Chapter Six
Amos
But he doesn’t budge.
Not that I expected him to, I think with a heavy sigh.
“Seriously, Xavier, I would really like to keep this job, so if you could get out, that would be great.”
I watch as his eyes take on a mischievous gleam, and I shake my head. Turning my attention back to the flattop in front of me, I make my way the few feet to the walk-in freezer. Where the hell is that bag—got it!
I pick up the package of day-old, hand-cut fries, and pull the Ziploc seal apart, turn on my heel and bump right into Xavier.
“Being in the kitchen isn’t enough? Now you have to contaminate the food, too?” I bark as I attempt to push past him. Instead of just getting out of the way, he grips me by the elbow and shoves me back into the freezer with a smirk on his face.
“Got a question for you,” he begins, his smirk slowly spreading into a grin.
I wave a hand in front of my face, suddenly aware of the smell of booze on his breath, then quirk an eyebrow impatiently.
He runs a hand down his face, pauses for a moment to scratch his chin and glance over his shoulder, before giving me his undivided attention.
“When’s your next break?”
“That depends really,” I reply with a shrug.
“On what?’
“On how quickly I can fill these orders. Now, move,” I snap, shoving him to the side and walking out of the freezer.
Xavier laughs as he stumbles on his feet, yet manages to keep his footing. With a frustrated grunt, I violently begin to shake out half a bag of fries into the fryer before tossing the rest on the counter behind me.
No sooner do I lower the fries basket into the hot oil, do I feel something sharp suddenly being run down my arm. I glance down and swallow hard when I realize that Xavier has one of the peeling knives gripped firmly in his hand, and is watching for any reaction from me.
“That’s a dangerous thing to do,” I say conversationally as I reach for the handle of the basket and give it a quick shake.
“Why’s that?” he asks, his tone husky as he takes a step closer to me.
“Because,” I begin in as controlled a voice as I can, “knives are used for cutting things. I am not one of those things.”
I shift slightly on my feet as he runs the tip of the blade up my arm again, then chuckles.
“What if you could be?”
I give him an incredulous look, but almost instantly turn my face toward the fryer again.
That look in his eye is different.
It’s the same one I get when I think about him sometimes, lying in my bed at home, wondering why things have to be the way they are.
Why we have to be so fucking different, yet so much alike. Why it’s not fair that he’s in my family when he could have just been a one-night stand.
I reach for the handle of the knife and swipe it out of his hand, flinching slightly when the blade breaks the skin.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath as I attempt to swipe at the blood with my thumb, but Xavier is faster.
He uses his tongue to trace the small cut, erasing the trace of blood, then gives me a grin. I watch him carefully as he moves to lean against the counter. The sound of his fingers drumming along the greasy metal is the only other sound I can hear clearly, besides my goddamn heart beating erratically in my ears.
“So, like I said,” he states as he locks eyes with me again, “when’s your next break?”