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And always remember what I told you: the darkness envies the moon because it helps it shine. Don’t let people tell you you are anything less than perfect. Love you more than a flower loves the sun, —Dad.
Admittedly, the slogan—10K for Kiddies—wasn’t the height of sophisticated copywriting. It sounded diabolical, not to mention extremely illegal.
around her ankle and gave me a Bitch’s still here? look. I picked you up from the shelter, you ass.
Running wasn’t just about running. It was also about other things. It signified pain, humiliation, and uncertainty for me. Besides, if God wanted us to run, why had He invented Zumba and Pilates? They were so much more fun.
Well, well, well. If it wasn’t the consequences of my fucking actions.
was breaking out in fucking hives. And why wouldn’t I be? I was allergic to Cal Litvin—and about to spend a whole lot of time with her. All because of Rhy, that thundercunt, who’d decided to make a point. If money was what she needed, I could’ve written her checks to keep her away.
because Little Miss Broke Ass didn’t have a bike to her name, let alone a car.
“Rowy, you smell so good! Is that a new aftershave?” Mom crooned as soon as I walked through
I hadn’t, though, and my grudge was as big as my cock.
Once upon a time, I was in love with Calla Litvin. She had broken my heart in two. Whether she had done it knowingly or klutzily didn’t matter. I wasn’t letting her anywhere near that organ again.
“Don’t you dare!” Dylan crowed behind the door, snort-laughing. “Dot, it hurts! What are you doing? This is treason. If you leave a scar, I’ll give you an irrational fear of colanders. Cease this fuckery.”
“Sure. But I’ve seen videos. And I’m a pretty fast learner,” Cal reassured her. “Other than that time I built an IKEA chair upside down. But I’d had one too many eggnogs and it was four a.m.” What the fuck? I wasn’t going to let this woman-child hurt my unborn niece. I banged the door open with my fist without knocking.
“Unfortunately, that’s not new.” I screwed my fingers into my eye sockets.
“Hey, Row,” Cal chirped. “Hey, pain in the ass.”
“Why were you trying to murder my sister’s breast?”
phrase “you are what you wear” were a thing, she would be a color-blind toddler.
“It was horrible.” Dylan hung her haunted glare on my face. “Squeezing colostrum is basically bullying your boobs until they cry.”
“I’ll come back soon.” Cal placed a hand on Dylan’s shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. “With Sour Patch Kids, tamales, and refried beans.”
everyone and everything. Fuck my life. I should not be affected by this woman’s small, unremarkable ass when I had supermodels throwing themselves at me on the reg.
said—Cal looked like a porcelain doll with those huge, glittery sapphire eyes and strawberry mouth. The only things that made her look fully human were those freckles peppered across her nose, like poppy seeds.
The drive to Descartes was spent mostly in silence, which was usually my favorite soundtrack. Not so much right now, though, because the person sitting next to me was full of funny tidbits, fascinating opinions, and quirky ideas my adolescent self itched to hear.
Worked well, as there was some kind of Backstreet Boys special, so she was dancing in her seat, pointing at me every time she belted out the lyrics. She was a little ball of sunshine, and I was a big, gray cloud that wanted to piss acid rain on her parade.
She stared at me like I had just informed her I was kidnapping her to sell to the highest bidder.
It annoyed the crap out of me that she was now contaminating my new Silverado. I’d had to get rid of the Mustang a couple years back because her white-musk-and-apples stench had been engraved into the seats. Now, here I was, surrounded by her scent again.
Apparently, Cal had been trained in a day since my idiot best friend had hired her. Rhyland claimed she wasn’t a complete disaster. But seeing as the klutz had walked into every glass door in town over the years and had once burned Mr. Wallace’s toupee while trying to light his birthday cake candles, I had my doubts.
Everything she did was annoyingly sexy. The way she fixed her hair, sipped from her Stanley cup. Breathed.
“Aren’t they the most beautiful thing in the world?” No. Not even close. I swallowed. “They’re devastatingly toxic,” I drawled. “Reminds me of someone, actually.”
She put the flowers back in the vase carefully, her eyes ticking. “Can you at least pretend not to hate me?”
“Row, there are, like, thirty keys here!” Her cheeks stained red. I hated being an asshole to her, but it had to be done. I couldn’t let her worm her way back into my heart. Not even my dick. She was danger, and anyway, I was best alone.
A muscle jumped in my jaw. “Do you want this job or not?” Her tic returned in full force. Blink, blink, blink. She tried to control it by averting her gaze to the ceiling. “I’m starting to rethink it.”
running to the unemployment center near you next.” But I wasn’t that much of a dweeb to fire someone for speaking the truth. Especially when that someone worked fourteen-hour shifts five times a week for me. This was a demanding, harsh business. Not for the faint of heart. And I fucking loved it. Loved that it was stressful, full of tension, hard on the body and the soul. Loved that most people in my position were nursing a fucking cocaine habit to keep them functioning. Running a Michelin-starred kitchen was like waking up and going to war every day. I felt like Napoleon, high on that power.
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Food was an erotic experience.
Normally, I didn’t mind being a dick to people. But with her, I cared. She didn’t like men for whatever reason. She might not like me, but at least she wasn’t scared of me. Though that was about to change if I continued acting like a dickhead.
It didn’t help that I couldn’t look directly at her. That her existence was a stench I couldn’t un-smell. She was here now, not only in my territory but deep inside my head. Running circles in her little boots. I was just not used to having her in my vicinity. I’d get over my weird fixation in the next few weeks. Maybe even days.
Her timings seemed acceptable, she properly cleared the tables, was well-groomed, and held a flawless posture. My issue was that she was friendly. Too friendly. Her giggle was in my ear all the fucking time. Contagious and joyful, even through the pockets of chatter and utensil noise. She stopped to chat with tables she wasn’t in charge of. Often and at length. Leaned down and cooed over photos people showed her on their phones. She even helped one of the patrons with the zipper of her dress.
Like right now, Cal was standing in front of an elderly couple that screamed old money and appeared to be playing a game of charades with them.
“Ambrose.” He was entirely unaffected by my behavior, even giving me his I-know-you’re-having-a-terrible-time smirk. “I see you’re in a good mood.”
What the fuck am I looking at?” I pointed at Cal through the partition. She fluttered around the room, a colorful butterfly flapping its wings. She landed at a table with two businessmen who eyed her like she was fucking dessert—and seemed to be in the middle of a fervent conversation with them. One that included whiskers, by the way she wiggled her fingers next to her nose.
“She’s making a spectacle of herself. Look at her.” One of the businessmen sat back and clapped. Like she was a circus monkey. A dark flame kindled in my chest, urging me to dismember him like a lobster.
“I honestly haven’t seen acting this bad since Tommy Wiseau.” He smirked. “You deserve a Razzie Award.”
“She demonstrated the ‘Macarena’ out there at some point.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “She’s like a car accident. Hard to look away from but horrifying, nonetheless. Just because she’s got my attention doesn’t mean that it’s positive. I’m over her.”
“She’s a highly endearing individual. Like, the human answer to a unicorn. This can’t be news to you.” “She’s
I clenched and unclenched my fists. Was there anyone in this zip code who didn’t want to get into Cal’s pants? “No. Why?” “Because the entire kitchen loves her. I think she is singing an Adele song to one of the patrons.” Taylor beamed. “Using a baguette as a microphone.”
“Why?” she moaned. “We get along so much better when we don’t.” “We get along best on different continents,” I grumbled, ready to be done with the conversation before we’d begun.
“Slow your roll, Little Miss Crapshine. One, I’m not gonna fire you. Two, I don’t care what you do with the money you earned. Waste it, burn it, donate it to Satanists in need. If we’re gonna work together, we need to set up some ground rules, though.”
she looked so thoroughly fucked all I could think about was laying her down on my truck bed and fucking every single hole in her body until it was the shape of my cock.
Watching her waiting for my words made my dick hard. Come to think about it, watching her breathe made my dick hard. She could probably pick her nose and smear it all over my windshield and my dick would still go ramrod straight, awarding her with a standing ovation.
enthusiasm and curiosity of a child…and the body of a very grown-up woman.
but in Descartes, you will not be playing charades, dancing to infamous nineties songs, or singing Adele ballads to customers. You’ve made a fool out of yourself under my roof, and I won’t tolerate it.”
“Spare me the big Disney speech. Just spit it out.”
