Page 29 of The One I Hate
I don’t know why, and it definitely wasn’t on purpose, but in this moment a thought of Bug flashes in my mind. Fuck…I don’t want to think about her. But I couldn’t push this image out of my brain if I wanted to.
Her in an apron, her full hips and chest rounding out the image. Her hair up on the top of her head. Her smile lighting up this restaurant as she interacts with customers. Me sitting right here at this very place at the counter, watching her with pride as she makes this place her own.
Maybe sneaking into the back for a quickie…
I nod to Mona, which also brings me out of the fantasy world. “Absolutely, Mona.”
“We’ll find a good tenant, I promise.”
The two of us snap our heads to Emmett, who I’m pretty sure just said thatwe’dfind a good tenant. As in plural. As in we.
“You’re in?”
Emmett lets out a sigh. “Yeah. I’m in. I couldn’t resist the puppy-dog eyes either.”
“Well, isn’t this beautiful,” Mona says, clapping her hands in excitement. “Now you two boys get to finding someone to take this place. I have a cruise to book.”
Mona walks away, a million-dollar pep in her step, as Emmett and I clink glasses to a deal sealed.
“Well, isn’t this day turning up,” I say. “Nothing like making a big sale and starting a new partnership. And winning a bet. Great day.”
“Whoa!” Emmett says. “Technically she agreed to sell to me first. I win.”
“Fine,” I groan. “Double or nothing?”
Emmett shakes his head. “Hell no. Plus, my next bet is for money, and you, my friend, owe that woman a million. And I haven’t told you my salary requirements yet.”
I laugh as we continue to eat our breakfast. Man, I didn’t see this day going like this, but I can’t be mad. I got french toast, a business partner, my daily memory of a naked Charlie, and a piece of property I’ve been eyeing for years.
Not bad for a day’s work.
Chapter 7
Charlie
Ihave never needed a day off more in my life.
Things have been nothing short of chaotic over the past three weeks, both personally and professionally.
Asparagus Gate was the least of the problems I had to deal with on the job front. Two line cooks quit when Billy tried to teach them how to “properly” cook chicken. Billy also forgot to order butter. It made my life quite hard, but I think it broke Mellie. She was so mad she swore.
And I’m not talking a little one. She dropped the big one.
Then there was the icing on the wedding cake when a bridezilla wanted me to guarantee that no one working her big day was an Aries. She made me pinky promise. Which I did. All while internally laughing my ass off with my April thirteenth birthday.
But in one hour and forty-two minutes, all of that is going to be in the rearview. I’m away from the restaurant for the next two days, and I’m already imagining the glorious things I’m going to do in the next forty-eight hours.
Nap. Eat food I didn’t cook. Binge watch the newest cult documentary. Nap.
I’m going to nap so damn hard.
Things I’m not going to do: Answer calls from the restaurant. Put on a bra. And the biggest thing on the do-not-do list: Think about Simon Banks.
Or his tongue.
Or his penis.
His perfect fucking penis.
