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As if I don’t know who she is.
I know perfectly well.
She hangs out with us sometimes, and I really dig the way she laughs, and the crazy colors she sports, from her hair
to her clothes to her nail polish. She’s like a rainbow, and the thought of being near her is both exciting and nerve-wracking.
Which is weird. I don’t get all twisted up over chicks. I’m not shy, and the only reason my dick hasn’t seen any real action lately is work and family stress.
There’s something about Kayla, though, and I can’t decide if it’s her weird hobby of telling people’s fortunes or the fact she is kinda cute. Kinda hot, in fact. Long legs, a great rack and a pretty face. Her mouth is like candy. I wanna lick it and taste it.
And dammit, now I’m hard. So not good with a customer about to walk in. So not good when it’s about Kayla, a sweet girl and good friend of my friends.
Shit.
She’d never want me, riffraff from a family wreckage washed up on the shore of Madison, a ghost with a hidden past who’s about to pull a fucking disappearing act. I shouldn’t be thinking about her. She deserves better.
I mean, that’s easy. Anyone’s a better catch than me.
***
It’s late by the time I finish with my last customer. I tidy up my station, check that nobody is around to see me and then sit on my stool for a damn long moment, rubbing my hands over my face.
So tired. It comes with living two lives, I guess, as far apart from each other as the sun and the moon. One is like a dream, happy and free and fucking good, and the other… the other is a nightmare.
On top of that, it’s time I checked on my little brother, see how he’s doing, and oh boy, I can’t wait for his warm welcome.
I’m not giving up, though. I will get through to him somehow. Someday he will forgive me, and everything will be fucking okay again. As okay as it can be. I’m not delusional. But my patience, and my hope and my goddamn sanity are reaching a breaking point.
It’s been years. And Mom’s getting worse…
Pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes, I hop off the stool and turn to go, only to stop short.
Someone is standing at the door of my cubicle, arms folded over a broad chest, dark hair standing in spikes.
Seth.
Damn. I could have sworn everyone was gone and that I was the only person left in the shop. To be honest, I’ve been kinda avoiding him. I have this suspicion that he wants to talk to me, and man, that’s the last thing I want.
“What are you doing here?” I grab my wallet from the counter, stuff it in my back pocket. “I thought you left with Shane.”
“I’m your Ghost of Christmas Past,” Seth says, one dark brow raised. “I’ve come to collect your debts and spank your ass.”
I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. “That didn’t really rhyme. And I didn’t know you swung that way.”
“I only swing in the breeze on nudist beaches.” Seth leans over my counter, prods at a snow globe of New York a customer left me once. “Hm.”
“Is there a reason for this unusual form of sexual harassment at my work place?”
“We could move it elsewhere if you like. To Halo, for instance.”
“What, you mean to say you waited here for me, lurking in the shadows of the shop, to drag me off to party? Not that it’s shady, stalkerish behavior or anything.”
“I dunno.” He shrugs. “Micah said you sometimes drive off on Friday evenings, not telling anyone where you vanish to, and I decided to make sure it won’t happen tonight. I need to talk to you.”
There you go. Thank God Micah hasn’t told him where I go on the weekends. He’s the only one here who knows. “Anything special about tonight that I’m not supposed to miss?”
“Want me to invent something? Do you need an excuse to have a drink with us?”
