Why does this conversation make my stomach twist? I don’t recall past conversations where Ani seemed so invested in my compatibility with Peyton.
“Yeah. The crowd loves her. Hasn’t messed up orders. People are genuinely happy to see her.” I want to ask Ani why all the questions, but I remain tight lipped. No need to open another door.
“Glad to hear.” She turns away from me and twists the doorknob. “Have a great night, Micah.” Then Ani disappears, leaving me in a state of nauseated confusion, like I just exited the county fair roller coaster.
What was that all about?
Yes, Ani and Sean vet employees to make sure everyone meets specific criteria. Hardworking, ambitious, friendly, ethical. But they also aim to hire people who will fit in with our little family. Ani asking questions about Peyton is… odd. Especially since she hired her without anyone’s input.
So, why the questions?
Who the hell knows. I also don’t have time to ponder her reasons. Staff will be here soon and shit needs to get done before the doors open.
I finish reports and place supply orders. After I wrap up calls to businesses interested in hosting at Roar, I exit the office. The main floor smells of lemon bleach and artificial pine. The usually dark or dimly lit room is shield your eyes bright as the janitorial staff deep cleans every surface.
“Hey, Ma,” I say and smile at the woman older than my mother. “How are you?”
Linda stops cleaning to wrap me in a hug. Hugs from Linda are like toasty blankets while watching windy beach sunsets. All you want to do is hold on and keep her close. No doubt her kids and grandchildren love her hugs too. Roar dubbed Linda and Norm—her husband and co-cleaner—Ma and Pop of our little family. They have worked here since the beginning and always lend an ear or strong opinion.
Linda releases me and holds me at arm’s length. “Looking sharp today.” I don’t miss the twinkle in her eye. “Hot date after work?” She waggles her brows.
I laugh and shake my head. “If I’m a good boy,” I tell her and smirk.
A hand slaps my chest. “Need to find you a nice girl. One that’ll make ya want more from life.”
What if I don’t want a nice girl? What if I want a fiery, rip-the-clothes-from-my-body girl? One that begs me to spank her and cries when I don’t. One that loves when I grip her throat. How about one of those girls?
“If you find her” —I pat Linda’s shoulder— “be sure to send her my way.”
Linda looks past me and smiles. “Will do, honey.” The gleam in her eye doesn’t go unnoticed. But she gets back to work before I question it.
When I spin to see what caught Linda’s attention, I spot Peyton. Hope it was sheer coincidence she was here when Linda stared this way, all googly eyed.
Behind the bar, Peyton has her back to the main floor and I steal the moment to check her out.
A sleeveless black shirt hugs her like a second skin. Hair up in a high ponytail with soft curls sweeping her upper back. I lick my lips as my eyes trail the sun-kissed skin along her neck and arms. The way she glides from one end of the bar to the other, reaches high and bends low… I adjust myself and take a deep breath.
She spins to prep the front side of the bar, peers up, and rolls her eyes when she catches me looking. Funny enough, my dick gets harder. Like it loves this side of her. The spirited fighter banging their gloves together in the corner of the ring. Always ready to go.
Well, guess what? Me, too, hellcat.
I stroll toward the bar, crank my neck left, then right, and prepare to have a little fun with Peyton. She pretends not to watch, but fails. Time and again, I witnessed her scurry down the bar to someone with their hand up, just in the cusp of her periphery. So, her subtle I don’t see you bullshit won’t work. Not with me.
As I approach, she keeps her eyes downcast on the limes. She cuts them with such slow precision, I picture her screaming inside her own head. The thought makes me want to laugh, but I bite back the urge. Her stubborn determination to ignore me provokes me further.
Peyton and me… there is no love. Maybe shades of like, but definitely no love. The fire between us stirs a tolerate-hate relationship. And I live for the whirling pleasure in my chest each time I antagonize her.
“Cut those limes any smaller and they’ll just be peels.”
Her hand freezes mid-slice as she lifts her gaze. Eyes narrow as they meet mine; a slight snarl on her lip. “How about you let me do my job and you” —she waves the knife inches from my face— “go do whatever it is you do.”
I prop my forearms on the bar and lean in, the knife dangerously close to my eye. But I don’t flinch or back down. “This is what I do.”
“What? Annoy the hell out of people.” She lowers the knife and massacres the limes more. “’Cause it’s working,” she mumbles.
The corner of my lips kick up as I bite the inside of my cheek to not laugh. “No, wench. My job is to make sure you do yours.” She rolls her eyes. “Probably why Ani was asking about you today.”
That gets her attention.