Rough Hand (Rock Bridge Ruffians, Book One) Page 4

  Chin up, I tell myself. I pick up Morgan’s dirty socks and toss them into the hamper. Fluff the limp couch pillows. Open the blinds and let the sunshine in. I’ve committed to Rock Bridge, and I’ll be damned if I fail. It’s not an option for me, for my sisters. They need me more than ever.

  I just have to focus on my tasks, and not worry about sexy guys who run hot and cold, and then I can be successful.

  “Notebooks, notebooks,” I mumble to myself as I scour the lanes to find the office supplies. Jenna sent me her list of supplies—and after I nagged Morgan to tell me hers, she reluctantly texted her needs too—so I came to the dollar store hoping to find cheap stuff that’ll suffice for them.

  I meander down the aisle with office supplies, holding a small basket, and grab the necessary notebooks, pencils, and so on. Jenna is gonna need a graphing calculator, which isn’t available here, but I seem to remember Dad finding one at Walmart for me back when I was in high school. I’ll hit there next—there’s a store on the outskirts of town.

  I move over to pencils and pens. “Ugh, Morgan,” I say with a groan as I check over her list on my phone. She asked for all pink and purple pens. “Regular blue or black pens aren’t good enough for you, eh, princess?”

  There’s a light chuckle beside me, and I turn to see a woman around my age a few feet away. She has a thick pack of Post-It notes in her hand. Her black skirt and slim black shirt flatter her curvy figure, and her dark purple hair is swirled in a pin-up style.

  I smile back at her and roll my eyes. “School shopping for my sisters. Gotta love it.”

  She holds up the sticky notes. “Shopping for work. Boss Woman sent me here to replenish supplies.” She tilts her head. “Are you new to town?”

  I blink. “How did you know?”

  “Rock Bridge is a surprisingly small place, and I know most people around here,” she says, thrusting her hand out. “I’m Kayla.”

  “Alexa. Hi.” I shake her hand.

  “So, of all the glamorous towns in Michigan, what made you choose Rock Bridge?” The question is innocently asked.

  But it makes my heart jump in my throat. I already decided before I moved that I wasn’t going to ever tell people the truth about why we’re here. How I’m fleeing our dark past. How in my old town, everyone looked at me and my sisters with pity—the survivors of a horrible crime, only alive because of a twist of fate. We couldn’t go anywhere without being pointed at, stared at, even having people come right up to us and want to talk about the murder-suicide.

  I couldn’t keep us in that toxic environment. Jenna was having panic attacks, and Morgan wouldn’t stop crying. And me, I was desperately trying to keep us together.

  I settle on telling her a partial truth, one that wouldn’t give away my secrets. “When I was a kid, I came here a few times to visit my grandma. She died when I was ten, but I always had nice memories of Rock Bridge.”

  Kayla nods. “It’s surprising how many people come here for that reason. I had no idea this place was such a popular vacation spot. Who knew?”

  I lean over and pick up a pack of colored pens. Glance at all the items already in my basket. It’s hard to suppress a sigh, knowing this is eating the last of my free money, but I try to anyway.

  “So, where do you work?” I ask her.

  “I work for a male hair salon called Gallant Cuts.” She grins. “It’s a great place. I’m a receptionist there.”

  “Well, if they’re hiring, let me know,” I say wryly. “Sounds like a fun environment.”

  “Actually, we’re looking for someone else to work the front desk with me. The former girl had a baby and decided to stay at home instead of returning to work. So we need a full-time employee.”

  I get an excited thud in my chest and turn to her. “Really? I have years of customer service experience. And I just finished my bachelors degree.”

  Kayla’s smile widens. She digs into her purse and grabs a pen and scrap piece of paper. “Come by later this afternoon, and bring your resume with you. Here’s our name and address. The salon owner is in today to work on payroll, and I know she’s wanting to get someone in the position ASAP. She’ll likely even interview you on the spot.” She writes fast, then hands me the note, which is written on the back of a receipt.

  “Okay, I will!” I can’t fight the big smile on my face.

  Kayla winks and says, “Well, I’ll see you later!” She walks off down the aisle and turns right.

  I bite my lower lip and bounce in place with a little squeal. Could the gods finally be helping me out?

  How random was that? I close my eyes briefly and say thanks to whomever might be listening to my prayers. Please let this work out.

  Please let something go right for a change.

  I finish picking up the rest of the supplies and ring out. Head to Walmart and after minutes of wandering around the aisles, find the graphing calculators and snag the last one in stock. Clearly my good luck is on a streak.

  I feel lighter now than I did earlier when I was with my sisters. A little less stressed. A tenuous drop of hope bubbles in my chest. Things are going to work out. I have another good job lead. And Kayla seems like a nice person—maybe she’d be open to hanging out sometime, too. I could use a friend here.

  I finish my errands and head home. Morgan is gone, having sent me a text that she was hanging at a friend’s house to study math, and Jenna’s in her room. I holler to her, and she gives me a muffled hi back.

  I need to find something sleek to wear. Fix my hair and makeup so I look my best—clearly, based on Kayla’s appearance, they like their employees to look well put together. I rush into my room and dig through my closet. Not all of my clothes are unpacked yet, with some of them still in bags. I find a sleek black skirt and my prettiest bright pink top. Hop in the shower, then dry my hair and do makeup. My hand is shaking in nervous anticipation as I put on my eyeliner, so it takes me a couple of tries to get the wings right.

  Add a couple of bracelets to my apparel and slip on two rings. I’m finally ready.

  Dad would have kissed me on the head and told me how beautiful I look. He was always complimenting me whenever I dressed up. A stab of pain threatens to overtake my chest when I think about the last time I saw his smile, but I swallow it down.

  He’d be happy to see me taking care of the girls. I know that. I’m doing this for me, for them, for him. Because we’re left here, and we have to keep on living, not just surviving. Dad would want that for us.

  I grab my purse and head through the front door, careful not to look in the direction of the motorcycle shop. Stupid Levi and his stupid sexiness. I can’t let him keep me from focusing on what I need to do.

  But even as I tell myself I can stop caring about him, I find myself glancing back at the shop anyway—unable to resist the pull.

  It turns out forgetting him is going to be more difficult than I first thought.

  Levi

  Nothing better than enjoying a gorgeous ride on my motorcycle.

  I weave down the back roads and shift into fifth gear, and my bike responds with a seductive purr, whipping me faster into the long straight stretch of road ahead of me. Trees go flying by; I’m the only one on the road right now.

  I fucking love this freedom. No thinking. No distractions. Nothing but me and the bike and the wind and the sunshine.

  Miles fly by as I drive. Then a flash of a smile pops into my mind.

  Her smile.

  Fuck. Somehow, Alexa’s lodged herself under my skin, despite my efforts to keep her out of my head.

  I already told myself after our hot session a couple of weeks ago that I wasn’t going to think about her. But the truth is, I have. Every fucking day since then. I’ve brushed my teeth dozens of times, but I can still taste her in my mouth. I’ve cranked rock songs for hours in the shop, day after day, but I can still hear her whimpers and cries of pleasure as I made her come.

  I can see her house from my shop. And I find myself peeking out
the window at least once a day, curious if I’ll spot her entering or leaving her car, or lingering outside on her small stoop.

  Okay, maybe I’ve looked a hell of a lot more than once.

  I lean right and glide around a curve. The bike is responding perfectly, like a dream. I made modifications earlier this summer to give it better speed and control.

  I weave back toward town and hit the thick of it, slowing for traffic. A couple of other bikers I know pass me on the other side of the road, and we nod our acknowledgments.

  At a stop light, I see a familiar car in the lot of Gallant Cuts, the male hair salon filled with gorgeous stylists in tight clothes. I know that car, because I’ve see it every fucking day across the street from my shop for the last couple of weeks.

  Why would Alexa be there? They only offer styles for men. I get a weird twinge in my chest.

  On impulse, I guide my motorcycle into the lot and park. Stroll through the front door, where I’m greeted by a sexy purple-haired woman behind the front desk. It takes me a moment to recognize Kayla, since last time I was here, her hair was light blue.

  “Hey, welcome back, Levi!” she chirps, offering me a broad smile. Her red lips are perfectly lacquered with a glossy shine, and she has the pinup style down to a T, from her tight black shirt with deep cleavage to the hair. “Do you have an appointment, or are you a walk-in? I don’t remember having you on the books…?” She glances down at her computer.

  “I’m…” Suddenly I feel a little dumb for coming in here to see if Alexa is here. Creeper alert. “I thought I saw a friend’s car…” I trail off when I see Alexa turning the corner.

  I trail off because I can’t speak. My throat is tight as I stare, and I wonder if I’m drooling a bit.

  Alexa is wearing a black skirt so tight that I can see the outlined curve of her thighs through the fabric, paired with sheer stockings and high black heels. Her top is a pale gray, opened well below her cleavage, with mounds of creamy flesh exposed. She’s twisted her hair into a loose bun, and her lips are cherry red and seductive.

  My cock throbs at the sight of her.

  A man steps up to her and begins talking. She smiles and shakes her head with a laugh. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I can see the way he’s leering at her. Eyeing her up and down.

  Jealousy, hot and searing, pushes through my veins.

  “Who are you looking for?” the receptionist asks. Her gaze follows mine. “Oh, Alexa? You know her? I’m glad she’s making friends. Being new to town is hard.”

  I give her a tight smile. “Yeah. I’m gonna go over and talk to her.” I can’t help myself; I walk over to meet the pair.

  When her gaze hits mine, her smile falters, and she looks at me in confusion for a moment. Then her pretty little mask appears, and she gives me a polite nod. “Levi. Do you have an appointment?”

  “Nope.” I can’t stop looking at her.

  The guy clears his throat. “So, I was saying that I think you’d be a great model.” He digs into his wallet and offers her his business card. “I do photography on the side and I’m looking to expand my portfolio.”

  Before she can take the card, I snatch it from his hands and look at the text. The card looks like it was done on his home computer—the font is amateurish and unprofessional. “Yeah, this looks legit,” I say sarcastically. “Do you do all your work in a basement?”

  She scowls and takes the card. “Thank you,” she says to him. “Your stylist will be with you in a moment. Can I get you something to drink?”

  He nods. “A beer would be great. Coors Light if you have it, please.”

  Surprise, the molester has shitty taste in brew. I can’t help but roll my eyes.

  Alexa ignores me, giving him a smooth smile. “I’ll bring it right over. You can have a seat there,” she says, pointing toward a bar-like area set up against the far wall.

  The guy saunters over, and Alexa spins on her heels and walks away from me toward a drinks station, with a Keurig, a mini fridge, and a water cooler. I follow her. When she bends over to reach into the fridge, I just about explode out of my jeans.

  Holy sweet fucking Jesus in the cradle, her ass is sheer perfection. And the stockings have black seams that I’m sure run right up to her—

  “What do you want?” she asks me flatly when she turns around, cracking open a beer can. She isn’t looking at me though.

  “You’re working here,” I say, belatedly realizing how stupid of a statement that is. Of course she is.

  Can’t get much more obvious than that.

  Her gaze finally slides up to meet mine, her eyes cool as she appraises me. Her red lips are so plush, I want to kiss all the lipstick off them. God, I’d love to shove her against the wall again, taste that sexy mouth. Slide my hand up her skirt. My cock is throbbing at the thought, despite me chanting to myself every fucking day how wrong she is for me. How wrong I am for her.

  “Are you shocked I got a job that isn’t in an ice cream shop?” she asks archly. “I do have more skills than using a scoop.”

  I shrug and give a pained smile. “Okay, that was kind of a shitty thing to say, I admit. But…here? This place is a fucking meat market. It’s a terrible place for you to work.”

  I can see her cheeks begin to burn red. “Not that I need to explain anything to you,” she says in a heated whisper, “but this place has a decent salary and benefits, and I’m working full-time.” She grabs a glass and pours the beer in there, then saunters over to give the customer his drink.

  He says something low to her, and she nods and touches his shoulder.

  When she makes her way back over toward me, I step in front of her. “I know you’re new to town, but you don’t know what this joint is like. Guys are disgusting. They hit on all the women here and try to grab what isn’t theirs.”

  “And yet you come here?” she says with wide eyes. “You’re one of our customers, but you’re acting like you’re better than them.”

  “How do you know I’m a customer here?” I ask.

  That stops her. She sniffs and lifts her chin. Despite the high heels, I still have several inches on her, and she’s forced to look up at me. “I…I just do.”

  I smirk. “You looked me up in the system, didn’t you.”

  Alexa’s been thinking about me, too. Suddenly I don’t feel so crazy, so creepy. So obsessed. She’s just as impacted by that night as I am. She hasn’t forgotten about me, about it.

  “Come work for me,” I blurt out.

  Alexa just stares at me for a long moment. “What?”

  “Quit this place.” I step closer to her and stare down into those endless eyes. I’m still pulsing with desire for her, but something else is threading in me too. A need to be close to her. I spent two weeks denying myself, denying my attraction.

  And now a couple of minutes in her presence has me going mad.

  I crave her so fucking badly.

  “Quit this place,” I repeat and allow myself another step. She’s so close now that I can smell the warmth of her vanilla-tinged perfume. “Work at the shop. I’ll teach you everything you need to know about bikes.”

  “You told me I’d be a terrible fit there,” she says, anger spiking her voice. “But now you come in here and try to get me to leave? After two weeks of not a word? No. Actually, not just ‘no.’ Hell no.” I hear the anger in her voice, but something else layered in there gives me pause.

  Anger mingled with hurt.

  And there it is, also reflected in her eyes, in the crinkle of her brow, the way she doesn’t look right at me.

  My withdrawal after that night at the bar hurt her.

  A knot tightens in my chest. She seemed so indifferent afterward. But it’s clear she wasn’t. That she was hiding her feelings.

  The way I was, too.

  I reach over and take her hand, and the moment our skin touches, it’s like I’m home. The feeling both scares and elates me. This woman could wreck me to pieces if I’m not careful. But I can�
��t stand the thought of leaving her here among the wolves.

  I’m not normally a jealous man, because I never let myself care deeply enough about any women I hooked up with in the past, but something about her brings it out of me. She’s so fucking beautiful and bold and yet so fragile. There’s far more to her than meets the eye, that much I can tell.

  I hurt her, but I can make it up to her.

  “I’ll double whatever you’re making now,” I find myself saying, stroking my thumb along the delicate flesh of her wrist.

  She blinks, her mouth parting in a surprised O.

  “I… What?” Her gaze drops down to where our hands are touching, but she doesn’t withdraw from my grip. I see her swallow, that telltale pulse throbbing at the base of her throat.

  “I mean it. Quit here. Work for me. It’s clear that you’re good with customers, and we could use someone like that at my shop.” Suddenly it means so much to get her to say yes. “I’ll offer you benefits and full-time work at twice the salary you’re making in this sausage fest.” I sneer as I look around at all the men packed into this place. Staring hard at the women receptionists, the hair dressers, all dolled up and on display.

  A small kick of shame hits me in the gut, and my stomach tightens. I’ve been that guy, have sat in the chair and scraped my gaze over the female flesh all around me. But seeing her the subject of such objectification…it puts another spin on things. Makes me feel protective over her.

  “You’re serious.” Her words are hushed, tinged with a bit of shock. She looks around, then turns her attention back to me. “You’re offering me a job, without even knowing how much I’m making here.”

  “Yes,” I say simply.

  I’m doing decent enough at the shop that I can afford it. And I still don’t have a receptionist. It would be a win-win.

  “And…if I do come to work for you, you’ll treat me as a professional.” The words are delivered evenly, but there’s a touch of wariness in her eyes.