Page 3 of Take Me (Alphas Forever 1)

Shane

I’ve got a feeling this isn’t going to end well.

A few weeks ago, when I mentioned to my buddy Jake that I needed some help in the shop this summer, I was grateful when he said his little sister was available. It meant I didn’t have to bother with putting up a job listing or conducting interviews or any of that shit. Jake told me that his sister was wrapping up her junior year studying literature, that she was a hard worker, and always dependable—and those were all the details I needed to make the decision then and there that the job was hers.

When Blair showed up at the shop this morning, though, my first thought was, Oh, shit. What did I get myself into? Goddamn, the girl is hot. She’s short and curvy, and has a naturally gorgeous face, framed by the prettiest brunette waves.

It probably won’t come as a surprise that the moment I saw her, my cock immediately got hard.

After warding off my erection by doing some random math equations in my head—a trick that never fails to work—I invited her in and tried to come to terms with the fact that she was going to be around all summer. I even considered telling her that there had been a mistake, and that unfortunately I didn’t have a job for her after all. I didn’t know how I’d explain it to Jake, and he’d probably be pissed, but wouldn’t he be more pissed if he found out that I was lusting after his little sister?

Then I noticed the cut on her leg and found out that some rollerblading asshole had run into her, and suddenly all I wanted to do was protect that sweet girl. She was going to work in my shop that summer, and I was going to look after her.

Erections be damned.

* * *

As we walkfrom the bathroom to the front room of the shop, I grab an apron hanging on the wall and hold it out to her.

“Put that on,” I say. I wasn’t planning on making her wear it, but her curves are so distracting, and I need all the help I can get to prevent myself from staring at her.

She puts the apron on, ties it around her little waist, and then looks at me, ready to get started. And I can’t help it—I think about how badly I wish I could get started on her. I breathe out and walk over to the counter to start showing her the ropes. As I demonstrate how to use the cash register, how to scoop ice cream, and how to use the waffle cone maker, she watches attentively, nodding and giving little okays and uh-huhs as I go along.

Once we finish with all of that, I show her where I keep extra supplies in the back, and we get to work unpacking spoons and napkins and branded t-shirts and restocking the shop.

As we work, I ask her about school. “So you’re heading into your senior year, right?”

“Yep,” says Blair. “Don’t ask me what I’m planning on doing a year from now when I graduate, though, because I don’t have a clue.”

“You’ll figure it out,” I say.

“I hope so,” she says. She rips open a pack of napkins. “Did you always want to open up an ice cream shop?”

“No,” I say. “I thought I would stay in banking for the rest of my life.”

“What inspired you to open up this place, then? Because, to be honest, you don’t really strike me as an ice cream kind of guy.”

I smirk. “What kind of guy do I strike you as?”

“Um…” Blair’s cheeks gently pinken. “More of a meat and potatoes kind of guy, I guess.”

“Guess I should have opened up a meat and potato shop.”

Blair laughs. “You’re funny. For real, though. I want to know the story behind this place.”

I toss some packaging into the trash. “When I was little, my grandmother would always have homemade ice cream when I visited her. So this is sort of a homage to her.”

“Really? That’s so sweet.” Blair is looking at me like she wants to hug me.

“I didn’t start the business to be sweet,” I say. If I think too much about my grandmother, I’ll get all sentimental, and that’s the last thing I need right now. I glance at the clock. “Let’s make some waffle cones.”

Fifteen minutes later, Blair has made half a dozen unusably wonky waffle cones and two decent ones. I unlock the front doors to the shop as she keeps on practicing. When the first customers of the day come in, I take care of them, but soon I call Blair over to help me out. She leaves her stack of misshapen cones—which, if I’m being honest, I’ll probably have to toss—to give ice cream scooping a shot.

Unfortunately, she’s not much better at that. Her scoops come out…well, less than perfect. She keeps forgetting to dip the scooper in the container of hot water on the counter, and she hasn’t gotten the wrist movement down yet. I know she’ll get there, with practice. But it takes all of my willpower to not step over there and guide her hand with mine.

* * *

It’sabout an hour later when this group of four comes into the shop—two young couples, from the looks of it. The girls are being extremely indecisive about what flavors they want, and are holding up the line as they stare up at the menu on the wall and debate with each other.

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