Page 10 of Phantom Faceoff
Relax. Keep my head down. Make it through one mini disaster at a time.
In all fairness, this was not my fault.
Not directly.
Okay—yes—I was probably—definitely—more careless than I intended to be.
I was doing my due diligence and trying to be semi-prepared for class. Not like I was trying to culture myself because a certain someone insinuated I knew jack all about music.
So what if I was skipping through the CD at record speed. All the songs were boring, and I just wanted to find one that didn’t suck. How was I supposed to know the damn thing would jam and break and I’d have to ask a store clerk for help?
There was also no way in hell for me to know that the exact store clerk I’d get would beMalachi freaking Blanchard.
Fool around with his best friend and suddenly I can’t escape the guy.
How many people are going to look at me today like they want me to eat shit and die?
Chapter Four
Malachi
It’s been one day,and I’m already sick and fucking tired of Zander Hale’s existence in my life.
From his god awful flirty texts to getting yelled at by Julian for interrupting their conversation, I’ve had my fill of the man for one lifetime let alone just today.
Yet here he is, standing by one of the store’s CD players with the mechanism smoking and stuttering. He’s got wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights, holding a pair of headphones in one hand and repeatedly jamming the stop button with the other.
“I didn’t realize there were over thirty tracks,” he says. “I figured it’d reach the end and loop, but it didn’t, and I got a little …”
“Carried away?” I supply as the vein in my temple pulses.
“Bingo.” He aimsfinger gunsof all things at me, and never more have I wanted to add ‘murderer’ to my resume.
Not that the CD player is a big deal. They’re a dime a dozen and easy to replace.
Doesn’t make his presence any less annoying.
I walk over and open the compartment, pulling the CD out to see the back scratched all to hell. With a heavy sigh, I place it in the pocket of my apron to take it to the buffer in the back and see if it’s salvageable.
We have display records for a reason, but it’s still disheartening.
“Did you listen to any of them all the way through?” I find myself asking as the irritation forms an itch in my throat.
“Um …” Zander picks up the jewel case, tracing a finger along the track list until his face breaks out into a smile. “But Daddy I Love Him.”
There isn’t a deadpan strong enough to hide the infuriating headache this man is causing me.
“Oh, I likedFresh Out The Slammer.I Can Fix Himwas good, too. I didn’t listen to more than thirty seconds of any of the others, honestly. Felt a little monotonous.”
“Monotonous?” I’m supposed to be on my best behavior at work, but would anyone blame me if I laid him out right here?
He’s looking at me with a wide grin that doesn’t fit the situation, but his expression morphs as his brows dip.
“Don’t tell me Mr. Doom and Gloom is a Swiftie?”
I cross my arms, feeling my skin prickle. “I can’t enjoy excellent songwriting?”
He seesaws his hand. “I feel like ‘excellent’ is a stretch.”
