4. June #3
"Your first delivery." He sets a bag on the counter. "Can you ride a bike?"
"Yep."
"Good. I'll bring it around to you." He points for me to go out the front door.
I latch onto the bag and meet him where he told me to. My gaze is drawn to the dark alley where many have died.
Bram appears from the shadows, pushing a bicycle beside him. He shifts his attention to the dimly lit area briefly like he's looking for a ghost.
I want to ask him about that, but I don't want to intrude. It seems like the deaths in this alley might be more personal than the fact that it's just beside his place of business, and we haven't really known each other long enough for me to pry.
"This one isn't too far." He presses his finger against the basket on the back.
"You can put the order in here." Bram hands me a small device.
"This has the tracking on it. It's pretty self-explanatory.
Just have the customer fill out the receipt section and sign off on it.
You'll make the full tip, whether it be cash or card.
You can clip it on here for hands-free while you ride.
" Bram scratches his chin. "I think that's it. "
I climb onto the seat. "And you're not worried about me stealing your bike and credit card machine thingy?"
Bram shrugs. "I guess if you're that desperate, you probably need it more than me. We can work out the formalities later for payroll."
I might be a morally grey person, but I don’t think I could ever bring myself to harm this man, not when he radiates such damn goodness.
"Okay then, wish me luck." I grip the hand brake to get a feel for it and put my feet on the pedals, taking off the direction the GPS is telling me to go.
The breeze floats across my skin, careening my black hair behind me. A newfound sense of hope lingering in my core. A feeling I'm too afraid to cling to just yet, given my history with bad luck.
I pass a couple houses I've gone to parties at, dodging the other people on the sidewalks and stopping at all the red lights. I enter a neighborhood I've never been to before, with homes much larger and more expensive than I could ever imagine.
It doesn't take me long to get there, a feat that would have sucked majorly on foot.
I slow to a stop in front of the massive home.
I glance down at the GPS again to verify I'm at the right place.
It's something out of a modern architecture catalog, with its sleek edges and crisp design.
Big, beautiful windows with a large balcony wrapped around the entire second floor.
The landscaping is lush, but well maintained, only continuing to confirm whoever owns this place is loaded.
To maintain greenery like that in this west coast heat is a challenge in itself.
A tall, black metal fence goes all the way around the property, making it difficult for anyone that's unwelcomed to step foot inside.
I approach the entry, pushing the button to ring whoever is home. I climb off the bike and fumble with the kickstand while I wait.
A buzzer sounds, and a voice comes through the speaker. "Come on up."
A man. But I'm not at all surprised by that.
Probably some rich doctor or lawyer who decided to let their in-home chef have the morning off.
I pull the bag from the basket and make my way into this uncharted territory. The closer I get, the larger the house becomes. It's like I'm about to crash some reality TV show or an episode of MTV Cribs.
I raise my hand to knock on the front door, the one that's twice the size of anyone else’s.
But instead of tapping my knuckles against it, the thing swings open, revealing nothing I would have ever imagined.
It's a man, for sure. Covered in tattoos. Not too much older than me. A smile lighting up his face.
“I’ve never seen someone so happy to get their food,” I spit out without much of a filter.
“Well, when the delivery girl looks like you…”
I narrow my gaze and tilt my head. "Uh-huh."
He leans against the large doorframe, his white tee bunching over his ink-covered biceps.
I guess we’re both enjoying the eye fucking.
He draws his bottom lip into his mouth and slowly lets it graze against his teeth before speaking. “You want to come in? I’ll share.”
And just like that, the impossible happens, my mind rearranging files and instead of getting the mystery man or Coen out of my head, all three of these men consume my thoughts.
In an instant, I’ve already daydreamed about dropping this bag of food, latching onto his decadent lips with mine, and letting him ravish me on that fancy table behind him in his foyer.
But I can’t. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t afford to lose this job if I stand any chance of making enough money today to cover rent.
So instead, I sigh, holding the take-out to him. “Maybe next time.”
The smile drops from his face, but not completely. “Fair enough.” He grabs hold of the bag, his fingers gliding along mine. “I had to try.”
Where was he twelve hours ago when I was trying to bang the older man out of my system?