Sugar on the Edge, Page 4

Page 4

  “How about next Tuesday? The house is practically spotless right now… that will give me a chance to mess it up a bit,” I tell her with a loose grin. “I’ll also make sure to wear clothes every day so you have some laundry to do to earn your paycheck. ”

  She returns a tentative smile. “I can do that. How about I come on Tuesdays and Fridays then?”

  “That will work. ”

  “Any particular time?” she asks.

  Shrugging my shoulders, I walk back into the kitchen and pull a cup out of the cabinet above the coffee pot. The liquid gold is still brewing, but I’m done waiting for the caffeine. I pull the pot back, noting the hiss and sizzle of coffee that drips to the burner before sticking my cup underneath the stream. “I don’t care. I’ll give you a key. ”

  My cup doesn’t take long to fill, so I pull it back and put the pot back in its place. I take as big of a sip as I can without burning my tongue and turn back to face her. Her eyes are leveled with the fly on my boxers again and they snap up quickly, but not quickly enough to miss her look.

  Caught your hand in the cookie jar, little girl, I think to myself and smirk at her while my c**k jumps at the attention. I’m surprised by the boldness of her actions, because she’s seems to be nothing but a shy slip of a girl. But when I see the worry in her eyes that I just busted her sneaky peek, I realize that her look wasn’t bold at all. It was more of an involuntary reaction when I spun around on her, and now she is mortified to have been caught looking at me like that.

  Yes, she’d be a lamb left to the slaughter in one of my books. She’s the antithesis of everything that I would find attractive in a woman because while I like my conquests to keep their lips sealed for the most part because conversation is usually a turn off to me, I don’t like the work involved with someone that seems so unsure of their self. I like a woman who knows what she wants and lets it be clear to me that she’s available for the taking. It’s easier that way.

  Which makes it very odd that my body would even give the slightest reaction to her. It usually takes a lot to get my dick to twitch since my tastes are pretty singular, yet here I’ve been sporting a semi the entire time I’ve been talking to Savannah this morning.

  Oh, well… no sense in dwelling on it. She’s so not my type, so I’ll chalk it up to my c**k just having general curiosities.

  Setting my cup down, I walk over to the set of keys that Casey left me with yesterday that I had tossed onto the back kitchen counter. I see there are three keys that all look the same, so I twist one off the ring and hand it over to her. Savannah steps forward and quickly takes the key, grabbing it with the very tips of her finger so we don’t touch.

  That amuses me somewhat, and I snicker to myself. Yes, she’d make a wonderful character in one of my books… an anti-heroine of sorts that the reader would feel a bit of kinship to, but would be well satisfied when she met her demise because she’d probably deserve it due to her lack of confidence and complete innocence. Maybe I’ll use her as a muse in my current project. I can never have enough bloody and tortured bodies in my work.

  Picking my cup back up, I turn toward the staircase that leads up two flights to my office. Not looking back at her again, I say, “I probably won’t see you on Tuesday because I’ll be working, but I trust you can let yourself in and lock up when you leave. I’ll pay you in cash on Friday. ”

  She doesn’t say a word in response, but that’s okay. She’s forgotten, and I already have my head wrapped up in the manuscript I’m getting ready to delve back in to.

  4

  It’s ten o’clock on Friday night, I’m dressed in the sluttiest-looking outfit I can manage to put on without blushing, and I’m walking into Last Call… the oceanside bar that my friend, Hunter Markham, owns and that has become the hot hangout here on the islands. While the summer season is long gone, there’s still a pretty sizable crowd for late January.

  I’m taking advantage of it tonight. Meeting my girlfriends, Casey, Alyssa, and Gabby for a night out on the town. It’s Gabby’s turn to be designated driver, and I intend to get drunk. Well, I really don’t do drunk well, but I intend to get buzzed enough on sweet alcohol to try to erase the last half of my day today.

  I had another awful portrait session assisting Eric, the douche photographer I work with part time. We shot a local couple for their engagement photos, and my job was simple enough. Handle the lighting equipment, adjust the odd lock of hair that would fall funkily over the woman’s shoulder, or smooth out the wrinkles in the horrendous lavender colored drop cloth they chose for their background. It was lame actually, especially when I was used to doing my own work and on far more interesting subjects than happily grinning couples who would probably get divorced in a few years.

  After Eric snapped the last picture and sent the duo on their way, he told me he wanted me to start editing the photos tonight. I blinked at him in surprise because he never turned the photos over that quickly, and I knew without a doubt he wanted to keep me there so he could throw some of his cheesy and slightly disgusting moves on me some more.

  I easily capitulated though, because Eric pays me by the hour and I need the money.

  For the first hour of editing, he pretty much left me alone and I heard him periodically moving equipment around or talking on the phone in his office. But eventually he sought me out, as he often did. I didn’t have an office but rather a little cubbyhole off the lobby that had a thin, wooden desk tucked up against the wall.

  Eric walked up behind me and leaned over to watch my progress. Putting his chin just inches over my shoulder, I could smell the hot dogs with onions he ate for dinner on his breath and tried hard not to shudder in disgust. He watched me work for a few moments, and then said in a low voice, “Your work is very good, Savannah. It has a very sexy quality to it. ”

  Seriously? I was brushing out acne blemishes from the man’s face and he called that sexy? I cringed internally but kept a level voice when I said, “Give me a break, Eric. There’s nothing sexy about what I’m doing right now. ”

  He chuckled at me and stood up straight. His fingers came up and rested on my shoulders, digging in slightly in an attempt at a clumsy massage. “It’s looking pretty sexy from where I’m standing. ”

  I couldn’t help myself, shrugging my shoulders violently back and dislodging his hands. Standing up from the chair, I pushed back at it and it hit Eric in the knees. Spinning on him, I growled, “Enough! I’m sick of your come-ons, corny lines, and touching. ”

  Eric just blinked at me in surprise, acting like he had no clue what I was talking about, but I knew he wasn’t that dense. Sadly, he was actually a fairly good-looking guy, but he had no tact, no manners, and absolutely no brains when it came to what women wanted.

  “I’m sorry if I did something inappropriate,” he said with an apologetic smile.

  “Well, you did,” I huffed. “And you’ve been doing it a lot. I need you to stop, or I can’t work here anymore. ”

  I held my breath in fear he would fire me, because I really, really needed this job right now. Fortunately, all he did was make another profuse apology, and then his demeanor chilled to near subarctic temps. He told me I could go ahead and leave and that he’d finish the editing. He also told me that he’d call me when he needed me again. So, while technically I wasn’t fired, I’m not sure he’ll call me for any more work and that has me in a near-panic mode.

  Sighing, I walk through the crowded bar, all the way through to the back while letting some peaceful, easy feelings from the Eagles song that is pouring out of the jukebox suffuse through me. As I hit the back bar area where all the pool tables and dartboards are set up, I’m surprised to see Brody behind the bar.

  He grins at me as I step up to an empty spot, resting my forearms on the wooden top. “You filling in tonight?”

  “Yup,” he says as he pours a draft beer. “One of Hunter’s bartenders apparently has a case of the crabs so severe t
hat he can’t stop scratching at his crotch. ”

  I blink at him dumbly, unsure of what he just said. Just to clarify, I ask, “Are you serious?”

  “Nope, completely kidding. I think he has allergies or something, but it was worth it to see that look on your face,” he says, laughing.

  Who would have thought it? Brody Markham, only out of prison for just over nine months, having been completely broken and withdrawn from life, was now sitting here throwing out jokes at me. I freakin’ loved it.

  It never fails to bring a smile to my face when I see how easily he’s now reintegrating to life. Much of that has to do with him falling in love with Alyssa, but it also has to do with the incredible support system he has. His identical twin, Hunter, and his fiancée, Gabby, and of course, his little sister and my roommate, Casey, as well as his parents and myself. He has a close cocoon of people around him that share his secret… that he took the fall for a drunk driving accident where his ex-girlfriend, Stacy, was actually the one driving. Tragically, a man was killed and Brody became a felon, forever losing his charmed life in one blink of an eye.

  But he’s back now, and as he told me last week when we were bathing the dogs at The Haven, he has never been happier in his life. Of course, he said that while staring sappily over at Alyssa, who was clipping one of the dog’s nails. It made my heart seize up in joy over the love they share. I’m not sure I’m ever destined for something like that, but there is enough of a romantic in me that I have to hope it will happen to me one day.

  “The girls are out on the back deck,” Brody says as he inclines his head toward the door. “You’re the last to arrive. ”

  “Work and duty first,” I quip. “Can I get a Screwdriver while you’re at it?”

  “Sure,” he tells me as he passes the draft beer he poured across the bar to the guy sitting to my right. After he takes the guy’s money and makes change, he starts making my drink. “Doing work with the photographer tonight?”

  “Yup, but I might have lost my job,” I tell him sadly.

  “Why’s that?” he asks as puts some ice in a glass and turns briefly to grab the Ketel One from the back shelf.

  “I sort of snapped at Eric after he put his hands on me. He apologized, but I could tell he was a little taken aback that I finally called him on it. ”

  “It’s about damn time you did so,” Brody growls. “You’ve been taking too much shit from him. ”

  “Yeah, well… I need that damn job so I was willing to put up with a lot of crap from him to keep said stupid job. ”

  Brody’s hand freezes just before he tips the vodka over the glass. His eyes narrow at me, and his voice is dangerous. “What exactly did he do to you that made you finally speak up?”

  I give Brody an easy smile of reassurance. “Nothing bad, so don’t go all Rambo on me. He just put his hands on my shoulders after making some lame comment about me being sexy. I just sort of lost it and couldn’t help myself when I told him to back off. ”

  Brody resumes finishing my drink. “You are totally sexy, Savannah, and one day, you’ll find a guy that is deserving of that sexiness. ”

  I snort out loud, and Brody has no trouble hearing it over the music. His eyebrows rise up in surprise. “What? I’m serious… you’re totally a babe. Sexy hot,” he says with an attempt at a lecherous wink, but it fails miserably because one, I’m so not sexy, and two, Brody is just one of those guys that is so nice, he likes to make everyone feel good about themselves.

  Sliding the drink across the bar, Brody says, “This one’s on the house. Now go hang with your girls, you sexy thing you. ”

  “No way,” I protest as my hand dives into my purse for money, but he’s already turned away from me to see to another customer.