Chapter 2
Chapter Two
CHRISTIAN MCGUIRE
A man trying very hard to forget
how much he wants to bang his boss.
(And who’s failing…miserably.)
M anifesting.
It’s the big buzz word in self-help and entrepreneurial circles these days. The gist of it is this: You want something? Then you need to keep your shiny, happy thoughts focused on the thing you desire, never doubting that in due time the universe will make your dreams come true.
Like most self-help fads, I’m pretty sure it’s bullshit.
I’ve been trying to manifest a buyer for my bike shop for months and haven’t received a single reasonable offer. I also spent most of high school willing my body to grow a few extra inches, so I’d have an edge in basketball, but it never happened. I remain a perfectly reasonable, but in no way baller-extraordinary, six one.
Some things—like genetics and the economy of rural Minnesota—are beyond the power of hippy, woo-woo vibes. Before tonight, I would have said most, if not all things are beyond the power of hippy, woo-woo vibes. But then I had a fleeting wish that my secret crush would call me and when I checked my phone a beat later, there it was…a voicemail from Starling Baxter.
Starling, who I haven’t been able to get out of my head for months.
Starling, who dances naked through my steamiest sex dreams.
Starling, who is off-limits for many reasons including, but not limited to—she’s my boss, my new sister-in-law, a stone-cold weirdo obsessed with her pet turkey, and a neat freak who takes down pizza with a knife and fork so as not to soil her dainty fingers.
She’s also the first woman in years to make my heart do that racing, flipping, happy-squeezing thing it does when the attraction is more than physical.
When you can’t wait to see a woman because of her smile, her laugh, and the way you feel when she shows up at your desk to ask if you’ve seen the ferret in kennel six who likes to wear aviator goggles…
Then she takes your hand and drags you through the administrative offices into the shelter to see the ferret. And the entire time, you’re complaining about needing to get back to work, but really, all you can think about is how amazing it feels to touch her. Even just her hand. And then you get back to your desk and spend the rest of the afternoon having vivid, completely inappropriate fantasies about bending your sexy coworker over her desk after hours and showing her just how devoted you would be to her pleasure, should she decide she wants to be more than just friends.
But even if Starling were interested, which I’m pretty sure she’s not, we can’t be more than friends.
If I started dating Starling, my brother would kill me. Barrett is married to Starling’s big sister, super protective of his new sister-in-law, and rightly assumes I’m a manwhore with no interest in happily ever after. I don’t even want happy for now . I want friendship and fucking and a genial parting of ways when the friendly fucking is through.
That’s it.
Additionally, I’m leaving town soon and Starling is firmly entrenched in Bad Dog. She’s told me roughly ten thousand times how happy she is to be home now that she’s finished with college.
What kind of dick would want to ruin that by putting moving on the table—or a hassle-filled, long-distance relationship?
A big dick, that’s who. And not in the good way.
Additionally , additionally, Starling is too young for me. Five years might not seem like much on paper, but in reality, Starling is a babe in the woods compared to my been-around-the-block self. She grew up sheltered, with a protective mother who insisted both her daughters play by the rules. As a result, Starling’s never ridden a motorcycle, stayed out past midnight, gone winter swimming in the lake on a dare like every other teen in Bad Dog, or made out with someone she wasn’t dating.
And she’s only had one serious, long-term boyfriend, a douchebag she met at college who cheated on her and broke her sweet heart.
Despite her quick wit and smartass sense of humor, Starling is sweet. Sweet and innocent and looking for Prince Charming, not a jaded man who probably wouldn’t know how to love a girl like her, even if he tried. And I don’t intend to try. After Ashland, my ex, ripped my world apart with her breed of “romance,” I swore off relationships for good.
Casual is my thing and will continue to be my thing until the day I die, old and alone and still blissfully emotionally intact.
None of the love-gone-wrong songs prepare you for just how deeply a bad relationship can rock your world. Ashland caused me more than heartache. She damaged my connections with my family and played with my grip on reality. I’m pretty sure making me crazy was her favorite pastime, and I’d rather fly solo for the rest of my life than risk something like that again.
Sure, my logical side says Starling isn’t the kind of person who enjoys destroying people for sport, but you never can tell. Ashland didn’t show her true colors until several months into the relationship, when I was already in so deep it was hard to know who to believe—my inner voice or the woman who had stealthily crept into my psyche and started pulling the strings.
Which, in hindsight, isn’t only crazy, but…embarrassing.
I pride myself on being a man who knows his mind and steers his own ship. My entire life, I’ve marched to the beat of my own drum, no matter what my parents, my siblings, my friends, or anyone else had to say about it.
Despite my 3.8 GPA in high school, I didn’t go to college, choosing to lean into my love of vintage motorcycles and open my own repair shop, instead. In tenth grade, I stopped going to church and refused to rethink my choice, no matter how much my mother begged me to join the rest of the family for Christmas mass. College and organized religion didn’t feel authentic for me, so they had to go.
At twenty-eight, I’m still not one-hundred percent sure what I’m here on this planet to accomplish, but I know it isn’t to betray that strong, steady voice inside. That voice is the truest thing I’ve ever heard and the only voice that’s never steered me wrong.
That voice knew Ashland was trouble, but my dick didn’t want to listen.
Nope, my dick had to go bounding after the cute blonde in the tiny pink shorts like a puppy chasing a ball into an alligator’s mouth. And like that same dumb puppy, my dick kept running back to Ashland, wagging his tail, and begging for attention, no matter how many times she proved that she couldn’t be trusted.
But dogs are like that—loyal and loving to the end, no matter how unworthy their owner might prove to be.
It’s embarrassing.
I was embarrassing, but never again.
Which is why I have to hold my sexy boss at a distance.
Just seeing Starling’s name on my phone was enough to put a bounce in my step as I moved away from the rest of my bowling team to listen to her message, for fuck’s sake. God knows what I’d do if she were actually here right now, if she’d taken me up on my offer to come bowl and was sitting with my buddies, drinking beer, and cracking jokes and looking hot as hell as she bends over to roll a ball down the lane. I’d probably be sporting a semi and glaring at every man who dared to look her way, acting like a territorial asshole instead of a friend and colleague.
That’s why, even if Starling Baxter threw herself at my feet and begged me to give her a good, no-strings-attached fucking, I wouldn’t do it. I know better than to risk getting attached to a woman who’s already got me all mixed up inside.
I swear, that’s exactly what I’m thinking when I hear a sharp gasp of surprise from the women at the lane next to ours and look up to see Starling flying toward me, her arms outstretched and a manic expression on her face.
On instinct, I drop my cell and reach out, catching her mid-air.
I stagger back a few steps but manage to stay on my feet as I wrap my arms around her waist and haul her upright.
Once I do, the first thing I notice is that she isn’t wearing a bra—I can feel it when her chest briefly brushes against mine, and it’s enough to inspire an Insta-Hard-On the likes of which I haven’t been guilty of since my teens. The second thing I notice is that she’s soaking wet, dressed in what looks like pajamas, and not wearing makeup, a fact that makes her look even younger than she usually does.
Clearly, something isn’t right, lending an urgency to my voice as I ask, “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is something up at the shelter?”
She gulps, swallowing before she nods her head swiftly up and down. “Yes. There’s a…thing. A weird thing.”
I frown. “What kind of weird thing?”
She drags a hand through her damp hair and blinks faster. “Well, I was at Barrett’s place, watching Keanu while Barrett and Wren are in Niagara Falls eloping. You knew they were eloping, right?”
“Yeah. They sent pictures. What does that have to do with the shelter?”
Starling exhales a wheezing laugh. “Nothing. Just wondering. So, anyway, I’m watching Keanu for them. At Barrett’s. With Kyle, obviously, since he’d be super jealous if I went to visit Keanu without him.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, wondering what has her so scattered. Starling’s a talker, but not usually a rambler.
“And they were both playing so well together out in the yard,” she continues, “that I thought I’d pop in and check the shelter cameras, just to make sure all the animals were okay. Some of them were acting nervous you know, after Stinkerbelle got there this afternoon.”
My frown becomes a dubiously arched brow. “Stinkerbelle? Don’t tell me that’s what you named the skunk.”
“Why not?” She wraps her jacket tighter across her chest, shivering a little. “I mean, I know she was raised as a pet and doesn’t have her scent glands, but it’s still cute. And whoever adopts her can always call her Belle or Bella for short. Anyway, I thought I’d check on her and the rest of the shelter animals, but the camera feed wasn’t working, and I got nervous. I tried to call you to see if the feed was working on your app, but I got sent straight to voicemail.” Her face splits in a too-wide smile. “But at that point I was heading out for more dog food for Keanu anyway and realized I was driving right by the bowling alley, so I thought I’d pop in and ask you. So…here I am!”
She waves a shaking hand toward my phone as I bend and pick it up off the floor. “If you could just check the app for me really quickly, that would be great. If everything’s all good, you can delete the message without listening to it, and I’ll head out and leave you to your night of fun. You’re having fun, right? I mean, how could you not be having fun. Bowling is always a great time. I loved bowling as a kid, even though I was really bad at it.” She laughs, the sound strained as she motions toward my cell again. “So…is the app working for you? Are you going to check?”
I nod slowly, weighing my options as the wise voice inside insists that something is up here. Something’s fishy and I’d be willing to bet a year’s supply of Keanu Pale Ale, my favorite new beer, that Starling’s lying to me. I don’t know what about or have any idea why, but the inner voice has never led me astray.
So, without saying a word, I pull up my voicemail, put it on speaker, and let my finger hover over the green button.
Before I can tap it, Starling locks both her hands around my wrist and begs, “Please, don’t. Please. If we’re really friends, even a little bit, you’ll delete that message and pretend tonight never happened.”
“Why?” I ask, my eyes narrowing on hers.
She pulls in a bracing breath and her lips part, but before she can speak, my cell vibrates.
I glance down to see a text from Kane, chairman of the board for the Furry Friends Society. He’s also a friend of mine, but not the kind of friend who texts on a Friday night, so I’m not surprised when I skim the message and realize he’s reaching out about the glitchy camera situation.
“The cameras are out at the shelter?” Starling says, sounding shocked.
“Yeah, like you said. Right?” I study her face carefully as I add, “Remind me never to read private texts in your presence. When did you learn to read upside down?”
She shrugs tightly. “I don’t know. Now, maybe? I just looked and…” She shifts to stand beside me, reading the text again. “Wow. Yeah. The cameras are out, and he wants you to go check on them. That’s…” She clears her throat and stands up straighter. “That’s exactly what you should do. What we should do.”
Deciding to ignore her weirdness about the cameras—for now—I nod toward the rest of the bowling team. “My truck isn’t here. I rode with Chuck.”
“That’s fine.” She waves a breezy hand. “I can drive. Just grab your things. I’ll wait here. Oh, and tell Kane I’m coming with you? Just in case he tries my cell and realizes I left it at home?”
Frowning again, I nod and head over to say goodbye to the rest of the team, my head spinning.
She left her cell at home?
That might not be strange for some people, but Starling is always on her phone. She monitors the Furry Friends social media account like a newborn baby she alone can keep fed, happy, and living its best life. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Starling without her phone.
I’ve also never seen her in sweatpants, a t-shirt, no bra, soaking wet, without her makeup or hair done, or in such a manic state. The rain pouring down outside explains the wet part, but the rest of this is odd to say the least.
Something is definitely up with her—and that message she so desperately wants me to delete—and I intend to find out what.
Tonight.