Protect Me Not ((Un)Professionally Yours 2)

“This is a little different,” Ty growled, holding up his game controller pointedly.

“Same principal. Aim and shoot. You’re supposed to have my back, but I keep getting my brains eaten by these motherfucking zombies.”

Ty sighed sharply and tossed aside the controller, glaring at the paused television screen.

“You’re moodier than usual,” Chance observed, setting aside his own controller in favor of a bowl of chips. He put his feet on the coffee table and hastily crunched his way through a few chips, before belatedly offering the bowl to Ty.

“Get your filthy feet off the coffee table,” Colby’s voice called from the doorway, and Chance rolled his eyes, but complied. Ty glanced over his shoulder in time to see Colby, dressed in a thick robe, green gloop on her face, and a couple of curlers in her bangs, shuffle her way to the kitchen.

“The fuck is up with that stuff on her face?” Ty whispered to Chance, who shrugged disinterestedly before fishing another chip from the bowl.

“Is it the green gunk? Or the gray, cement looking stuff?”

“Green.”

“Fucked if I know. It smells like cucumbers. Makes her look like a tiny Shrek.”

Ty snorted.

“She has some kind of sixth sense,” Chance grumbled, looking irritable. “Always seems to pop out of the woodwork whenever I put my feet on the table.”

“Maybe don’t put your feet on the coffee table,” Ty suggested. “It’s a disgusting habit.”

“Whatever. Well? Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or do I have to guess?”

Ty ran a restless hand through his hair. “I sent her flowers.

“You did?” Chance’s voice was filled with unholy glee. He didn’t bother to ask who Ty was talking about. “What did she do?”

“Nothing. Not one word. No text, email, or phone call.”

“What were you hoping for?”

“I don’t know. An opening, maybe. An excuse to start talking again. Does she ever talk to you…about me?”

Chance took a moment to consider the question, before pursing his lips, and shaking his head. “Not at all. And if I happen to mention you, she quickly changes the subject.”

He set the bowl aside and sprawled, long legs stretched out in front of him and folded at the ankles.

“Look, man, what do you want from her? How do you feel about her? Do you even know? Because if you don’t, if you want her back only to half-arse it again, then leave her alone, okay? But if she’s it for you, and you’re ready to rejoin the living for her, then fight harder, and dirtier. And more decisively. Because I’m willing to bet that all you’re doing right now is confusing her.”

Ty considered his friend’s words and came to the immediate conclusion that Chance was right. He had been half-assing it. It was time to show Vicki, and everybody else, that he was serious about this. About her.

He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

“Victoria Ann Hollingsworth! Will you go out with me?”

Vicki stiffened when the devastatingly familiar, beautiful baritone cut through the busy chatter of the—oh so many—Christmas rush customers filling up the store.

Oh, God! What the hell was he doing? He loomed at the entrance of her shop, blocking out the light with his massive shoulders, clutching flowers in one hand, and a wrapped present in the other.

Everybody went absolutely silent. Vicki stared—wide-eyed—as Ty made his way to her worktable, where she was in the process of sprinkling gold glitter onto the bright red leaves of a beautiful poinsettia.

“Uh…excuse me,” he muttered, side-stepping an elderly gentleman. “Sorry.” This as he jostled a woman with a baby. “I—if you don’t mind…” As he did the awkward sidestep dance with a young man, who was clutching a bunch of roses.

By the time he reached Vicki—who still hadn’t moved—his face was bright red, and he had a panicked expression in his eyes.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, but—because the shop was so silent—with everyone staring at them in avid, prurient curiosity—the words carried to every last person.

He tugged at his shirt collar as if he were having some difficulty breathing. Which begged her next question: “And what are you wearing?”

A plaid shirt? Suspenders?

What?

Ty was not a guy who went for the whole lumber-sexual look. Mr. Clean-Cut was more at home in business suits and jeans. This was a steep departure for him.

Then again, everything happening right now was a steep departure for Ty.

Beads of sweat were starting to form on his forehead and above his lip. He seemed nervous, and so far out of his element, it was ridiculous.

“Ty, I’m working right now.” Total understatement. It was two days before Christmas, and they were absolutely swamped.

As someone who had witnessed the Christmas rush firsthand last year, Ty should have known how crazy it would be here today.

Still, he looked so damned endearing right now, she couldn’t find it in her to be angry. She was just confused. And…well no, confused was definitely the right word. The only word.