Chapter 11 #2
Why isn’t my baggy disguise working tonight? I mentally whine. Have they been putting stuff in the drinks or is there a full moon that’s making every man in the building crazy?
He leans towards me and takes a big sniff. “You smell nice,” he groans.
He breathes in deep. Instead of it being sexy, it reminds me of a predator sniffing out its prey.
Or worse, marking its territory. Fuck that.
I give him an awkward nod. Men who over-the-top flirt like this make me feel uncomfortable.
It’s pretty obvious to me he’s a shifter, so I don’t know why he’s sniffing at me. It’s just weird.
I’ll try my best to extract myself from this situation without being rude—I need this job—even if everything inside me wants me to punch Mr Sniffy in the face. I was lucky to get away with the altercation with the human before.
Now he’s got my attention, he gives me a lecherous look that makes my skin crawl.
“My name’s Frank. What’s your name, sweetheart?
” He runs his dirty fingers through his greasy brown hair, pulling the mass away from his face.
“I haven’t seen you around here before. You’re not dressed to impress, are you?
Those long legs should be in a skirt and heels, not those”—he pulls a face at my baggy trousers—“whatever those are. You’re so tall.
Are you a model?” His tongue flicks out like a snake as he licks his lips.
I shake my head no, and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. I’m working, dickhead. Sorry my ball gown is at the cleaners.
Usually, when a person first meets me, they tell me how tall I am. What, really? I am tall? Nooooo, I didn’t notice. Gah, I get that I’m tall. Thanks for pointing that out.
It’s then followed by either are you a model or are you a shifter?
“You got a bit of shifter in you?” Bingo, there we go. Same old shit from a different mouth. It’s so predictable that it gets boring.
I vigorously shake my head. Nope, not going there. I am not a shifter… As if I’m going to admit that.
My feet are killing me, and every time I look at my watch, only a few minutes have passed. I mentally groan. This shift is never-ending.
Freaky Frank licks his lips again. My nostrils flare, and I try—I really do try—to remain polite.
I need to talk my way out of this, but I have an itchy fist. It itches to meet his face.
“Do you want a shifter in you?” He smirks, cups himself, and thrusts his hips at me. Ew, no, he did not just say that. Screw being polite.
“Yeah, I get what you mean without the hip action, Grandpa. I’m seventeen, you perve.” I tut at him with disgust and turn to leave. I give myself a mental pat on the back. There, see? Sometimes violence doesn’t solve everything.
The idiot grabs me.
“Old enough to bleed—” he whispers in my ear.
My control snaps, and I take a swing at him. My knuckles smash into his throat, followed by a well-placed knee to the groin.
He drops like a stone.
“Oops, that’s gotta hurt.” I bring my foot back to kick him in the ribs, and a heavy arm wraps around my waist. I’m pulled into a muscly torso.
Shit, he’s a big bugger.
I squirm in his ironclad hold. My baseball cap comes off and tumbles to the floor. “Get the fuck off me,” I say as I wiggle.
I bring my elbow back and hit him square in his rock-hard abdomen.
Ouch.
“What are you made of, rocks? Get off me!” Nice one, Tru. How the hell are you gonna get out of this?
My eyes drop to the muscled, thick-like-a-tree-trunk arm that’s wrapped around me. Golden skin with a smattering of dark hair.
Huh, a fine example of a veiny, hot-looking forearm.
I snap my teeth and growl as I viciously pull at the dark forearm hair while simultaneously attempting to hook my foot around his equally tree-like leg. I just need to throw him off balance. Or get my teeth into that meaty forearm.
“No biting,” he murmurs, holding me tighter.
The big bugger then lifts me higher and traps my flailing legs between steel calves.
I continue to pluck at his arm hair, and with an angry grunt, one big hand swoops in and grabs both my wrists.
I don’t think anyone has ever made me feel so small before.
I can feel each of the hard muscles stacked along his body as they dig into my softness, even through our clothes.
Is this guy the perve’s friend? Another shifter?
Why the hell didn’t I watch my back?
This is poor form Tru, embarrassingly poor. I know bloody better. I lost my temper with the shifter, and this is the result. I throw my head back to headbutt him, but instead, my head smashes into his rock-hard chest. I groan as black spots dance across my vision.
Shit, he must be a few inches above seven foot.
He grunts and manoeuvres my body closer. I’m now plastered head to toe against him.
I’m trapped.
Wrapped around the massive monster of a man… like a person-shaped pretzel. I blow out a frustrated breath.
Well… This isn’t embarrassing, not at all.
“Calm down.” His voice is like fingers trailing deliciously down my spine. I can’t help my shiver at the chocolaty tone. “What are you doing, attacking our customers?”
Our customers? Is this guy security?
With a growl, I turn my head to glare at the idiot. My cheek brushes against the giant’s bumpy chest and soft shirt.
Oh no no no no.
My eyes widen as they meet the most incredible eyes, and my heart misses a beat, and I freeze. I can feel my cheeks go instantly pink.
Shit, it’s him.
The one I’ve been stalking. I mean following… observing. Observing is a much better word than stalking.
Oh no no. Oh no no.
I cringe. Mortified, I slam my eyes closed. I’ve been plucking the arm hair, elbowing, and kicking the big boss.
Yeah, I’m pretzeled around my hot boss.
Xander. Jenny said his name was Xander. Oh boy. Now would be a great time for the ground to swallow me up.
Fuck my life.