Page 9 of Babydoll

In my hand is a loyalty card—from a place I can no longer afford to shop—not my swipe card.

“For fu—” Before I can finish my oath, SSD clears his throat as if uncomfortable. “You could have said something,” I growl.

“Because my interactions with you are always so pleasant and I’m eager for more?”

I can’t help it; I bark out a laugh. Touché, SSD, touché.

Fumbling to find the right card, I mumble an apology behind me, but as I do my card drops to the floor. I curse—this time without interruption—and bend to grab it, only as I do I’m paying more attention to SSD’s well-fitting pants than my surroundings and bash my head on the metal-armed chair. It’s not a cute little knock either. I hit hard, hard enough to stumble and land on my ass.

“Jesus! Would you back the hell up?” I holler with the finesse of an over-caffeinated, overtired, long-haul trucker. Glaring, as if he’s to blame for my stumble, I rub my head. SSD plucks my card off the floor and pulls me up by the arm, his face plastered with concern.

“Ouch, that looked like it hurt.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” I grind out. “This is bullshit, anyway,” I add, trying to distract him and everyone else from my injury. “There’s no reason we all can’t swipe our own cards.” I’m still rubbing the spot on my forehead when he shoots me an impatient glare and moves me forcefully to the chair.

“Sit. You hit your head pretty hard.” He moves me back until the chair forces my knees to buckle and I plop down. “Let me see.” He bends his knees to look, but I don’t move my hand. “I think you’re bleeding.”

“No,” I bark and swat him away with my free hand, pressing the other more firmly over my wound. “Leave me alone.” That last bit comes out rather pouty. I’m not proud, but I’m pretty sure I am bleeding and it’s the last straw of my crappy day, week, month… or eight.

“Don’t move.” He drops my card into his breast pocket and gives me a stern look. A look I’m sure he didn’t intend to give me flutters.

“We’re not in kindergarten,” I say. “We shouldn’t have to wait in line for recess. And this isn’t a damn time-out chair.”There’s more than a dollop of snark in my words, but not too much more. I’m edging toward defeat.

“Really? And here you are sounding all petulant like a five-year-old in need of one.” His back’s to me as he speaks because he’s taking cards and swiping the others through. “And it’s not my rule, anyway. Apparently, someone broke the punch machine last month… and we don’t know why or who because the camera was also broken.” He suddenly looks over at me with accusation in his eyes. “It’s fixed now too, by the way.”

Is he psychic? I swallow.

Breaking the camera was necessary so no one knew I was sneaking back into sleep in the infirmary after I lost my apartment. The punch clock? A bit of temper.

Rising, I slam my hands onto my hips, but then a wave of dizziness has me sitting back down, sheepishly. I’m not sure if it’s low blood sugar, my head injury, or maybe anxiousness at his sort of half-assed accusation, but either way, I won’t be storming out anytime soon. I need a change of tactic. “Come on, Mr. Security Guy, let me go. I have a nice boyfriend at home to play nurse.” It’s a lie of course. I don’t have a boyfriend at home. I don’t even have a home.

“I’m not letting you leave until I check you over properly. Can’t you just sit and behave for two minutes so I can let everyone else leave?”

Behave? That word is… er…there’s just something about it. I lick my lips.

“We can handle punching ourselves out,” someone says from the line. “She’s bleeding.”

I can’t tell who spoke so I glare at them all, but my mind is still chewing over the wordbehaveand the bossy way this sexy, sexy man speaks to me.

“Just give me back my card, buddy,” I say, and rise to go for it in his pocket, but he stops me with a firm look and a gentlehand on my wrist. The look has me swallowing hard again, but the touch, phew, fire extinguisher, please.

“It’s not your card; it’s company property. Now sit… before I make you.” He mumbles that last thing so no one but me can hear.

Oh. My. God.

Please make me.

He’s big. Have I mentioned that? Sexy Security Dude is like well over six-feet tall. Wrestler big. And I don’t mean sumo. He has muscles, not as big as Python’s, but way more delicious.

And he’s super hot!

Who’s your daddy?hot.

And at the moment he’s being very who’s-your-daddy-like and dominant and it’s causing a flood of…

Mmhmm.

How hard did I hit my head? I brush off the weird wave of needy desire and continue my fight.

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