Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Thirty minutes into today’s last-minute shift, none other than Black Hat Guy walks in, requesting a seat in my section.
Calling on the last lesson, I step up to his table, looking directly at him.
He leans back in the booth, one long, lean arm lying out across it. “Hi again.”
“You have blue eyes.”
His lips curve up. “Since I was born, yeah. You have brown eyes.”
“Yeah, I do, basic like a boss.”
A chuckle escapes him, and his smile seems to hold, so I give myself a metaphorical pat on the back.
Pad and pen in hand, I grin. “What can I get you?”
There is a wickedness that weaves into his eyes, even I can’t miss, and he leans forward, the octave in his tone lowering. “Surprise me.”
Oh, he is so flirting!
Yay me!
Wait. What do I do now?
Keep flirting? Make a dirty joke? Say something interesting?
I smile and walk away.
And then I have Martha deliver his plate…followed by his check, being sure I made myself scarce until he was long gone.
Yeah, ignoring him is probably not the right decision, but it’s Crew’s fault! He’s slacking in his instructions, and I’m prepared to tell him so. As if he’s a mind reader, my phone beeps with an incoming text.
Crew: working today?
Me: clocked out ten minutes ago. Just walked in my front door, mentally preparing to call and yell at you. Why?
Crew: you can yell at me on the way to a barbeque. Wear whatever you would to something like that. I’ll pick you up at four.
Glancing at my clock, I see it’s a little after two, so I call Jess for a quick, homemade caramel Frappuccino date.
A few hours later, Crew’s knock comes, and I open to find him dressed in a gray T-shirt, doing its best to suffocate his biceps.
He steps inside, his gaze passively washing over me. “You got a swimsuit?”
“Yes.”
“Grab it, let me see.” Crew turns, dropping onto the couch without another word.
Okay then. I beeline toward my room, digging around in not one but two messy drawers, finding each piece in a different spot, and carrying them back into the living room.
He looks over as I stop beside him and throws himself back in annoyance. “Not in your hand. Put it on.”
“Why?” I hold up the top, then toss it over my shoulder, doing the same with the bottoms. “It’s the same thing.”
“It’s not, but if you’re worried about something showing, I can wait while you handle that.”
My mouth opens and closes. “What?”
His eyes snap to my lower half then come right back up.
“Yeah…” I trail off with a shake of my head. “Still don’t understand Crew-isms. Sorry.”
A harsh breath pushes past his nostrils, and he scoots to the edge of the seat. “If I pull down your mom jeans, are you going to have braids sticking out of your granny panties?”
“I do not wear granny panties, thank you very much.”
“Braids or no braids?”
“Ugh!” I drop my head back, quickly refocusing on the man in front of me. “Sure, since you’re unwilling to strip me naked and lay me down to find out on your own, I’ll tell you, I am fully and completely groomed. Bare to the touch and smoother than any pickup line you could muster.”
His head jerks forward then, pressing his lips into a firm line. “Good. Forget trying it on.” He shoots to his feet. “Let’s just go.”
“You sure I won’t embarrass you in my outfit? I’ll have you know they’re called boyfriend jeans, and they’re trendy.”
“Then they must be meant for girls who already have boyfriends and intended to deflect the rest of the male species.”
I gape at him. “You said wear what I would normally wear to a barbecue. This is what I would wear to a barbecue, jeans and a cute top. So what is the issue?”
Crew steps into my space, stealing all my air and claiming it as his own as he barks down at me. “The problem, little girl, is you look like a kindergarten teacher who raided her mom’s closet and swore off men, but then stand here looking me in the fucking eye while you paint a pretty fucking picture of your pussy like a twenty-one-year-old woman who’s trying to get fucked.” He drags in a quick breath. “You make no fucking sense, and you piss me off.”
I take a step back, studying him closely, noting the slight tic at his temple and the sharpness of his jaw. His muscles are tense and the vein in his neck throbs.
He does this, rants and raves when something’s not quite right, been that way since forever. Pushes when feeling pulled in two.
“What’s wrong?”
His eyes snap to mine, narrowing. “What? Nothing, let’s go.”
He goes to walk away, but I reach out, catching his pinkie and ring finger, and he glances back.
“What’s wrong?”
For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, so long in fact, I’m convinced he won’t, but as I’m about to let go, his shoulders sag, and he fully faces me.