Chapter 6 #2
That didn’t stop me from kissing him back, because Chase might be an antisocial asshole, but he was also just my type—lean, cute, and pushy as hell.
You just knew that if Chase wanted your dick, he’d throw you on your back and ride it without a second thought, which was both mildly terrifying and all kinds of hot.
I slid my hands around to his hips and held him there, widening my legs when he shoved a knee between my thighs.
“Asshole,” he muttered, breaking the kiss long enough to get the word out before diving back in.
I pulled away. “Hard fucking same.”
He bit my bottom lip hard enough to sting, and I wasn’t opposed. I tightened my grip, pulling him closer and kissing him hard enough that our teeth clacked together, and he let out a shocked noise.
The door to the walk-in creaked and then Tyler said, “Uh, Lee? Your mom’s here.” The door closed again, the sound echoing.
My back slammed against the flour sacks as Chase shoved me away, his face flaming scarlet.
He glared at me, his brow creased and his chin jutting out like a challenge.
Maybe he thought I was going to fire him or yell at him, but I was still in shock that one, he’d kissed me, and two, that it had been so much hotter than I’d imagined—and I had imagined it, whatever I’d told Tyler.
Plus my main concern right now was getting rid of my inconvenient boner before going to talk to my mom.
I cleared my throat. “I should go.”
He nodded, eyeing me warily.
And then, for no reason I could tell you—except maybe stupidity and lust—I added, “We should do this again sometime.”
We should do this again sometime? What the fuck, Lee?
Chase stared at me for a second like he was wondering what the hell was wrong with me—and honestly, same—before he cocked an eyebrow at me, smirked, and said, “Yeah. Maybe.”
He grabbed his sandwich bag and pushed past me, pulling the release handle and leaving me standing there, half-hard, half-confused, and more turned on than I’d been in a hell of a long time.
And all while my mom was waiting for me.
I blew out a long breath and straightened my shirt and tried to look as though I hadn’t been making out with an employee. Then I strode out of the walk-in door, nodding at Tyler as I passed him.
“Are the straights okay?” he mimicked in a sing-song voice that didn’t sound anything like me. And then he burst out laughing, the dick.
Mom and Sam were inspecting the cakes, pastries, and cookies in the display case on the counter when I went out front to meet them.
Mom was wearing her pink T-shirt with the name of the salon embroidered on it, so she must have come straight here from her shift.
Sam was in her usual pajama pants and hoodie.
“This place looks great!” Mom exclaimed, straightening up as I came around from behind the counter and straight into one of her hugs. “Is that a cream horn? You never made cream horns at South Hill!”
“Because Henry didn’t want to order the molds,” I said, hugging her back.
“I love a cream horn,” Mom said.
“Mom, stop saying cream horn,” Sam said. She gave me a grin. “Henry was a dick. This place is much nicer. A goose tried to attack us outside the church when we parked, though.”
“That’s probably Lucille,” I said. “My boss, the mayor, owns her.”
“Mom, can we get a goose?” Sam asked.
“Absolutely not.”
“What if we got a goose, and then I’d let you say cream horn as much as you wanted?”
“Still no,” Mom said. “What’s wrong with saying—ooh, I get it.”
“What are you drinking, Mrs. T?” Tyler asked from behind the coffee machine.
“Are you moonlighting as the barista?” Sam asked him.
He gave her a wink. “Yeah, my new boss is a real hard-ass. Makes me do everything.”
Mom and Sam put in their orders. I glanced around and saw Chase glaring at me through the front window of the shop, half a sad-looking sandwich hanging out of his mouth. I rolled my eyes.
“My barista’s on break but he’ll be back any minute now,” I said, looking pointedly at my watch and then at Chase.
He flipped me the bird.
Then, because karma was beautiful, he suddenly looked behind himself and darted for the shop door.
He shoved it open, dropping his sandwich in the process, and I heard a loud hissing and the beating of wings as he leapt inside.
He pulled the door shut, and Lucille slammed herself against it.
Then, apparently satisfied she’d cleared the sidewalk, she ate the remains of the sandwich and waddled away again.
“Uh,” Chase said. “Goose.”
“This place is amazing,” Sam said, rapt.
“Mom, Sam,” I said, “this is Chase, our barista. Chase, this is my mom, Lindsay, and my sister, Sam.”
Chase looked between them and said awkwardly, “Hey.”
“Dude,” Sam said, “that goose almost got you right in the nuts!”
“Jesus Christ, Sam,” I said, and Tyler burst out laughing.
Chase rubbed the back of his neck, his mouth twitching. “Yeah. Lucille’s a menace, just like her owner. At least he doesn’t go for your nuts, though.”
“Well, small mercies,” Mom said. “Chase, what would you recommend for lunch?”
“Uh, everything’s good,” Chase said. “Maybe the quiches, though? They’re pretty popular.”
I hadn’t expected him to recommend something he knew I’d made instead of Tyler.
It honestly wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d stood there and told my mom and my sister that my baking was shit, just because he was a dick.
But maybe he wasn’t entirely a dick, and that wasn’t just the kiss talking.
It was the way he’d been scared when he thought he’d been trapped in the walk-in.
There was something going on underneath Chase’s dickish exterior was all.
Something I was starting to realize that not many people saw, because he wanted it that way.
Chase moved behind the counter and picked up the tongs.
“Grab one yourself too,” I said, “since Lucille ate your sandwich.”
He darted a wary look in my direction but put the quiches in bags and slid one onto a napkin for himself.
Then, like a squirrel at a feeder shoving sunflower seeds in its face, he pretty much inhaled the whole thing.
Mom and Sam hadn’t even gotten their bags open by the time Chase had finished his quiche.
He ate the same way he’d kissed me earlier—hungry, desperate, and kind of filthy.
Then he sidled up to the register, his wallet in his hand, and Tyler snorted and nudged him away.
I made a note to tell him how things worked around a bakery and wondered if his sad peanut butter sandwich was his first choice for a packed lunch at all or if he was pinching pennies.
Most people were these days, one way or another.
But yeah, I wanted a hard worker, not a hungry one.
Mom and Sam stuck around for a while longer until I had to get back to work.
“Don’t be late for dinner tonight,” Mom said. “I’m making your favorite!”
“Is it Shit From a Jar?” I asked.
“You know it!”
“I’ll grab a loaf of sourdough as well,” I said.
Chase looked at me sideways, and when Mom and Sam left, Tyler and I went back into the kitchen. I said, “Chase is weird.”
“Uh-huh,” Tyler said. “So weird that you probably shouldn’t have stuck your tongue down his throat?”
“I wish you hadn’t seen that.”
“Me too, buddy.” But he was grinning. “Chase is just prickly, that’s all.”
“Prickly?”
Tyler hefted a bag of flour onto his prep table.
“Yeah. I met a guy just like that back in the army. Wouldn’t give me a spare bootlace when mine snapped because it was my fucking problem, not his.
Then there was a fuckup with his pay and I offered to loan him fifty bucks.
He almost tore my head off, trying to figure out what my angle was. ”
“Your angle? What angle?”
“Exactly,” Tyler said. “Dude had a fucked-up life, it turned out. Great guy, but it took about two solid years and a whole lot of going through shit together for him to admit I was his friend.” He nodded toward the door to the front of the store. “I get the same vibe, you know?”
I thought on that while we worked, prepping everything we needed for tomorrow and then cleaning up.
I thought there was something going on with Chase as well.
His panic in the walk-in, his mistrust of everything decent I tried to do for him, and hell, even his peanut butter sandwich.
I couldn’t quite tell what kind of picture those things all painted, but it wasn’t going to be a pretty one.
We finished cleaning up and once Tyler had headed out, I stuck my head through the door and said, “Chase, when you lock up, come to the back for a minute.”
He rolled his eyes but went and flipped the sign. Then he came into the kitchen, his feet dragging.
“Okay,” I said, leaning against a prep table.
“So, the deal is this. Bobby wants everything made fresh, so any leftovers at the end of the day that we don’t manage to sell for pennies in the last hour, we split up.
Otherwise they just end up feeding rats in the nearest dumpster.
If you get hungry on shift or you didn’t bring lunch, just come back and grab something.
Don’t ring it up. That shit’s already covered in the books, okay?
Like, don’t eat an entire fucking tray of brownies or anything.
Just be reasonable about it, is what I’m saying. ”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I saw that you were gonna pay for your quiche at lunch. But you don’t need to. You don’t even need to bring peanut butter sandwiches.”
He looked outraged. “I like peanut butter!”
“Then keep eating it! But for the record, nobody cares if you grab a cookie as well, okay?”
“Fine. I’ll eat your cookies,” he said and somehow made it sound like he was doing me a favor, the little shit.
“Fine,” I said.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine.”
It was like talking to a brick wall.
I dragged my hand through my hair. “Okay, that’s all. I’ll see you tom—”
And then, just like in the walk-in, Chase was all over me.
I wasn’t expecting it any more than last time, but I rolled with it, because who wouldn’t?
Chase was a prickly asshole, but he was cute when he was angry.
To be fair, he might have been cute when he wasn’t angry too, but who knew? He was always angry.
He shoved me up against the table. I got my hands on his hips, spun us around, and shoved him back.
He made a sound somewhere between a growl and a laugh and nipped at my bottom lip, his breath hot against my skin, and just that was enough to have my earlier erection come surging back.
He stared at me, grinning and out of breath, and yeah, he was cute when he wasn’t angry too.
Then he lifted himself up onto the table and hooked a leg around my ass, dragging me forward.
I went willingly, sliding my hands under his shirt, then running them down his back and tracing his skinny frame.
His skin was warm and soft, and my cock ached as I imagined folding him in half like a lawn chair and fucking him right here on the prep table.
I leaned in and kissed him again, hard and desperate, and he responded by wrapping his arms around my back and pressing our bodies together, his erection a solid line in his khakis.
Then he leaned back, taking his weight on his arms and spreading his knees wide in invitation.
It was hot as fuck. He stared at me, chin tilted in a challenge.
And then he said, “Well?”
“Well what?” I asked.
He raised his eyebrows. “Well, boss. Are you gonna fuck me on this prep table like we both want, or are you gonna chicken out like a goddamn coward?”
Holy shit.
I stared at him as he waited for the answer, the usual voice of reason in the back of my head just white noise at this point, and I wondered exactly the same thing that Chase did.
Was I going to do it, or not?