Trash Daddy

3. Meet Cute? Meet Not So Cute, Actually

An out-of-place squeak pricks at my unconsciousness.

Another bump and the soft rattling of glass shoots awareness, sharp like electricity, along my skin. Adrenaline dumps into my bloodstream. My mind jerks, fully awake now.

In one fluid movement, I”m up off the unkempt bed. My desk drawer glides open on smooth rollers, and I grasp my handgun, pulling it from the dark recesses. Trying to peer down the dark hallway and reach for my phone simultaneously, my hand slaps down on an empty desk corner where my phone should be. The untethered charging cable slips from the desk. Fuck me. My phone is on the show floor, and the music isn”t playing. Definitely dead. I snag my burner phone from in between the mattresses.

My ears strain for any sound coming from the darkness beyond my bedroom. Rain hammers the pavement outside.

It”s the skinheads from the bar.They”re the only ones I”ve pissed off. Recently. And my stupid ass left a business card behind. My heart hammers against my ribcage. Forcing a quiet breath into my lungs, I extend the hefty Glock out in front of me. Silently, I step out of the room. The hallway”s typical cream-colored walls appear gray in the shadows, creating a darkness I hope conceals me.

A heavy, wet slap freezes me in the hallway entry, gun at the ready. A shaky breath escapes my lips as my adrenaline spikes, constricting my chest.

Rumbling fills the air as thunderbolts flash outside, temporarily illuminating the space. The strikes create a strobe effect, distorting my vision; I wish I hadn”t turned off all the lights last night.

A loud whack and the jarring noise of wood furniture scraping against tile sounds off in the kitchen section, the only part of the show floor with tile. How the hell did they get in? Bolted and reinforced, the back door is inaccessible. The front dings when anyone enters. Who are these fucking guys? SEAL Team Six? For fuck’s sake.

A string of curses in a soft feminine voice followed by, ”Ouch. Ouch. Stupid table,” leaves me less concerned but more curious. I listen for a response and am surprised when no one shushes the woman. Footsteps pad across the fake kitchen floors and again, the sound of table legs scraping fills the air.

”There. Now, you won”t trip me anymore.” Her voice carries on the high ceilings. My brows pull down.

Motionless, I squint into the darkness, as if narrowing my eyes will heighten my hearing. Is she really alone?

The sounds of a zipper and the unmistakable thud of shoes hitting the floor reach my ears. The woman hums. Loudly.

Whoever she is, she doesn”t make a habit of breaking and entering. The adrenaline pumping through my body slows; I suspect the situation is less problematic than I initially thought. Still, she’s trespassing, and Luke”s is all I have left. Gun drawn, I step out into the hallway and flick on the lights, pointing it toward the noise.

My gun slowly lowers as I take in the unexpected sight before me.

The woman freezes in place as she sits on one of my blue paisley-printed mattresses for sale, her eyes wide with fear.

And not just a regular woman, but a half-naked woman. A half-naked, soaking wet woman who has perfect tits kissed with dark nipples. Ohhhh. I’m gonna call her tits.

She lets loose a shocked scream so blood-curdling, all the hairs stand up on my neck. My eyebrows fly into my hairline. An overwhelming primal need to turn around skitters down my body; I spin and check if anything worse than me is back there. When nothing jumps out, I swivel back just in time to catch a glimpse of her wet blonde hair disappearing into the mock kitchen layouts. I snort. Hmmm, someone wants to play hide and get fucked.

I stay alert, my bare feet slipping silently across the carpeted mattress section. An upended, wet black duffle sits at the foot of the blue paisley bed next to a dainty, soiled, baby-blue handbag with a silver chain—a black trash bag sags on the floor, holes gaping in the plastic. I”m amazed it still holds anything. I take in the contents—balled-up, wrinkled clothes, makeup with labels half rubbed off, pens, a torn notebook, loose change, a hair curler thing, a mixture of feminine basics—all of it makes me stop short. I”ve seen this before.

Images surface of my black duffle bag and skimpy trash bags filled with clothes too small for my growing body. All of it being forced into the trunk of yet another social worker”s car. It’s an experience and memory I deeply loathe—one that sharply reminds me of my childhood struggles. Unfortunately, for some people, life begins with a black bag and ends with one, too. And the places they visit in between aren”t much better: street corners, truck stops, their dealer’s house, and, in this case, a used-furniture store.

Eyeing the sopping wet shirt and bra on the tiled floor, I mentally shake myself and shove down all that bullshit. Not every day a man wakes up to a half-naked woman just getting undressed in his place of business. I mean, maybe if he owned a lingerie shop.Hey, that”s an idea.

Chuckling to myself, I call out into the quiet, ”C’mon out, tits. I”m armed, and clearly, you”re not. What are you going to do, huh? Flash me to death?” My laughter carries out onto the show floor.

Steady rain falls on my roof, punctuated by the occasional clap of thunder. My gaze sweeps the hushed store, and I hunt for movement. The little lady tucked herself out of sight nicely. Those full coconuts come to mind, along with a delicious idea that makes a smile creep across my face. I adjust the half-mast red flag in my pants.

”Listen, tits. If you make me chase you, tonight will be harder on you than it already is”.

”I didn”t mean to.” Her hoarse voice floats from somewhere ahead.

My eyes roll to the ceiling in disbelief as I let out a derisive snort. Yeah, okay. Sure, she broke in accidentally. As I tap the barrel of the Glock against my thigh, her words loop in my head; underneath the rasp of fear is a breathy youthfulness. That lines up with the perfect tits. Perhaps honey’s better than vinegar, especially if she’s younger. Bring out the beating stick too soon, they never forget you have it.

”Now, we both know that”s a lie. But it”s okay; I”m not mad. You startled me. Are you hurt? I can help.”

Tits doesn”t answer me.

Impatience makes me abandon the advantage of surveying the entire store. My feet pad softly across the chilled white tiles in the mock kitchens. Elevated cabinets and right-angle displays create a disorienting atmosphere; thankfully, Luke”s isn’t large enough to accommodate many of them. She is here, somewhere.

Quietly, I nudge open a sink cabinet large enough for a woman with my foot. Nothing. Damn it. Letting the door fall shut on soft-close hinges, I straighten. ”If you”re not hurt, why did you break in? I deposit all the money at the end of the night, so there isn”t any cash here.” That”s a lie. I keep a lot of money here, although most of it isn”t mine. I round the corner of one of the kitchens, glancing both ways. ”Unless you were planning to drag a couch out the front door or steal a microwave, I can”t imagine your plans.”

”I just wanted to sleep inside. Maybe find something to eat. I”m sorry. Please, I”ll leave.” Tits’ small soft voice carries to me, twisting up parts of me I”d rather she not. She does actually sound apologetic. Fuck, I really wish she hadn”t answered like that; it makes me feel bad for pointing a gun at her face. A strong urge to put the gun away runs over me, but past experiences have taught me better.

Moving toward her voice, I ask, ”How did you get in?”

She sighs faintly. ”The window in one of the bathrooms was propped open. Please don”t call the police. I”m sorry. You”ll never see me again.”

I”m a fucking idiot. Mentally, I kick myself for propping it open after a hurried joint in the bathroom before I hit the club. I step into a squared-off display space; four kitchens face each other. Rich colors and ornate trim styles brush up against lighter and simpler options. She is sitting behind a turquoise-washed wooden kitchen island. The legs of the table frame part of her slim, naked back. Her ribs protrude gently under tanned skin with each breath, giving her a slightly underfed look.

Stepping up to the table, I lean forward and tap the barrel of my gun on the countertop. Tits flinches at the sound, hunching in on herself. Slowly, her face turns and tips up toward me as she tucks a damp curl behind her ear.

Eyes the color of the coast during a hurricane search my face in fear. Her curls hang limp and frizzy down to her collarbones and share the same grayish-tan color that sand gets when wet. She”s a dirty blonde. My favorite type. Her skin has a slight caramel color, enough that I can see the outline of bikini straps from a previous tan.

My cock twitches.

”Anyone ever told you that you look like the beach?”

I love the beach.

She shakes her head, eyes brimming with alarm. “No?”

I smirk.

If the sea had been given legs and an ass, she’d be the temptress before me. My hands itch to glide over her shoulders. I would pay good money to brush my fingers over the delicate skin on her face and wrap her curls around my fingertips. An obsessive desire hits me; it ripples deeply and sinks into my core. Damn, it”s been a while since I felt greedy over a woman.

“Please, I’ll leave.” she offers.

My brows draw down at the thought that she wants to leave. Maybe she has people?

No, if she did, she wouldn”t be here. No one is looking for her, and no one had better be.

I drag the gun across the countertop. “Stand up.”

”Can I have my shirt, please?” There is an unexpected desperation to her tone, causing me to catch what I didn”t before; fear, exhaustion, and anger all war across her features. It makes my musings recede. Gentle. Remember the honey.

I let the Glock point to the floor, and a panty-dropping smile flows across my lips.With a flick of my empty hand, I motion toward the mattress section. ”Of course.”

She stares at me expectantly. ”Will you turn around?”

My eyes snap down to where her arms cup her voluptuous coconuts. ”Definitely not.”

A spark of anger alights in her eyes as she watches me check her out. When she’s scowling up at me, an agitated breath huffs from her lips as she rises. Her arms band tighter around her ample breasts, squishing them together; soft roundness peeks above and below her forearms as she brushes past me, aiming toward the beds.

I can”t help but admire the courage it takes to walk past me. She isn”t giving in to hysteria despite being half-naked and alone with an armed stranger—tough lady.

Curious as to how long this bravado will hold out, I snag her elbow, closing the distance between us. Alarm floods her face as I trail my fingers across soft, vulnerable skin. My cock hardens in my baby-blue slacks.

Her face tilts away from me. Wary eyes clash with mine. ”What are you doing?”

”Don”t worry, sugar. I”m not going to fuck you unless you want me to.” A smile plays on my lips and I wink. A snarl replaces the alarm on her face—she”s definitely a fighter.

Thunder booms across the night sky, and the overhead lights flicker before steadying. ”It”s a rough night, no place for a thing like you,” I observe out the front windows. My fingers skirt up to her shoulder, tracing delicate collarbones. She shrugs me off and takes a step backward, rage burning in her eyes. Well, flirting isn”t working. It might have something to do with the Glock; I should’ve put it up.

Sighing, I know a lost cause when I see one—adifferent approach then. I relent, letting her go. I tuck the gun under the belt of my slacks and step away, holding up my empty hands. ”Okay, sugar, this is how it is. You broke into my shop, interrupted my night, and then dared to ask me not to call the police. For all that hassle, I need a picture of you so I don”t forget your face.”

A delicate frown dents her forehead. ”You have cameras; I saw them outside.”

”And yet you still broke in? Baby, I’ll have to teach you how to be a better burglar,” I say, deflecting away from the fact that I do have cameras both in and outside of Luke’s. Which I plan to use later to watch her get undressed. But, for now, that obsessive desire is demanding pictures.

She eyes the carpet and shrugs defensively. ”I covered my face. I”m not a complete idiot. You”re the idiot touching some strange girl you don”t know. I might be diseased.” She stares me down.

Laughter bursts out of my chest. ”Honey, don”t call the man with a gun an idiot; that”s how you get shot.”

Her eyes narrow, and she glances around for a way out. I can’t tell if she is dumb for arguing with me while she’s half-naked or brilliant. Between the lack of sleep and her sexy form, I’m having issues focusing on being angry. I shake my head. Fuck, if I”m not a sucker for a hot mess.

”The cameras aren”t working. C”mon, a picture is such a small price to keep you out of trouble, don”t you think?” I argue.

Pulling my burner from my pocket, I wave it in her direction and swipe to the camera.

”Right now? Can”t I put on a shirt first?” she snaps, edging toward the mattresses.

We lock eyes and she freezes. ”It”s such a small price, one quick photo. Barely a second of your time.”

She heaves a sigh and shoots me a pissed-off look. Ballsy, given her predicament, but I”ll let it stand. She turns to face me as one of her middle fingers uncurls from her folded arms and flips me the bird.

I bite back laughter. Oh, she’s going to love this next part. I swipe past photo to video.

Reaching between us, I tap her arm and push down, repeating, ”It really is such a small price.”

Her jaw drops as she catches my meaning. ”Seriously?”

I shrug and toss her a playful grin with a flash of teeth. ”For a cop-free evening, one picture won”t hurt. Plus, I’ve already seen them. It’s not like I’m asking to see anything else.” For now.

Her guarded eyes rake over me, and an energetic thrill slips into my skin flute when she shakes her head and drops her arms. A muttered, ”Whatever,” falls from her lips; at the same time, those beautiful bouncers fall away from each other. She refuses to look at me, choosing to stare off across the store. “Let’s just hurry up.”

I don’t hurry up. Instead, I take my time and drink her in, letting the camera roam over her body. Fuck, I was right. Her tits are beautiful. Perfectly bottom-heavy with tight nipples that would look best in my mouth. My dick swells in my pants.

When I brush my knuckle over her satin nipple, the warmth of her soft skin makes my cock throb painfully. Her head whips back to me, an incredulous look of rage widening her eyes.

I narrowly avoid the open-handed slap.

The force of that hit would have hurt.

”You didn”t say touching, you douche!” She swats at my dodging frame and sprints away from me toward her clothes. Chuckling, I shove my phone into my back pocket and follow. She gets feisty when cornered. It”s cute.

Tits yanks a navy-blue tank top down over her lovely skin, grabs the black duffel bag, and shovels in items haphazardly. Parking my ass on the bed opposite her, I pitch an offer. ”Listen, why don”t you stay awhile? I own this place. We can cut a deal. No need to run off. Plus, it”s raining cats and dogs out there.”

Her notebook and makeup tumble out of the half-full bag she throws on the bed. She pins me with a glare. Boy, if looks could kill, I”d be pushing up daisies. Her mouth opens, shuts, and opens again. Each time the words fail, she grows increasingly agitated. Finally, she pops off, ”Why the fuck would I agree to that after you felt me up?”

Good point. Offering a reassuring smile, I barter, ”Here me out. I won”t touch you again unless you agree to it. You have my word.”

Folding her arms across her chest, she snorts and shoots daggers at me.

”Think about it before your temper gets in the way of money and a safe place to sleep,” I coax, nodding to her meager belongings. ”Looks like you could use a break and some luck. That”s what I”m offering. At least have a midnight snack with me.” I gesture to all the beds on display. ”Then, if you want, you can sleep in any bed out here. Alone. And, in the morning, you can start working for me.”

”I”m not going to fuck you for a bed.”

I half sigh, half laugh and rub my hand down my face. ”Now, didn”t I just say I wasn”t going to fuck you without your permission? I’m talking cash. Cash for your hours worked and any extra jobsyou do for me.”

Her eyes narrow. ”Real cash?”

”As opposed to fake cash? Yes, real cash. You got a driver”s license on you?”

Pursing her lips, she shakes her head.

”Any ID at all?”

”No.”

I sigh and glance around. ”Okay, well, it will be contract labor. I’ll figure it out. ”

”Are you seriously offering me a job after I broke in? You pointed a gun at me and touched…” I raise my eyebrows as she trails off, a faint blush staining her face.

I hold up a hand. ”Hey, you came into my space, fucked with my shit, and helped yourself to things that weren”t yours. I just did the same. We”re even steven now.” I pause, giving that one time to marinate. “Plus, why wouldn”t I offer you a job? You”re in a tough spot; you need money. I need a worker, and I have money. It”s a win-win.”

She considers quietly, her pert mouth twisting. ”I guess that”s fair. I did plan on taking some things.” She flushes and unfolds her arms. ”And all that… earlier business is done?” She arches one eyebrow my way. ”No cops? No more gun waving?”

”Of course, sugar. A fresh start.” Offering her my best grin, I motion for her to follow me to the back. ”Let”s talk about it over some food while I put this up.” I wave the Glock around cheerily now that tits seems somewhat convinced to stay.

She hesitates, probably still determining if she should follow some random gun-waving man into the back of his store, and truth be told, she shouldn”t. But the almighty dollar is a strong hook for most people, especially a down-on-their-luck drifter.

I don”t judge her desperation as her feet whisper across the floor and follow me down the hallway.