3. Leah
Leah
Parker and Grady are standing next to a blacked-out BMW, each wearing a nicely fitted T-shirt with jeans that should be illegal.
When I applied to train here, I was under the impression—thanks to my stalking—that all of the staff members are at least twice my age.
At the moment, I don’t know whether or not I’m glad I was wrong.
At the end of the day, my success is on the line, so I can’t indulge, no matter how glorious they look. Hopefully, they’re of the same platonic mindset.
Totally, definitely platonic. No attraction here. Nope.
“Look at you!” Parker’s brows lift as he unashamedly admires me.
Platonic.
Grady, in all his silent, mysterious glory, joins him, face showing no clear indication of whether he appreciates my efforts.
Screw him. I don’t need his googly eyes, anyway.
“I figured you guys wouldn’t want to be seen with me if I was still sweaty and gross,” I reply with a wide smile.
“With a body like that, you’ll never have to worry about me not wanting to be seen with you.
” Parker winks playfully. Grady rolls his eyes, jerking his head toward the car.
“Okay, you’re right, we should get going.
Our lunch break is only so long.” Circling to the driver’s side, Parker slides in and starts the engine.
My flip-flops slap against the soles of my feet, breaking up the awkward silence. Grady stands tall—as if someone his size could stand any other way. Face impassive, he gives me a faint nod and… opens the door for me.
He definitely catches the moment of surprise on my face, the pinching of his brows tells me so. I almost feel bad about it.
Almost.
“Thank you,” I mutter, dropping into the leather seat.
Grady settles in behind us. As soon as he’s buckled, we peel out of the driveway—too fast for the stuffy old money’s liking, surely.
Nobody says a word for the first several minutes. I’m not sure what to say. Clearly, neither of them is going to start a conversation, so I let it be, watching the rolling hills pass.
Apparently sick of the silence, Parker taps a few icons on the dash screen and “Livin’ la Vida Loca” begins to play. I gasp, staring slack-jawed at him. Red-faced, he bites his lips to hold in a laugh. I jab him in the ribs, and he grunts, sputtering out his withheld chuckles.
“You’re a tease!” I poke him harder. There’s no time for mercy in the presence of a sadist.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” Breathless, he shakes with residual little laughs, stopping the music. “I couldn’t help myself. You looked real good shaking your ass to that song earlier. Grady’s super sad he missed it.” His gaze glides to the rearview mirror.
There’s no hint of amusement, or any real emotion, on Grady’s face. A small pout pulls at my lips and I return my focus to the world passing us by.
Parker is wrong about him, which is good news for me. I’m already going to have a hard time fighting off one of them, let alone both. Parker is a fun flirt, though, and I’m a sucker for good conversation.
We stop at a little diner in the center of town. The faded pink awning above the front door reads “Carrie’s” in a black, swirly, retro-style font. It’s quite homey—tan brick, large windows, old cement planters out front with vibrant pink flowers bursting over the top.
Lost in my admiration, I startle when my door opens. Grady stands with his hand extended, eyes soft but avoiding my own.
What’s his deal?
With a slight quirk of my brows, I let him help me out of the car.
The instant I’m upright, he tucks his hands into the pockets of his very nice-fitting jeans.
Parker comes to my side, elbow bent so I can lock my arm with his.
Grumpy Grady opens the front door for us, focusing intently on our linked elbows.
For the first time, there’s a slight change in his face.
The tiniest flare of his nostrils makes my mind race.
I doubt he’s interested or jealous. Maybe it’s concern?
In an effort to ease his troubles, I offer a soft smile. His eyes land on mine, then immediately shoot straight to the floor.
Okay, then.
Vinyl booths fill the small diner—a mixture of pinks and blues with polished wooden tables.
The floor is checkered, shiny black and white tile with little Coca-Cola emblems scattered about—vintage but clean.
Records and neon Coke signs on the walls.
An old-time jukebox at the back, lit up with a spectrum of colors, plays soft jazz music.
Our waitress approaches with a toothy grin.
On brand, she’s got a graying blonde beehive, Barbie-pink lips, and a frilly polka dot dress that sells the “I’ve been sent back to the fifties” vibe.
“Howdy, fellas! The usual?” Her voice takes me by surprise, raspy with age, but warm.
“I see you brought a lady friend. How sweet! Welcome to Carrie’s. ”
Parker nods. “Of course we want our usual spot, Darlene.”
Following her lead to a far back corner, a worn booth sits tucked away, nearly out of sight. Parker scoots against the wall, and I sit on the outside next to him as Grady takes the spot across from us.
She clicks her pen against the spiral-bound paper pad. “Same old drinks?”
“That would be amazing, you’re the best.” Parker flashes her a vibrant smile.
She returns it, then shifts her attention to me, brow quirked. “And for the miss?”
“Oh, just a cherry Coke, please,” I reply.
“Amazing, what are we eating?”
Skimming the menu, I chew my lip, considering my choices. That is, until Grady reaches across the table and takes it from my hand.
“Hey!” I snip.
“He knows you don’t need it. If you order anything but their award-winning chicken and waffles, someone will question your sanity.” Parker nudges me with his elbow. “That someone is Grady.”
“Three orders of Carrie’s famous chicken and waffles, comin’ right up,” Darlene says with a too-wide grin, sauntering away.
As I glare at the mountain of muscle across the table, I’m made aware of how close Parker and I are. As in, our legs are pressed together, shoulders brushing. There’s definitely enough room in this booth for him to scoot away.
Fine. If he wants to get so comfortable, I’m about to get nosy.
“So, who is your other client, and why weren’t they invited to lunch?” I rest my chin on my hand, eyes boring into his soul.
The way he tenses speaks louder than whatever excuse he’s about to give. My focus drifts to Grady, who appears more pissed off than usual, as if that’s possible.
Interesting.
“I’m going to meet them tomorrow, you know. Oh my god! Are you married to them or something? Par—”
“No! Okay? I’m single, very single,” he grumbles, staring a hole into the tabletop.
“Okaaaay. So what’s with the kicked dog looks?”
Grady doesn’t think I notice his change in demeanor, and is even more caught off guard when I turn to him with my head tilted. His lips curl inward, shoulders rising and falling on a sigh. Dark waves of hair sway as he shakes his head.
Looks like tomorrow will have to tell me what they’re not.
Two can play this game. Or, I guess three. Folding my arms, I scoot as far as possible to the edge of the booth.
“Hey, please don’t be upset, I just don’t want to talk about her,” Parker begs as our food arrives.
Darlene, oblivious to our little back-and-forth, beams. “If you kids need anything at all, wave me down. I’ll leave you to it.”
Talk about quick service. They must keep this stuff on the ready. Or, they saw us enter and knew to make it. Grady has an exceptionally large portion in front of him, so my money’s on the latter.
“Thanks,” Parker mutters, pleading eyes locked on me.
“So it is a girl, then. You have history with her, huh?” I pop a bite of crispy chicken into my mouth, moaning at the savory breading paired with a special syrup—maple, but spiced with a hint of something smoky. “This is amazing.”
Eyes glued to me, one of them audibly gulps, but I don’t know who. In slow motion, Parker brings his hand up to my lip, spurring excited flutters to bloom in my stomach. I shouldn’t let him. This is terrible. But if he kisses me right now, I won’t stop it.
Tongue ghosting over his lower lip, he leans in… and wipes the corner of my mouth. “You had a little syrup there.” Chuckling, he licks the sticky sauce off his thumb.
With a ragged swallow, I nod, returning my attention to my food.
Why was that such a turn-on?
Duh, of course it was. There’s no way he doesn’t know he’s hot, right?
Keep it together.
“Anyway, consider this lunch a very lax business meeting. Of sorts…” He turns in the seat to face me directly.
The places we had been touching grow colder without his contact.
“Grady is my best friend. I know that probably sounds strange, but I’ve gotten to know him quite well over the past few months. ”
The man in question shrugs with one shoulder, nodding in silent agreement. I have no clue where this is going, but the hair on the back of my neck is standing on end. Parker’s face doesn’t look like he’s about to crush me, but I can’t deny the tension filling the booth.
“What does your friendship have to do with me?” I lick more maple-flavored goodness off my lip, enjoying how those crystal-blue eyes track the movement.
Oh yeah, the attraction is mutual, alright.
Bad. Very bad.
Clearing his throat, Parker speaks up, “Well, I’m not going to put Hulk’s business out there, but just know that I want to get us both out from under the thumb of Henrietta Hart.” Their faces pull into matching grimaces.
“And where do I come in?” My nose crinkles.
They must have a telepathic link or something. Parker gives Grady a nearly unreadable look. They exchange a series of nods, eyebrow movements, a subtle grunt from Grady—the first sound I’ve heard from him—and Parker turns back to me.
“We want to open our own training facility. I almost have the funds saved for something small… but—”
“You want my money?” I cut in with a rough tone, rolling my eyes.
Of course that’s it. Greed ruins everything.