She steps up to the counter and another bell dings. Turning around, I see Miller and Atticus have left, leaving me in the shop with quite possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, her hatred for me–which seems to be thriving as she narrows her blue eyes on me, and Delane–oblivious to the world around her because she’s living in romancelandia.
I lift my hand–damp from the sweating water bottle–and fix a normal smile on my face. I’m grateful to be behind the counter because after acting like a prick last week, the last thing I wanna do is get a hard-on in front of her.
“Hi,” I say, not knowing how to toe into the apology because it’s so awkward. We’re strangers. She may not even remember me or last week.
“Hello,” she says coldly, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder. There’s a swipe of blue paint on her inner wrist that I catch when her arm is up. I nod to it, grateful to have a small-talk “in” before launching into my apology tour.
“Been painting?” I ask, a weird smile still awkwardly plastered to my face.
Her beautiful face remains cold and impassive as she replies. “Yeah, why? You going to tell me that’s a man’s job?” She drops her hand to the Plexi counter, and my eyes follow as she drums her pink fingernails against it. “Should I be baking a loaf of bread instead?”
Oh yeah, she remembers.
I sift my hand through my hair, and even though she’s angry, I can’t look away from her eyes. I hate the nervous chuckle that escapes me.
“Yeah, well, I wanted to talk to you about that.” My courage is still loading when she tears into me again.
“About what my role in society is?” She presses a hand to her chest and jesus fuck, it takes every ounce of sober willpower I have to not look at that fucking huge rack of hers. God, they’re so fucking plump and perfect. I have to apologize and I do feel like shit, but I’m still a man, andholy shit.
“I’m sorry, was there something else you needed to tell me that you didn’t get to last week?” She blinks, her dark lashes making my heart do a weird little flutter thing. The plastic bottle cracks and pops as my grip tightens.
“Let’s see,” she starts, counting off fingers on her hand. Thank god–that means she’s not touching her chest anymore. A condescending count down isn’t great but it’s taking my focus off her tits, so that’s good. “We coveredcalm down,” she pushes her hand against her pointer finger before adding the middle, counting off a second cringe fact. “Andbe quiet.” She nods. “There’s more? What else do you need me to do as a woman in your world?”
I finish my water and push out a nervous breath. “I’m sorry I said those things to you. It was wrong.”
She shakes her head, her blonde hair curtaining her face with the movement. Fuck, she smells good. Like… flowers and baby powder or some shit. Just clean sexy woman smell, and I’m here for it. My cock awakens, and now that I’ve slowed the drinking, he really wants attention. This bombshell isn’t helping the cause.
“It was wrong for you to say, but more importantly, they are wrong for you to think.” Her flaming blue gaze holds mine.
“I know,” I say, entranced by her angry beauty. “I don’t feel that way about women. It was just a perfect storm of bad shit that day, and…” I shake my head, feeling breathless under her focus. “I’m sorry. I am very, very sorry. I shouldn’t have said that shit and I feel like a prick for upsetting you.”
Her expression softens, and I notice the light smattering of freckles along the bridge of her nose and over the cherry pink swells of her cheeks.
She falters with her words for just a moment, but I catch it, and I wonder if it’s because of me or just the situation in general. Ireallywonder.
“I—you… You didn’t upset me.” She adjusts her purse, eyes going to the door as Delane reenters from the back. The woman smiles at Delane before bringing her focus back to me. She doesn’t know Delane is deep into someone getting dicked down in her audiobook, so she whispers, “I was having an off day, too.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, responsively, because the idea of this gorgeous creature having a shitty day for whatever reason really fucking bugs me. Someone should be feeding her grapes, rubbing oil into her skin, and worshiping her pu–
“Did he apologize?” Delane says, flopping down onto her stool in front of the computer.
The woman smiles politely, and I can see any discussion we were going to have has disappeared. “He did.”
“She didn’t tell me to,” I say, tipping my head toward Delane as I place both hands on the counter. Her eyes drop to them, and I notice how her mouth parts just barely as she takes in my fingers. Our gazes lock when I say, “I mean, she did, but I was going to apologize anyway. I felt like an asshole all week because of how I treated you.”
Her mouth opens. It closes. It opens again, and I’m caught staring at her pouty lips spreading and sealing. My dick nudges the desk. Fuck, I am so hard right now.
“Th-thank you,” she says quietly, sounding like some sick fusion of sad and surprised. Almost like she wasn’t expecting an apology.
And for whatever reason, that doesn’t sit right with me, either.
Delane slides the work invoice across the counter, and the woman takes it. I watch as her eyes down the itemization, taking in each line and the associated cost. We’re fair here at Wrench Kings, and without even looking at the invoice, I know with all certainty she was not overcharged. Still, I don’t know why I do it. But I just do. I grab the invoice from her hand and crumple it.
“Just get her the keys, Delane.” She and I can’t stop our potent eye contact. “We’ll cover it. As an apology for my extremely dickish behavior.”
She looks at Delane. I look at Delane. Delane looks at me. The woman looks at me.
“The uh, manager or owner or whoever won’t mind?”