Foolproof

by Jennifer Blackwood

I moved around the display and shoved my hands in my pockets as she pushed the last of her paper onto the shelf.

  “You don’t seem like the type to slum it in Office Jax.”

  “Huh?” She leaned her shoulder on the shelf and crossed her arms over her chest.

  I motioned to our surroundings. “Office supply store doesn’t seem to suit you.”

  “It’s my dream job. Pens and highlighters are a huge turn on. Don’t even get me started on ink cartridges.” She fanned her face.

  I chuckled. Cute. A-plus for making me laugh.

  She sighed. “Really, I just need to make enough money for senior year. Not many people hire in June. Besides Jiggles ,” she murmured the last word to herself.

  Sure, I’d noticed this chick from the moment I stepped foot into Office Jax, even though I pretended not to see her as I stared at my phone. And normally I could keep the situation in my pants under control. But the thought of this girl working a pole sent a jolt straight to my cock. I shifted uncomfortably. Dammit, I didn’t need to be hard at work, especially for Peach.

  “I’m joking. Quit looking like that.”

  I turned to her. “Like what?”

  She cocked her eyebrow. “Like you’re imagining me on a pole. Knock it off.”

  Shit, was she a mind reader now?

  Her brows lifted, challenging me to say different. She was good. Too good. Hell yes, her tight little body, full lips, and silky hair was my personal brand of kryptonite, but I wasn’t about to admit that to her.

  Darwin had this little thing called the theory of evolution, survival of the fittest—one that I kept ignoring by going for my usual type. If I kept showing interest in the same type of girls, it’d destroy me. Self-preservation was the only way to go at this point. “You assume you’re attractive enough to work at Jiggles.” I wanted to deck myself as this came out of my mouth.

  “Prick.”

  I stacked a few reams of paper on the endcap. Just play it off. You don’t owe her anything. Except an apology, dipshit. “Aren’t you observant.”

  A frown pulled at her lips, an immediate sucker punch to the gut. Putting up my cold, callous front with her felt so wrong, but my sense of humor and trust in people was obliterated the second I walked in on Lex with her lips wrapped around my roommate’s dick. Nothing screamed my life’s a shitty punch line like a cheating girlfriend.

  Jules shook her head and continued rearranging paper on the endcap. To her, I was just some D-bag. In the span of fifteen minutes, I’d managed to insult this chick who really didn’t deserve it.

  I hadn’t always been this way—I used to be a nice guy. Maybe nice guy was a stretch. But definitely a faithful one. One that usually didn’t insult people—purposefully. I somehow doubted she’d believe it, after I had just implied she was ugly and not fit for working at a fucking strip club, the exact opposite of what I actually thought.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She scoffed and blinked at me through long coated lashes. “Apology not accepted.”

  This day was on a direct route to hell. I raked my hand through my hair, staring at the ground. Space. I needed space to think. I mumbled another pointless apology and made my way to the back of the store. My head throbbed as I worked my fingers along my temples, pushing through the double doors.

  Dad was rearranging supplies as I walked into the freight area. He shot me a cool glare over the warped edge of a box labeled erasers. “Working hard, or hardly working?”

  I shook my head and took a deep breath. Sad to think we couldn’t even make it thirty seconds being civil.

  He eyed me suspiciously. Apparently this was an actual question, not rhetorical.

  There was no escape in this damn store—up front a smart-mouth princess who made me feel like the biggest jerk ever. In back, Dad who made me feel like a total screw-up. A lose-lose situation.

  I picked up a stack of paper and backed up a few steps, moving toward the door. “Being a model employee. Just going to set these by the door on the way to my break.”

  Dad folded his arms across his chest; his disappointed gaze held a hint of maybe I should leave my franchise to a distant relative in my will. Ever since I couldn’t keep my eyes open in Boring 101 aka Business 101, my grades plummeted, and I’d failed out of Baylor. Dad had wedged his way fully up my ass, never letting me forget how I’d fucked up my future. It was true, knowing what I wanted to do with my life wasn’t clear at this point, but I knew this much: dealing with type-A office supply fanatics asking me about fountain pens and embossed versus eggshell finish stationery was not how I got my kicks. My own personal purgatory.

  Dad shoved a box onto a shelf and leveled me with his stare. “Lose the attitude, son.”

  Goading him wouldn’t be smart, I knew, but damn if I didn’t like to piss him off a little. “Would never dream of giving you attitude, Father.” Before I could bear witness to his temper flaring, I walked to the break room.

  I slumped in the cold plastic chair, staring at the white walls filled with safety posters and the weekly schedule. The only nice thing about the break room was that it didn’t play the service floor music.

  After a couple minutes of silence, boredom hit full force, so I decided to thumb through one of Delores’s smut magazines. Every summer I’d worked here, it never failed. She left them out on the table, the bright covers advertising ten steps to better sex and how to have the best O of your life. Sure, I liked GQ for similar articles. I had to credit it with that special trick with my tongue. The only difference between the two was that my magazines didn’t have tips on getting the perfect bikini wax or tweezing my brows.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out just in time for it to die. I shoved it back in my pocket and stared at the magazine cover. If I was going to be stuck in here for ten more minutes, might as well flip through.

  Perfume ad

  Picture of girl straddling a crocodile, holding a bottle of lotion

  50 ways to wear a scarf

  Damn. Chick magazines were so weird.

  I stopped on an article in bright pink bold letters: Six Foolproof Steps to the Ultimate Summer Fling. A fling. What did a magazine have that ordinary people couldn’t figure out? Couldn’t be too hard to pick up someone and have a few nights together. Then again, I hadn’t done that in years, not since before Lex. In fact, I hadn’t slept with a girl in over a year. Lex shut me out the last few months of our relationship, as soon as I said I wasn’t sure where it was heading. I’d been put in cock-block timeout. Fuck, a hookup sounded fantastic right about now.

  Checking to make sure no one else was going to enter the staff room, I settled in and started the article. How hard could it be? Pick a girl, make a move, didn’t seem to be that difficult. Then again, I was a little rusty with flirting at this point.

  Step 1: Find similarities and common ground.

  What’s the best way to meet up with a potential cutie? Find something that you both connect with! Whether it be that coworker with the nice buns or that person who’s always at your favorite coffee shop, strike up a convo. Talk about work, your favorite band, how you just read this awesome book, just get him talking!

  Okay, I could do that. I just needed to find a girl to find similarities with. There were a few girls from my high school I’d be down to meet up with again, but I’d lost their numbers when I got a new phone last summer. Maybe Blake would be my wingman if we went out to Tailgaters this weekend. Doubtful, since Payton would be there, and she was the ultimate cock-block. No, I needed to think this through. There had to be someone that I had something in common with.

  The break room door burst open and I quickly shoved the magazine under a stack of newspapers as Dad walked in.

  “There’s someone out there who needs help with her tablet. Can you come help? Jules is backed up with the register.”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  I walked back out to the service floor and met the woman at the Customer Service counter.

&nbs
p; “I can’t get this stupid thing to work.” She was almost in tears as she pushed her device across the counter. “All I want is to video chat with my grandson and show his pictures to my friends.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I opened up her tablet and holy shit the whole interface was in disarray. Tons of overdue updates, her email wouldn’t refresh. Normally, Dad would just do the bare minimum and click on a few updates, but this lady needed a complete overhaul. For Christ sake, this was so outdated, I was surprised any of her apps were working.

  I furrowed my brows, still staring at the screen. “Er—why don’t you come back in a couple hours, ma’am.”

  “Thank you so much, dear. And please, call me Helen.”

  “My pleasure, Helen.” I knew Dad wouldn’t like me spending this much time working on her iPad, but hell if I was going to deprive this lady of seeing her grandson. She reminded me of my grandma, and that woman was my Achilles heel. She was a goddess in my book, always making me homemade doughnuts and brownies for soccer trips. When I stayed the night at her house as a kid, she’d let me stay up late, and we’d watch horror movies and eat greasy popcorn that Mom would never keep in the house. God, I loved that woman.

  An hour and a half later, I had her device up and running, her email updated, and even put a picture of her grandson as her background.

  Helen came back into the store, and I handed her the tablet. I’d written down the instructions for how to update applications and which buttons to press in order to video chat and how to save her pictures from her email.

  “Oh, I can’t wait to chat with Grayson on the video thing. Thank you so much, sweetheart.”

  “No problem. Come back if you have any more problems, or you can call the store. I can probably talk you through it over the phone.”

  She nodded and hugged the device to her chest. After she exited the store, I went back to stocking paper on the display shelf. Jules strode over a few minutes later, more reams of paper tucked under her arm.

  She arranged the paper and said, “Good to know you can be nice to someone.”

  “Don’t tell anyone—it might ruin my image.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re still an asshole in my book.”

  “Nice to know my reputation stands.”

  What kind of dipshit response was that? Talking to this girl turned me into an idiot. I knew it’d be smart to stay away from her, but something about Peach drove me a little crazy.

  Maybe it was the stiletto heels. Could also be the fact she could shell out sarcastic comments without batting those heavily lined eyes. Or her full lips that I’d kill to know if they tasted as good as they looked. She seemed like someone who would make me work for it. Someone who would be the perfect hookup for the summer, no commitment needed. I’d give it a week, two tops, before I had this girl in my bed.

  Chapter Five

  Jules

  I scrambled back into Office Jax and beelined it for the break room where I’d left my purse. I’d been in such a hurry to leave after my shift with that crap bag Ryan. Seriously, could anyone be a bigger jerk? I highly doubted it. Sure, he was nice to old grannies, but the general population got Eeyore’s evil twin.

  Right before I pushed through the door of the break room, I heard Ryan’s voice. “Are those the red panties? The ones with the lace on the edges?”

  Gross. Was he having phone sex? At work? This dude was ballsy. I slumped against the wall, listening in like a total perv. Something about his low voice talking about naughty bits sent a jolt of heat straight to the space between my legs, which was totally unfortunate, because this guy was a Grade A prick—something my body didn’t give two figs about.

  “You know what you can do with those panties?”

  Yes, go on. Please tell me what to do with those panties. I mentally side-eyed myself. This was sick. Why was I listening? And yet, here I was, leaning in toward the door, waiting to hear what he’d say next. I didn’t know what this said about me but, at this point, I didn’t really care.

  “You can go shove them up Dwayne’s ass.”

  Something slammed against a solid surface, most likely his phone.

  Yikes. I didn’t know what this Dwayne dude did, but panties up the butt didn’t sound like BFF status. This guy had a lot of inner Hulk rage going on, something my therapist, Dr. Ahrendt, told me I should stay away from. Smart woman. I almost turned around and walked out, but realized I still had to get my purse, which happened to be in my locker in the break room. Right by Ryan. Great.

  I shook my head. There was no need to be freaked out. He didn’t know that I’d heard part of his conversation. How his smooth voice rolled over the word panties and ignited a liquid heat in my core. Ugh, I was way worse off than I thought if I was letting this guy get under my skin. Just get in there, get your purse, and leave. No big deal. I took a deep breath and pushed through the door.

  Ryan had his head down on the table when I entered. He looked so vulnerable and pained just sitting there, I almost felt sorry for him. Obviously, whoever he was talking to on the phone had done a number on him. I cleared my throat, and he sat up quickly, narrowing his eyes at me.

  “Taking another break, princess?”

  I sucked in my cheeks and pushed back my need to tell him to eff off. “Go ahead, call me that one more time.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Your name was Gem Stones, right?”

  Should I even give him the satisfaction of saying my name again, even though he already knew it? Nope. “You are so mature. I bet red-panty girl ate that shit right up.”

  Before he could answer, I grabbed my purse from my locker and booked it out of the break room. For someone so hot, he was such a jerk. Wait till Payton heard about this.

  I was still fuming when I got home, so I decided to change the oil in my car. And detail the interior. By the time I’d finished, my dash came pretty close to showing my reflection, and my annoyance had moved from wanting to cut someone to insanely peeved.

  Storming into the apartment, I washed my hands at the kitchen sink, grumbling under my breath.

  “Should I even ask how your day went?” Payton plucked a chocolate-covered coffee bean from a plastic bag on the living room table and plopped it in her mouth.

  I dried my hands, slammed the towel on the kitchen counter with an ungratifying thud, and stomped into the living room. “Don’t even get me started. This guy—he’s a dick. He called me a princess! Gem Stones! Then he proceeded to tell me I wasn’t attractive enough to be a stripper.”

  Payton’s brows furrowed. “He what?” She shook her head and said, “Prick.”

  “I know, right? He was lucky I didn’t stick my stiletto heel up his ass.”

  She giggled and tossed me the bag of chocolate-covered coffee beans.

  “Here. I think you need these more than me.”

  I popped one in my mouth and slumped back into the sofa. “I don’t know what was worse—being told I don’t have the calling for the pole or using those stupid store slogans that are chock-full of innuendos.” I moved off the couch to grab my package of Oreos from the cupboard. This day called for two types of chocolate. “I mean, seriously, ‘I hope I fulfilled your every office supply need?’ What next? Let me unjam your stapler?”

  Payton snorted. “Or how about: Can you punch my hole?”

  “Do you need your paper reamed?”

  She raised a conspiratorial brow. “I bet some of your customers might ask for that.”

  I chucked a coffee bean at her. “Perv.”

  I was about to say another corny line when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I rolled my eyes when I read the number on the screen. “I have to take it. Parental unit check-in.”

  She nodded and went back to studying a running mag that came in the mail yesterday. I hit the accept call button and locked myself in my room, ready for the daily mental probing.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Juliette. How are you today?” Since I’d gotten out of rehab, Mom and I
had this awkward dance, always skirting around the real reason for her call. Instead, she’d ask me about my day or about school. It wouldn’t bother me if there wasn’t a personal agenda behind it.

  Really I just wanted to say, Come on, Mom. Ask me what you really want to know.

  Even if I’d get some short-term satisfaction out of saying a smart remark like that, I knew that snark wasn’t the way to go. If I wanted them to start treating me like an adult, the way I deserved, I needed to show them that I could act like one, at least when I talked to them. I didn’t know how people over eighteen were considered adults, because at twenty-two, I had no clue what the heck I was doing, like I was playing a game of house, one where I didn’t quite fit any role.

  “I’m good. Worked. The usual.”

  “That’s nice, honey.” Mom’s code for I don’t give a crap. After a long pause, she said, “Have you been studying for your classes next semester?”

  “Mom. Classes don’t start for two months, I’m on break, so, no.”

  “Isn’t Payton studying?”

  “Yes, but she’s insane.” The girl didn’t know how to not study. She had two modes—reading or groping her boyfriend.

  “Maybe you could learn a thing or two from her.”

  Maybe I could. She was dead set on being a doctor, no hesitation whatsoever, whereas I second-guessed my decisions every time I signed up for classes at the beginning of each term. When I suggested that I wanted to explore other options to Mom, namely athletic training, she scoffed and told me I might as well have a degree made of toilet paper. So, here I was, on my way to being a doctor, following in her footsteps, the safe choice. “Were you calling about anything else?”

  “I heard from Eric today.” Eric—my lowlife meth-cooking older brother. The one who sent my parents into a tailspin of helicopter parenting a few years back. “Did you know it’ll be five years this Sunday? He’s come a long way.”

  La de freakin’ da. He didn’t have to deal with Mom and Dad’s total meltdown when he went to jail. The raid happened on my fifteenth birthday. Mom got the call, ordered all my friends to leave the most epic pool party of the summer, and we drove to the precinct to bail him out. My dad held my mom as she sobbed, my brother still strung out of his mind, yelling profanities at anyone who passed by. I sat on the bench, hugging my knees to my chest, my hair still dripping wet from the pool, caught between hoping he was okay and wishing he’d disappear. After Mom and Dad bailed him out, he continued to use drugs up until the trial that sentenced him to ten years for distribution. Seeing what that did to my parents, I never wanted them to go through that again. But the harder I tried, the less impressed they seemed.