Page 10 of Crush

Around a week later, when Daddy took me to meet Max in his office, there had been no spark of recognition on his side and that had pissed me off even more. Was I reallythatforgettable? His all-consuming arrogance still surrounded him when he was sober.

I would have remembered his pretty boy faceanywhere. I mean, I’d met some handsome men in my time but he topped them all, even that one man from my past. My first love, or so I’d thought at the time.

Tugging my thoughts back from that dark place, I focused on my current tormentor. Yep. There was no question about my new boss being attractive. Max boasted an impressive height. One which allowed him to look down his nose at pretty much everybody. His shoulders were broad enough to carry his many social issues and the rest of his body was honed to physical perfection. Max worked out, a lot, and had huge inked biceps and rock-hard abs. I had seen him without his shirt on several times and he was a prime example of tattooed manliness at its best. During the warmer weather, the boys would work topless.

His face was also flawless (when he hadn’t been brawling) with a square jaw and straight nose and his whisky-coloured eyes were shrewd. Max’s black hair was trimmed into submission, almost military style and it shone like a blackbird’s feathers. The only thing that didn’t fit his bad-boy persona was his long black eyelashes. They made him appear almost beautiful; like a male model’s face sitting on a wrestler’s body.

Everythingabout his appearance was intentionally crafted to deliver a direct hit to the female hormonal system. Fit as fuck, and heknewit, which made it an even harder pill to swallow. I imagined he'd be the Holy Grail of the bedroom, but he still had man-whore written all over him. It was a shame that such an annoying personality was attached to such a prime specimen of masculinity.

Max was also a successful businessman in his own right which was rich considering Daddy had told me Max was a college dropout and struggled socially at school.

And recently I’d had a sex dream about him, which wasn’t a good sign.

I was supposed to be steering clear of commanding, arrogant men. Mia said I needed to keep my eyes peeled for Mr Nice aka normal. But Mr Nice didn’t seem to tick my boxes and believe me, I had given him enough chances. So far dating a guy my age was like an unpaid apprenticeship. I got bored easily and needed some darkness in my sex life. What could I say, it was the only thing I knew.

Pushing open the doors to the canteen, my un-caffeinated brain was sorely in need of a top-up. I decided not to go back to my office straight away. I knew Max was itching to wave the correct procurement plan under my nose so he could say;I told you so.

Smiling briefly at a cluster of co-workers tucking into their greasy breakfasts, I ran into Rory Hopton. He was one of those nice guys I spoke about and had asked me out on several occasions. One of the office ladies told me he’d gone out with a girl at work the previous year but was now single.

Rory was retrieving a bottle of fresh orange juice from the fridge and I joined him in the queue. He was tall and well-built with fair hair. His eyes were a clear crystal blue and he worked at the site with the scaffolding. Rory stood out from the other guys as he had no visible tattoos and always appeared clean and shiny.

“I was impressed how you stood up to the boss today,” Rory grinned as he turned towards me. I was surprised he was in my corner as like most men on site, he worshipped the ground the boss man walked on. He was one of those brown noser types that verbally sucked Max’s cock, but he seemed like a decent enough guy. He didn’t ogle me like the rest of his team.

Rory was also around my age, maybe twenty-two or three. Another Mr Nice box ticked. It had been suggested I stay away from men with a large age gap tomy not-so-tender twenty-one. Another coping mechanism from my therapist after the breakdown of my relationship with my first-ever lover. A man who had been almost ten years older than me. And I suppose breakdown is the wrong word, as he had been forcibly extracted from my life. For a good reason, although the teenage me hadn’t thought so.

“You should have seen the look on his face. He was well wound up when he passed me in the yard. Although, he wasalreadyin a mood when he got in this morning. Maybe someone pissed in his Cheerios?”

“Maybe,” I said with a wry smile. Max Hunter probably only drank testosterone for breakfast. The guy was like a boiling kettle always needing to let off steam.

“I’d say you won that round anyway.”

So, Rory thought I had scored a point that morning. I didn’t really agree with him, but I smiled demurely and thanked him anyway.

“So, I heard the boys have a bet as to who will snap first. You know, between you and Hunter,” he said with a cheeky look. I noticed he had dimples which made him appear more boyish.

“Really? And who isyourmoney on?” I replied with an arched eyebrow.

His grin widened. “Oh, on you,definitely.”

“I can assure you. I have no intention of snapping.” I needed to shut the conversation down as I didn’t want to be caught talking about the boss behind his back. Yes, Max Hunter could be an arrogant git but he was doing me a favour by allowing me to be there. See, I wasn’t an ungrateful bitch.

Rory, it appeared, had other ideas. “You seem to have one of those love-hate types of things going on.”

“Really? I hadn’t thought about it,” I said dismissively and he seemed to get the message.

We then talked shop whilst waiting to pay. I ordered a cappuccino and Rory copied me and added one to his tray with the juice and a Mars bar.

It was quite smoky in the canteen, which suggested Rita had burned something again. Rita was the cook who managed the small kitchen and was responsible for feeding Max’s jungle of men. My stomach growled at the smell of bacon which lingered around us, but I just went for the drink; too many carbs.

As we shuffled along the counter, Rory asked. “Do you fancy going out to dinner tomorrow night? I know this great little place near me?”

Pursing my lips, I twisted to look up at him. He was a nice-looking man, maybe thiswasmy chance to feel normal again.

For me, dating wasn’t a prerequisite to sex but my friend Mia had been encouraging me to try and give a ‘normal’ relationship a go. Even though she was in the middle of dumping her man, saying how they held you back, the hypocrite.

“Maybe. Where were you thinking?” I asked, grabbing my tray, and pushing it along the shelf. The café was only small but it was busy. That would be due to the delay caused by the flooding. Wes Buchanan’s A-team would need to pump the water out before anyone could start anything.

“It’s an Italian place. Do you like Italian?” His response was slightly too enthused but I didn’t let that sway me. This was a man I could be nice to.

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