Page 22 of Tackle

In his fantasy, his hands found her breasts through the material of her tee and she arched into them, grinding herself against him, making a sexy-ass noise—half moan and half groan.

He jerked his hand faster and faster nearing his climax. His own groan echoed in the small chamber as hot liquid shot out in spurts, and he slowed his movements to a gentle glide.

Fuck.

Panting, he turned and stuck his face in the spray, letting the water wash down his front. His brain in a fog, finally able to rest. Sluggishly, he climbed from the tub and toweled off. Then he made his way to his bed, throwing himself face down onto it.

He was asleep within seconds.

Chapter Eight

“So, Mr. Winters—”

“Matt.”

Emerson gave the man she was interviewing a small smile. “Matt. Tell me a little bit about yourself.”

They were seated in Oz’s corner booth with Emerson sitting in his usual spot. She now understood why he liked it so much. Being tucked away, it was secluded from the majority of the crowd but positioned so she could still keep an eye on things.

Oz was losing sleep, and it was all her fault. No matter how many times she’d tried to protest, night after night he came to the pub at closing and followed her home. And when he wasn’t in town to do it, he sent someone else. She’d asked Oz once who the guy was, but he’d been vague, never giving her a complete answer. Emerson had a feeling Oz had hired the guy. So, technically, Oz was losing sleepandmoney. It had to stop.

There was only one solution for the problem. It was time to hire a manager/bartender. Someone who could work the night shift and every other Sunday. She wanted time to go on an uninterrupted date with her man and to start going to Oz’s home games to show her support. Oz never complained, but damn it, she was. So focused on her goals, she’d put her love life on the back burner but Oz’s kiss had awoken her to what she’d been missing. She wanted, no needed, to explore that connection.

She loved her pub and felt a sense of accomplishment in owning it, but it would be nice to have someone to help carry the load. And now that business was doing so well, she could finally afford to hire someone to help.

Matt sat up a little straighter. “I had my first job right out of high school over at the Red Lantern. In six years, I worked my way up from dish washer to manager. I’d still be working there today if the place hadn't closed.”

She'd spoken with the former owners of the Red Lantern and Matt was underselling himself. They’d had nothing but the best to say about him. He was competent, trust-worthy, and loyal. “What do you think your strengths are?”

Matt looked thoughtful. She liked that too—that he didn’t just blurt out some BS answer he thought she might like.

“I’m good with people. Especially other employees. I’m firm in my dealings but not an asshole about it. People usually respond to that. I’m also good at math.” He gave her a cocky smile. “That comes in handy sometimes.”

Humm… She’d yet to have any trouble with employees stealing, but it would be nice to know someone else had an eye on things. “And what about weaknesses? And don’t tell me you don’t have any.”

He laughed. “Damn. There goes my superhero image. Okay, weaknesses, let’s see…” He drummed his fingers on the table. “My spelling is atrocious—and no, I can’t spell atrocious—and my handwriting sucks. So if you need any specials of the day written on a blackboard, it would be wise to ask someone else.”

“Fair enough. Anything else?”

He shrugged. “I’m a quick study, so anything you throw at me, I think I could handle it.”

She had one more question. “Why do you want this job?”

Her eyes were drawn to his fingertips as they drummed the tabletop again. Nervous habit? Or was it something more?

“Truth?”

She gave him a half smile. “That would be nice.”

“It’s what I know. What I’m good at. What I love to do. Sure I could get some nine-to-five cushy job, but where’s the fun in that? The adventure? And to be honest, I really need the money. I’ve been out of work for three weeks. I made good money at my old job, enough to pay the bills but not enough to build a lot of savings and with rent due in two weeks…” He shrugged. “I want this job and will work hard to keep it.”

She liked the guy’s honesty. Heck, she liked the guy, period, and felt he’d be a good fit. She had a couple more interviews scheduled for later that day, but she’d made up her mind. Reaching a hand across the table, she said, “Matt, you’ve got yourself a job. When can you start?”

He chuckled, his shoulders deflating like someone pulled a plug, letting all his tension escape. “Right now.”

That was a great answer.

Matt hadn’t lied, he was good with people. And so far, the customers loved him. He was also a pro at mixing drinks and brandished bottles with a flair that had the customers oohing and aahing.

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