Page 4 of Brighter than the Boss
When he'd radioed to me that I needed to check out the locker room, I'd marched in there, wanting to see the gift, fake my excitement, and move on with my day. What I'd gotten was a goddamn eyeful of blonde, naked woman. She hadn't hesitated, just crouched down and put her hands up, like she was going to karate chop me to death in her birthday suit. Which was dubious at best because she was barely five feet tall, compared to my six foot four. What wasn't comical was the fact that she was hot, despite her being completely not my type; muscles and curves for days, wide brown eyes that conveyed everything she felt. Her stance was confident but her eyes gave her away. She'd started out scared, but when I'd touched her, they'd full-on melted, turning lustful in a matter of a split second.
This was exactly the kind of girl Ivan would get for me. And I had to hand it to him. I didn't think he had the balls to have a naked girl meet me in the locker room at work. He was a stickler for rules, just like me, and I was impressed that he'd broken several to have her here. And Lord knew I wouldn't want to waste all the efforts he'd gone through.
When I'd backed her up to the lockers and leaned down to taste her lips, she'd turned soft and sweet in my hands, her warm body completely liquified and pressing into mine. Her breath had hitched when I'd stroked her body, and not in a rehearsed way. I knew when girls were faking and when they were being honest in their reactions. I had no time for that boring fake shit. I'd rather watch a bad porno than be with a woman who was faking it with me.
And this girl?
She was definitely not faking. The breathing, the goose bumps, the way her nipples beaded and rubbed against me through my polo shirt. All signs she was as turned on as I was.
So why I stopped to ask about whether Ivan sent her was beyond me. When a girl was that hot and that willing, you shouldn't ever try to put the brakes on. I mean really, was I suddenly an amateur again, the last ten years of experience meaningless? Thank fuck I did ask though or else I'd have impaled my new lifeguard up against the lockers. Would have fucked my career too. Not that it might not already be an issue. I'd crossed multiple lines there just touching her the way I had.
I blinked and I was outside, standing by my truck. I couldn't remember what I was supposed to be doing, too tied up in thoughts of throwing my career down the toilet. I hopped in the cab, the slam of the door hard enough to drown out my loud f-bomb. Apparently, that was the only word coming to mind in this crisis. I slammed a hand on the steering wheel and focused on the pain, hoping it would distract me from thoughts of a certain blonde, naked in my locker room.
My mind was scrambling, trying to figure out what to do. I'd hightailed it out of there, but I still had to have a plan. Did I tell Ivan? Did I ignore her and hope she wouldn't say anything?
The radio on the dash squawked to life and Ivan's voice came through loud and clear. "Dude, why aren't you down at tower 19?"
I grabbed the receiver with more force than necessary. "What the hell are you talking about? You just told me to go to the locker room." All my anger and frustration was now aimed at Ivan. Why the fuck did he tell me to go to the locker room?
"Yeah, after you'd been down to tower 19 to sort out the phone problem."
I squeezed my eyes shut. Shit. "I completely forgot about that. Sorry, man. Let me get down there now and fix it."
"Dude, you feeling alright?" Ivan's voice was teasing. "Hitting the whiskey already? Celebrating your birthday before you're done with work?"
"Shut up, asshole. Over and out." I slammed the receiver back on the dash and whipped the truck around.
For now at least, the idea was to straight-up ignore Sunny. I didn't want to tell Ivan either because then he'd be forced to take it up the chain of command, or more likely, hide it in order to protect me. And Ivan was my brother. I couldn't roll him up in all this shit. I'd keep my mouth shut and suffer the consequences, whenever and whatever they might be.
* * *
The Macallan slid down my throat, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. Some would think I was celebrating my birthday in style, but since I'd come into some sizable money a few years back, I'd decided to only spend it on alcohol. And I indulged plenty. The expensive whiskey was a nice little gift to myself, but I also liked the irony that I was pissing away my money on a substance that took away the similar sting I felt every time I thought of that damn money and where it'd come from.
Tonight I was hoping it would take away the memory of Sunny on my lips, her skin under my fingers, the shock of finding out I was her supervisor. Fuck. I never mixed work with pleasure. Turning away slipped phone numbers in my pocket, verbal offers whispered in my ear, and even physical gropes that sent a clear message, I'd made damn sure I was squeaky clean when it came to my work reputation.
I had no problem sleeping with half of the Orange County female population, but never had I slipped up and muddied the waters with my lifeguards or anyone connected to work. That was a firm line in the sand. No messy blurred lines.
What happened at work, stayed at work. What happened in my bed (or my truck, or the back hallway of the bar, or the airplane bathroom that one time), stayed there. Being upfront and honest with my intentions with every woman I was with was paramount to me. I'd been lied to plenty growing up and I would never do that to anyone else. Sex was sex. I had absolutely no interest in a relationship with anyone. Which meant one-night stands were as far as things went. One-night stands with a coworker, however, would cross all kinds of lines and I wasn't about to do that.
Ever.
So why the fuck I couldn't get Sunny out of my mind was so bizarre it was worth an extra finger of whiskey tonight. Physically, I was running far and fast from the situation, ignoring her at every turn, making sure I was never in the same area that she was assigned to. But mentally? She was all I could think about.
And that pissed me off.
Wanting her went against everything I believed in. First, I was lying by not telling Ivan about what had happened, and we've already covered why I abhorred lying. Second, I blurred my perfect, distinct lines by touching her. Third, she wasn't even my type! She was a million reasons wrong for me.
So until I could wrangle my brain into behaving, I'd numb it out here at this bar off Main Street. The one with the blinking neon signs in the window and the seats that were permanently sticky from years of beer (please God, let it be beer) being sloshed all over them. But I knew the owner and he was a good guy, always keeping a bottle of the good stuff on hand for me behind the bar under lock and key. He knew I was good for it and he didn't broadcast it out that I was ordering a glass of alcohol that cost what most people around here paid for their car every month.
I never flashed around my money, though I'd heard there was a rumor going around that I had plenty of it. Didn't pay much mind to rumors though. Everyone worth knowing wouldn't believe them, and those that did, well, I didn't care for their company anyway. My money was my business and if I wanted anyone to know my bank account status, I'd tell them straight out. All other speculations could remain just that. No further explanation necessary.
I'd just reached that state of mental relaxation where the alcohol had taken the hard edge away, making problems seem fuzzy around the edges, not really problems anymore, just there and easily forgotten. The timing couldn't have been more perfect.
A trio of ladies walked into the bar and snagged a table on my side of the bar. They all placed their purses down by their feet instead of hooking them on the back of the chairs they sat in. By my estimation, which was finely tuned and damn accurate after years of intense study, these ladies had two things going for them: they didn't carry expensive purses that couldn't be placed on a dirty bar floor which meant they weren't high maintenance, and they were street smart enough to know putting your purse on the back of your chair was a stupid thing to do in a bar like this. They'd passed two of my tests already and they didn't even know it.
My gaze zeroed in on the tall brunette, her ass in those jeans drawing attention from more bar patrons than just me. Never one to worry about the competition, I kept sipping my drink and let the ladies order their first round. A few guys tried to sidle up to their table and were turned away before their butts even got close to the seat. I smirked, finding the show humorous, but keeping my face turned toward the televisions up on the wall.
At this point in my life, I wasn't willing to work too hard for it. Sounded egotistical, I knew, but the truth was, I didn't have to work hard for a warm body to fill my bed for a night. So why work for something when it would simply fall in your lap?
