilet paper. No use denying it. I could tell her initial impression of me was the same as mine for her: uninterested. Maybe uninterested was taking it a little far. There was definite interest, and I knew where that led.
Picking up an armload of paper that stacked up to my chin, I said, “Whatever. We’re wasting daylight here. Get a move on.”
She arched a brow, her eyes burning a hole through my forehead. “Excuse me?”
What was with me? Normally, I didn’t take digs at people, especially cute girls I didn’t even know, but between the nasty text marathon I’d just endured with Lex and fighting with my dad, it just reiterated why I needed to push her away.
I was pretty sure she already hated my guts, so I went for the final nail in the coffin by matching her arched brow and raising her a blood-boiling head tilt. “Did I stutter? I said you should get back to work.”
Shit. That was such a dick thing to say, and I should punch myself in the nuts for speaking to a woman like that, but I couldn’t stop. She sucked in a deep breath, her nostrils flaring. She cradled the stack of paper in one arm and jabbed a finger into my chest. “I don’t know what’s up your ass, but barking out orders isn’t going to fly.”
I took a step back. Damn. She may have been easy to rile up, but Peach didn’t mess around. A girl who called it like it was—refreshing.
She exited the back before I could respond, the swinging door crashing into me as I made my way to the front of the store. Before I knew what I was doing, I chased after her, those damn heels clicking at warp speed. How could someone walk so fast in those ridiculous shoes? And why was I trying to catch up to her? If I was smart, I’d listen to the little voice telling me to run like hell from the smokin’ blonde.
“Jules.” I caught up and cut in front of her. And apology started to form in my mouth, but at the last second I turned away and focused on the display case. Wringing one out was like trying to get my ‘68 Camaro to come to life. It started with a sputter and died before the ignition could catch. It was smart to keep my apologies in the same place I kept my car—in storage. I shook my head. Don’t start getting soft, look where that got you. A cheating girlfriend and a broken heart. No thanks. “Never mind.”
Our gazes met, and I stared at the thin line of eyeliner that coated her lids. She shot me a quick fuck off glare and went back to messing with her reams of paper.
I clutched my stack of paper tighter in my hand and focused anywhere but her direction.
Peach was the least of my worries. I had bigger issues to deal with—like Dad and that whole figuring-out-what-to-do-with-my-life deal. I’d spent three years confused as hell about what to do, none of the majors a good fit. This summer was my final attempt to get my shit together and figure out my future career. My uncle generously scored me a spot in the police academy in Waco if I didn’t come up with any other career options before then. Dad hated the idea of me joining the force, but, at this point, it seemed like the best option.
After a minute of silence, both of us working side-by-side, she said, “Are you always such an asshole? Or only on Mondays?”
I deserved that. “Mondays and Wednesdays. Tuesdays and Thursdays are reserved for compliments.”
“Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind for tomorrow’s shift.” She moved to the other side of the display and dropped the paper to the floor with a thud.
I smiled. Peach had a pretty good sense of humor under that immaculate exterior. Lex hated my jokes, always dismissing them with a scoff or a glare. I shook my head and returned my focus to stacking paper on the display shelves.
Just as I lined up the last ream, a boy band pop song started on the radio, my molars grinding in response. The corner of Peach’s eye ticked as the main singer hit a note in the Whitney Houston range. Finally, someone else who shared my dislike for nineties music. She couldn’t be that bad.
And if she wasn’t that bad, why the hell would she want to work at Office Jax? Office supplies were the asshole of conglomerate America. With her looks, she could easily bat her lashes and get a cushy spa job.
I moved around the display and shoved my hands in my pockets as she pushed the last of her paper onto the shelf.
“You don’t seem like the type to slum it in Office Jax.”
“Huh?” She leaned her shoulder on the shelf and crossed her arms over her chest.
I motioned to our surroundings. “Office supply store doesn’t seem to suit you.”
“It’s my dream job. Pens and highlighters are a huge turn on. Don’t even get me started on ink cartridges.” She fanned her face.
I chuckled. Cute. A-plus for making me laugh.