Page 9 of Fox
“Oh my god!” I shout while throwing another bottle at him. “Stop being a fucking pig!”
Atlas shrugs and turns to Fox. “Tell her I’m wrong.” Fox shoves Atlas away before rolling his eyes.
“I’m not in this conversation.”
“Well,” I say slowly, “We could have a different conversation. Like what you two are doing in the shop together, alone, getting undressed together.” I give him a cheeky grin as Fox lets out a dry laugh before giving me the finger.
“It’s T-Shirt Thursday.” He states as he slips on a shirt with the shop’s logo on the front and a graphic of the Norse deity Hel on the back. I have to force the ache in my chest to go away whenI see the black-and-white drawing of the half-skeletal woman. Thinking about the past right now will only further irritate my condition and throw me off balance in this dance for power between Fox and me.
I force out a snort before going back to my phone. “Fuck, you guys still do that?” I need to find something,anything,to re-center me.
“Everyonein the shop does.” Fox’s voice takes on a grave, warning tone.
“Well, good for you guys!” I give them a quick thumbs up before turning back to my phone. I see an alert that Brody uploaded photos on his social media, but didn’t respond to my text.Fucking typical.
I jump when a black shirt lands in front of me, covering my phone’s screen. Raising my head, I glare at Fox, who has his massive arms crossed over his chest. I mean, seriously? Why are all these men so freaking big?
“Put it on.” I raise my brow at Fox’s demanding tone before staring back down at the shirt. I grab the shirt and chuck it back at him.
“Nah. I’m good. Thanks, though.” I flash him a smile so big I am sure my molars are showing. His face holds zero amusement, and he throws the shirt at me again before splaying his hands over the counter that separates us and leaning over to glare at me.
“It wasn’t a request.” He grits out through clenched teeth.
I squint my eyes while smirking at him. “Are we having a dick-measuring contest right now? Because I’m telling you, I will win, Simmons.” Atlas covers his mouth to hide his laughter as Fox’s right eye twitches.
“Torch,” he grinds out before letting out a breathy chuckle that sends chills down my spine. “Trust me when I say usmeasuring dicks just might be the only time I get you to shut the fuck up. Now, I’m telling you one last time—put on the shirt.”
I stand on the stool’s footrest to meet his gaze and reply in the same tone, emphasizing each word. “You are not my boss, Fox.”
I watch his eye twitch again, and an honest-to-god sneer appears on his face. I’m ready for it, though. Come on, give me your best shot. This was the most alive I’ve felt in… Damn, I don’t know how long. Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement as Atlas forces himself between Fox and the counter.
“Okay, kids, let’s take a breath.” Atlas’ laugh is nervous as he pats Fox’s shoulders. Fox shoves him off and points his finger at me.
“No shirt, no counter work. Either put it on or march your ass to the back room and fill bottles.” I flinch as I think back to the hundreds of times I was told to stay in the back room by my dad.Nope, Janie, you can’t let him win.I take a deep, cleansing breath and give him my biggest, fakest smile.
“Do you have any with long sleeves?” I ask innocently.
Fox’s anger is rising, and if the reddening of his neck is any indication, so is his blood pressure.
I am SO winning this battle. He’ll forfeit or have a heart attack. Either way, I smell victory.
I watch as he growls and runs his hands through his beard. “Torch, it is August in California.”
I ignore the nickname. He’s grasping at straws and trying to irritate me in any way possible, not happening, old man.
I inwardly grin and toss the shirt back at him before going back to mindlessly scrolling on my phone. “No sleeves, no shirt, Papa Fox.”
I hear Atlas yell, “Oh no!!!” while doubling over in laughter.Papa Foxwas the nickname Atlas gave him years ago, and he hates it. Sometimes, my dad would have to leave theshop to get supplies or do on-set appointments and leave me in the back room. But when I knew the coast was clear, I would sneak out front to bug artists or steal snacks. There were several times that patrons asked if I was Fox’s daughter. After it kept happening, Atlas started calling himPapa Fox,and then it never stopped, despite his protesting.
The intensity of Fox’s glare sends fire and tingling energy through my entire body. Well, I think it’s actually my tremors, but still.
Come to think of it, my tremors are terrible today. Did I take my meds?
I think back, replaying my entire morning routine. I definitely took them. I look at my half-drunk iced coffee, and the corners of my mouth tick downward.
Did the barista give me regular instead of decaf?
“Wow, are you even listening to a fucking word I say?” Fox glowers. God, he is annoyingly tall. I’m going to need to get a massage with all this neck craning. I wonder if my massage therapist is back from her vacation yet.
