Page 5 of Peyton

CHAPTER5

Chloe

I read the sign, then looked inside the shop.

Peyton opened the door and stepped aside. “Would you like to come in, Chloe?” he invited.

I didn’t know if I was still shocked by what his sign implied or that Peyton Manos was smiling at me. Peyton had never been friendly towards me. Hell, the day we met, he put glue in my hair. I later found out in the girl’s washroom that Nancy Donovan had dared him to do it. I heard her and her minions giggling about it as I hid in one of the stalls.

I may not have spent time in a regular classroom, but I recognized a mean girl when I saw one. Nancy and her merry band of wannabes could make my school year hell if I let them. Instead, I stayed out of her way and far away from her circle of friends. Which included Peyton Manos.

When I returned for seventh grade, I accepted Justin’s interest. Justin was a bookworm like myself. He was sweet and visited the ice cream hut almost every day. Plus, I knew he was as far removed from Nancy as possible. So while Nancy hung out at the beach, I spent my free time with Justin at the library. That meant I also avoided a particular dark-haired, brown-eyed boy.

When I returned for senior year, it was no different. I had a heart-to-heart with Justin’s girlfriend and assured her that Justin and I had only ever been friends. We never kissed or went to first base. I was pleased she wasn’t the jealous type. I continued hanging out with the group I considered friends.

Once we graduated and went to college, staying connected through social media proved futile. I may have returned to Tranquility each summer to help Aunt Catherine, but many of the friends I’d made had not.

Where had the past four years gone? That was the last time I saw the dark-haired, brown-eyed boy. Today he stood in front of me, a tall, well-built, hot as sin man. He stood at least six foot three and had to be two hundred and ten pounds of solid muscle. His abs clung to his tight aqua t-shirt. His board shorts did nothing to hide his muscular thighs and calves. His dark hair was tousled and windblown. His eyes were as dark as the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. His plump lips were curled into a wide grin as if he was hiding a secret. And I guess he was.

I stopped staring at the fine specimen standing before me and came to my senses. He was the enemy.

“So Peyton Manning, oops, I mean Manos.” Yeah, that was a dig. “I hear you’ll become a professional football player like your namesake.” While attending Tranquility High School, I was educated on the great Brad Bristol, Peyton’s biological father. The greatest player to ever grace Tranquility’s football field. I also got the rundown on why Peyton’s last name was Manos and not Bristol.

“That was the plan,” Peyton pointed to his knee. “Not so much anymore.”

I viewed a nasty-looking scar. “I bet that hurt like a bitch.” Because what else was I supposed to say? Hey, sorry your life’s dream is shot to hell?

“Yeah, it did, but not as much as letting down the people who supported me,” he shrugged. “You know.”

No, I did not know. My parents never put any expectations on me. I could become whatever I wished. Aunt Catherine was the only one who encouraged me to turn my love of books into a career. My parents had no opinion one way or the other.

“Whatever you decide is fine with us, Chloe. We know our lifestyle is not for everyone.”

And that was the entirety of our conversation about my life goals.

“So you decided to open an ice cream hut?” I questioned Peyton.

His bold laugh made the hairs on my arm stand on end. Something down below had also taken notice. Down girl, I chastised my girlie parts. He is the enemy.

“Oh, I’m not selling ice cream,” Peyton stood proud, “I’m selling milkshakes.” He pointed to the sign outside his hut, “Shake Shack, get it,” he grinned.

“So you’re selling milkshakes, nothing but milkshakes?” I was skeptical of his declaration.

“That’s right,” he preened like a proud peacock. “Come see my setup.” He headed behind the small counter in the hut. No, wait, not hut, shack, as in his Shake Shack. Even I had to admit it was catchy.

I viewed the freezers that sat behind the counter. They resembled the ones I use. Inside was a selection of pre-made milkshakes. The standard vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. And… WHAT THE. I spun on my heel and stuck my finger in his chest.

“How in the hell did you get my recipe?” I asked. “I keep those under lock and key.” My mind went on overdrive. Had he met Amanda on the beach? Did they set me up? Was Peyton the reason for Amanda’s sudden interest in helping me?

“What are you talking about?” Peyton looked perplexed at my accusations.

“Tiger Tail. You didn’t even try to come up with an original name, did you? How much did you pay Amanda to spy on me?” I fumed.

“Who the hell is Amanda, and why would I spy on you?” Peyton acted confused by my rantings. But I wasn’t fooled by his theatrics.

“Orange sherbet and black licorice. I discovered it last week with Amanda, and we called it Tiger Stripes because it looks like tiger stripes. Now, tell me, if I didn’t give you this recipe, who else am I supposed to think did?”

Peyton crossed his arms defensively across his broad chest. “First of all, I don’t know any Amanda, and second, I am no thief.”

“Harumph.” I mimicked his stance and crossed my arms across my chest.

His eyes dropped to my breasts. I rolled mine in response. I snapped my fingers in front of his face, forcing his attention to my eyes. “Keep telling yourself that, and maybe someone might believe you.” I stomped out of the Shake Shack.

“Shake Shack, how lame.” With the number of times I’ve rolled my eyes today, it’s a wonder they haven’t stuck to the back of my head.

As soon as I entered Catherine’s Sweet Treats, I opened my Twitter app. Visit Catherine’s Sweet Treats, with all-natural ingredients, and no artificial colors- or flavors. #SugarShack. OopsShakeShack.

I didn’t ask Peyton if his milkshakes were all-natural or the preservative-laced bulk premix.

But, if Peyton Manos wanted to play dirty, so could I.

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