27. Chapter 27
Evan
Cecil: You’re a fucking disappointment. If only you got killed instead of your brother then I KNOW business would be taken care of.
Evan read the message again. After the fourth time, they’d pieced together enough to confirm that not only was Cecil a complete asshole, but he was also an idiot.
There was no way Caleb would have been sent to take out Frankie had Evan been the one killed.
Not unless Caleb acted alone. No one except him had ever cared enough about Evan.
Not true. Mom cared, once upon a time ago.
That wasn’t fair. Leah had struggled silently for a long time after Caleb died. Evan going to prison must have been her breaking point.
Evan locked the phone and set it down on the bar counter, scrubbing a hand over their face.
It had been a blessing and a curse when the device had started working again after its slushy plunge.
Since then, Cecil’s threats were a daily occurrence, so much that Evan wasn’t sure what his plan of action truly was.
“The boss is taking her time today,” Sloane remarked from behind the bar. She’d come in earlier than usual to put in the alcohol order and was now restocking the beer fridge.
“Yeah, we, uh, had a late night.”
After a few attempts, Evan had successfully gotten the bottle of whiskey away from Frankie, but by then, she’d been good and drunk.
They’d helped her to bed, tucking her in and making sure to leave a bowl close by and the bottle of Gatorade they’d found in the fridge.
Then Evan had sat with Frankie for the better part of the night, watching her sleep as they rehashed the night’s confessions.
They didn’t know it was possible to regret a conversation as much as they did.
Prying into Frankie’s life before she was ready was bullheaded and uncalled for.
But fuck, Evan had expected her to say Emily was an old girlfriend or something, not all of … that .
Poor Frankie . And poor Emily . The world was a cruel place, Evan knew that intimately. It pushed and pushed until you either collapsed from the weight or learned how to push back and never stop.
“You’re fucking now, I take it?” Sloane ripped open the next case of beer, seemingly agitated.
“Well, she better treat you right. You and Coy both act like nothing bothers you, but I know better. You’re just gooey marshmallow on the inside, mistakenly assuming the dominant femme you fall for won’t tear your heart out and stomp on it. ”
“Jesus, Sloane, not this before I’ve had my coffee.” Frankie’s tired voice sounded behind Evan. They turned to say hello, words dying on their lips at the sight of her. All they could do was stare.
“Jesus yourself,” Sloane said, her jaw dropping open. Then she snorted a laugh. “You look like shit rolled up and baked, with more shit poured over top. The flu finally get you?”
Sloane could use some tact, but Evan had to admit she wasn’t too far off in the description.
Frankie’s hair was combed, sort of, haphazardly tied in a low ponytail.
And if that wasn’t enough to raise a flag or two, then the smudged makeup still on her face from last night, and the dark, almost sick-looking circles under tormented brown eyes would. Hangovers did not suit Frankie.
“Shut up. She looks great,” Evan lied, but no way would they sit there and listen to Sloane insult Frankie after the night she’d had. On second thought, they never wanted to hear Sloane’s verbal vomit when it came to Frankie.
Sliding off the barstool, Evan offered Frankie their kindest smile to date. “It probably doesn’t feel like it, but good morning.”
Frankie’s exhausted smile shifted into a wince as she peered down at Evan. She took their hand in hers, giving it a light squeeze. “Any morning you’re here is a good one.”
Warmth spread across Evan’s chest with her gravelly murmur.
It was a miracle she still felt that way after all that had happened.
Not only had Evan got a job at the pub to purposely sabotage her business, but they’d tried to take her out assassin-style.
And then, the night before, Evan had pushed Frankie so far that she’d become a drinking, sobbing mess.
Yeah. It was a real good morning alright.
“Sit down, let me grab you some coffee,” Evan said, guiding Frankie to the stool they’d just vacated.
They ignored Sloane’s eye roll on the way to the coffee station, pulled a mug off the shelf, and filled it about an inch from the top.
Next, they located the mint non-dairy creamer Frankie used whenever she forwent her usual Irish coffees, giving it a good stir before setting the drink in front of her.
Frankie smiled again, clearly pleased and not caring that they had an audience as she drew Evan closer. “Thank you, baby. You’re very sweet.”
“You’re welcome,” Evan quietly replied, but the number of butterflies that erupted low in their belly at Frankie’s latest term of endearment made their cheeks burn.
“You two are nauseatingly sweet,” Sloane grumped, brushing past Evan.
“How are you?” Frankie asked the moment Sloane disappeared into the kitchen.
She took a drink of her coffee, her gaze never wavering from Evan.
Her fingertips brushed the back of Evan’s hand before catching the cuff of the hoodie sleeve.
“I’m sorry about last night. I wasn’t very good company, was I? ”
Frankie drunkenly weeping until she passed out in the bed sparked in Evan’s memory, but they shrugged, admitting in a teasing voice, “I always love your company. It’s been a curse since we met, you being my enemy and all.”
“That must have been so hard for you, little thief.”
“You’re still at it, and now, with the nicknames,” Sloane huffed, walking past them to the dining room. Chairs clanged as she pulled them noisily off the table to the floor. “At least it’s not ‘pet’, ‘cause that would be a major ick after Coy, know what I’m saying?”
Frankie’s eyes narrowed, and when it looked as if she would snap a response, her lips clamped shut.
She turned on her stool to face Sloane, eyes squinting.
“You’d do well to re-engage your filter, honey.
I’m working with a hangover from hell, and almost exclusively in the ‘fuck around and find out’ mood today. ”
“I don’t think she can help it,” Evan said, covering Frankie’s hand that still held lightly to their sleeve. They used their thumb to stroke her soft skin, which brought Frankie’s focus back to them.
“Well, she needs to learn. She can’t keep bringing McCoy’s name into the conversation.” Frankie looked adorably perturbed, and Evan couldn’t help but reach up and kiss the side of her mouth. Their nose pressed into her skin, and even smelling faintly like whiskey, she was delectable.
“It’s okay, Daddy.”
The title had Frankie instantly brightening, and with slow but steady fingers, she grasped Evan’s chin. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Truthfully, Evan wasn’t, but the desire for Frankie to be their Domme was stronger than ever.
She was protective, caring, and perhaps if Evan was secured in her whims, they could take some of the burden from one another.
Evan understood now exactly why Frankie restrained her partners.
It was a chance to reclaim her control. A chance to indulge in sex in the safest way she knew how.
Now, more than anything, Evan wanted the freedom Frankie had teased about for months.
What with everything with Caleb and Cecil, it was too much.
It felt like they were stuffed inside a too-small suit, and each time they tried to stand tall or take a step, the fabric tore at the seams. It was suffocating and confined them just as the bars in prison had.
Frankie could help them, and in return, Evan could help her.
“Fuck, not now,” Evan said hours later, spying the rack full of half-washed glasses. It was the second time they’d gone through the cycle. Taking a deep breath, they pushed it back into the dishwasher, noticing the lukewarm temperature inside. It was usually much hotter.
“Hey, Nathan, it’s still booming out there.
Frankie wants you to run through inventory, and let her know,” Andy called from the doorway, turning to give Evan a playful salute before disappearing again.
Evan didn’t have time to warn him about the possible shit-show brewing, and sure enough, when the dish cycle ran its course, the glasses still came out streaked and smudged in fingerprints.
Evan checked around them, half-heartedly hoping someone else in the kitchen was available to lend a hand, but Nathan was racing around, and Rain was belting orders to Dakota from the hot line.
Maybe I can fix it myself . How hard could it be?
After all, Evan had managed to break the walk-in cooler on purpose.
Surely, they could problem-solve a simple industrial dishwasher.
Swiping perspiration off their forehead, Evan shut the machine off first and checked it over.
Maybe a reset would help with the temperature issue.
Next, they braced one hand on the frame for support and reached inside the dishwasher, tugging on the bottom spray arm.
They knew the food could sometimes get clogged and—
“What are you doing?”
Evan jumped at the sound of Frankie’s throaty demand, their head smacking into the sliding door of the dishwasher. Evan grimaced, rubbing the fresh sore. “Trying to fix this. It’s not washing properly.”
“Really.” Frankie shot them a weighted glance before assessing the issue herself. “Move aside, let me turn it on.”
“It was just on,” Evan protested, but did as they were told. Folding their arms, Evan almost rolled their eyes as Frankie followed the exact steps they had. She turned the dishwasher on and then off before closely inspecting the interior.
“Looks okay. Let’s try a load to see,” Frankie instructed, moving out of the way and gesturing for Evan to take over. Their femme was a lot better put together now than that morning, but apparently, still moody as fuck.
“I tried like three times, but okay.” Evan stepped forward, sliding the rack of dishes into the chamber once more.
The intensity of Frankie’s gaze set Evan aflame as they pulled the door closed.
There was a charge in the air between them as they waited for the cycle to finish, and Evan had never been more aware of someone else in their bubble.
Restless energy emanated from Frankie, as if she was doing all she could to keep still, but inside she was dying to either fight or fuck someone.
And then the dishwasher died mid-cycle.
“What? No, no. Fuck.” Evan jammed their thumb into the power button once, twice, three times. Nothing happened, so they grabbed the handle on the door to open it, but the locking mechanism was still in place.
“We don’t have time for this, little thief. Just reverse whatever you did in the first place,” Frankie said from behind Evan, her body pressing closer to theirs.
Evan’s pulse picked up when Frankie’s hands fell to their hips, and they turned in her arms, their gaze darting behind Frankie to the rest of the kitchen staff.
Thankfully everyone was too busy to pay attention to them.
Evan gulped at the look in Frankie’s eyes, quickly averting their gaze.
“I-I didn’t do anything to it. I swear.”
“Really?” Frankie purred, her hands tightening a fraction on Evan’s hips. She yanked them closer so that Evan’s nose grazed her collarbone through her blazer. “Because I can think of a few things I’d rather you be doing late tonight than washing all these by hand.”
“By … hand?”
“Yes. How else do you expect this pile to disappear?” Frankie’s hands moved from Evan’s hips to their wrists, locking them in place between them. When she brushed her lips over Evan’s earlobe, a groan almost escaped. “You’d better get started.”
“But … Yes, Daddy.” Evan’s shoulders slumped. There was no point arguing. Evan was too tired, and after what the two of them had been through the last couple of nights, Evan just wanted to do something to please Frankie.
“That’s it, be a good boi for me.” Evan sucked in a breath at the new endearment. There was a spark in Frankie’s eyes as she released Evan, and judging by the deep rise and falls of her chest, Evan wasn’t the only one affected.
“Dude, the boss has got a chokehold on you,” Rain crowed from nearby the fryer the moment Frankie disappeared.
“Haha.” Evan rolled their eyes, but at the way their pulse pounded in their throat, Rain’s assumption might not have been too far off.