Tap That

by Jennifer Blackwood

  You’re doing this for your job, I remind myself. Even though I still don’t know how I managed to get roped into a clown job for my boss’s daughter.

  A few dozen eight-year-olds run across the grass, screaming. Their shrieks are on the same soundwave as dog whistles and Mariah Carey, and I fight to plaster a smile on my face. I normally love working with kids, but I was running late this morning and haven’t had a chance to grab a coffee. I’m a husk of a person at this point.

  “Rainbow hair is definitely your color,” a familiar deep voice says.

  My back stiffens, and I whirl around to find a grinning Reid. I cross my arms over my chest, my pulse beating loudly in my temples. “What are you doing here?”

  Of course, he’s here. What was that law of the universe? If there’s someone you want nothing to do with, they’ll become entwined in every facet of your life. Reid was like a wine stain on the carpet. Once on there, there was no chance of that sucker coming out, no matter how much baking soda or peroxide.

  My mind slips back to the other night at the bar. What the hell was I thinking, having my phone anywhere near me while drinking wine? Rookie mistake. Also, really, why did I feel the need to tell him about my last boyfriend and his aversion to going downtown? Drunk me was so damn stupid.

  But something weird happened at the bar. First, it makes me so angry to think I just stood there like a deer in the headlights when that guy grabbed me. I took classes in college to prepare myself for such a thing. My elbow should have been in that guy’s throat, my knee in…other places. Instead, I froze. And then in stormed Reid like a gallant white knight in a white T-shirt and jeans. He looked like he was going to rip out that guy’s throat. I honestly never expected that from him, especially since we’ve never been anything other than barely amicable (at the best of times). The brush of his lips against mine still ghosts over my skin, sending a shiver shimmying down my spine.

  “Boss’s daughter’s birthday. Was invited,” he says coolly.

  He takes a bite of a strawberry on the fruit kabob skewer, and his eyes flutter shut. His tongue darts out, catching some of the juice that escaped onto his bottom lip, and everything in me clenches. Holy crap. I’ve never really thought about eating food as being sexy, but put that expression up on Tumblr and I could watch that shit on repeat allll day long. He finishes chewing and says, “Plus, I wouldn’t miss seeing you dressed up as a clown. Should we take a picture and put it on the brewery’s social media?”

  “Yeah, over your dead body.” I raise a brow.

  He has the audacity to grin. “You know, I actually believe you on that sentiment.”

  I sneer even though it’s halfhearted. If there was caffeine coursing through my veins, I might have amped up the glare a little more.

  Okay, so I’m acting childish. Sue me. My parents’ words ring in the back of my mind. Your face is going to stick that way. They were never fans of showing emotion…of any kind. Basically, I grew up in a house of robots, which wasn’t exactly the best for someone like me—who can’t play poker because everyone would know my hand.

  “It’s a shame because I have these two coffees, and I only need to drink one.” He holds up the cups, steam coming from the mouths of the lids.

  “I might not be as inclined to put your body in a ditch if one of those is for me.”

  He grins. An actual smile that is equal parts dazzling and makes me momentarily forget how tired I am. I don’t even want to know why he has two cups. I assume the coffee’s meant for someone else, but he can see in my chalky white face that I am in desperate need. “Say please.”

  “I am not to the point where I’ll beg for you…er…to give me a cup of coffee.” Close, though. Maybe fifteen minutes from now.

  He leans in, the short scruff of his cheek brushing against my cheek, and it sets every inch of my skin on high alert. “Trust me. I know just what I’d do to make you beg.”

  Oh, boy. Hello, lady bits. Do they not realize this is a completely horrible time to be revved up to eleven? Another small cluster of kids runs by screaming, but all I can do is stare at Reid’s blue eyes.

  Before I can say anything, Tom walks up, putting a hand on both our shoulders. “Thanks for making it, kids. Especially you, Callie. You’re a lifesaver.”

  I clear my throat, willing my body to cool it. It’s already hot enough in this clown costume. Another few minutes with Reid and I’ll be roasting. “No problem.”

  He turns to Reid. “I didn’t expect you here so early. Festivities don’t start for another hour.”

  He gives Tom an easy smile, one that makes my heart pound against my ribs. “Someone had to bring Callie her coffee.”

  Say what? He brought me coffee?

  Tom cocks his head, like even he’s surprised by this information. “That was nice of you.”

  I grab the cup out of his hand. “Yes. It was. Thank you.” Ha! I didn’t have to beg. Although something tells me, with a stare as intense as Reid’s, he wouldn’t have a hard time making me do so.

  Tom turns to me. “If you need anything, let me know. I’m going to make sure the cake is ready.” With that, he disappears into the house, leaving Reid and me in the middle of the yard, staring at each other.

  “Thank you,” I say again.

  “No problem. And I can’t wait to post pics on the brew site.”

  “Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.

  I like this. Being back to normal. I don’t know how to deal with Reid when he’s being nice. But our back and forth is comforting.

  “Come on, clown, show us your tricks.” Tom’s daughter walks up and plants her hands on her hips. She’s wearing a sash that reads BIRTHDAY GIRL in bright pink letters lined with glitter. She might as well be demanding me to, “Dance, monkey!” It reminds me of my very short career in child modeling. I was ten when a talent scout flagged me down at the mall, asking me to do a photoshoot for a JCPenney spread. Turns out I had an issue with smiling on command. Needless to say, I clam up when it comes time to perform. My mom still has the ad tucked away somewhere displaying me in a denim romper and looking like someone kicked me in the gut.

  “Of course,” I say through gritted teeth. I’ve memorized a few balloon animal tricks from tutorial sites on YouTube, but I am nowhere near proficient. I really hope they like snakes and hearts.

  “Yes, you don’t want to leave poor Sarina waiting,” Reid adds. His smile makes me want to slap that expression off his perfectly stubbled face. He’s wearing jeans and a black shirt that hugs every muscle. The only word that comes to mind is: delicious.

  I turn my attention back to Tom’s daughter. “Of course not. I brought my balloon animal kit. What would you like?” Please be something easy, please be something easy, I internally plead.

  “I want a lightsaber.”

  “A lightsaber,” I repeat, dumbly. Sounds easy enough. Probably.

  “Yeah, I want to be like Rey,” she says.

  “A strong, independent woman. I like it.”

  “Uh, no. I just want to be Kylo Ren’s girlfriend.”

  “Right.” I will not even begin to try to decipher this girl’s mind.

  “Nothing wrong with liking an antihero,” Reid says with that stupid grin on his face.

  I want to say that the antiheroes—at least in these films—are never the ones to get the girl, but I don’t want to crush an eight-year-old’s dreams.

  My gaze flicks to Reid, and I find him watching me intently. I can tell he’s waiting for me to mess up, to show another sign of weakness. I know it’s bad to see only the worst in people, but Reid is one of those people who no matter how cute he is, I need to be on high alert. He wants my job. He’s made that clear. He is enemy number one, the antihero. That means I really need to stop picturing him between my thighs.

  Sarina chooses purple for a lightsaber, and I get to work. I get my handheld pump—a la courtesy of overnight shipping—and inflate the balloon. I wrestle with it for a few seconds, the latex squeaking and wh
ining under my touch. After a quick tuck of the hilt, I hold it up for everyone and…shit.

  Reid sputters a cough as I stare at it in horror.

  I’ve officially succeeded in creating a purple dick.

  I have no clue how to get the “hilt” of the lightsaber on the sides, so there are two balls underneath. I try wedging my fingers between the two lumps, but they don’t budge.

  Yep, I just made an eight-year-old a dick balloon. I’m going to hell.

  “Cool!” Sarina shrieks, flopping the balloon in the air in all its purple dick glory. “Look, guys, isn’t this lightsaber awesome?” Four more girls bound over and bounce on their toes, waiting for their own purple lightsabers.

  Soon, the whole party is having a sword fight with purple balloons in the yard.

  “You do realize what that looks like, right?” Reid whispers into my ear.

  “Yep.”

  He chuckles. “It’s a good thing you’re a lot better at managing than you are at balloon making.”

  My cheeks heat. Was that a compliment? From Reid? I must be severely caffeine deprived.

  “Yep,” I say.

  He walks over to Tom and starts up a conversation. I’m too far away to hear anything, not that I’m looking to eavesdrop. Reid turns and catches me staring at him. I turn away. What the hell is wrong with me? I seriously need to start online dating. Or something. Because my battery-operated devices aren’t cutting it anymore.

  After a few minutes, another girl comes up to me. “Can you make me a giraffe? That’s my favorite animal.”

  “How about a snake?” I offer. I didn’t get to a giraffe yet in the tutorial. Wouldn’t even know where to begin.

  “No. I want a giraffe.” Her lip starts to wobble, and her cheeks flush. Oh, shit. This kid is going to cry.

  “One giraffe coming right up.” Hell, it might be a severely deformed giraffe, but I can give him a good backstory. Like a mob of elephants in the savannah trampled him because he didn’t cough up the location of the best watering hole. I pump up a yellow balloon and slowly get to work. I manage somehow to create a pair of legs, but I am stumped in the middle. Sweat trickles down my back, and the clown costume scratches against my skin.

  I glance at the little girl again, and there’s no chance I can bullshit this. This is it. This is where this party is going to tumble downhill like a landslide, and my boss is going to know I lied.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “I think it’s time for your break, clown Callie. Mind if I take over?” I look over to find Reid with a small smile on his lips. Not the cocky kind he usually gives me, but a sympathetic one.

  “Uh, sure.” I hand him the balloon and watch as he artfully turns my monstrosity into a giraffe. What the actual hell? He hands it to the little girl, who gives him a hug in return and runs back to her friends.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Reid and I make balloon animals and entertain the kids with card tricks.

  Two hours later, we walk together to my car. I pull off my ridiculous rainbow Afro and realize just how disgusting I probably look. It doesn’t matter anyway since it’s just Reid. But still.

  “Where’d you learn how to do that?”

  “My parents sent me to a circus camp when I was eleven.”

  I imagine a younger Reid, one who isn’t so serious or so…assholish. But today he’s been nothing but nice. Maybe we are turning a corner. “Well, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

  He shrugs. “You’re right. But I didn’t want Sarina’s birthday party ruined. An unhappy Sarina is an unhappy Tom.”

  The lightness I feel under my skin fades. “Right.” He didn’t do it for me. Duh. What a stupid thought.

  “See you tomorrow, newbie.” And with that, he walks to his truck.

  9

  Reid

  “Hey, Rainbow? Think you can handle helping Clint unload the dishwasher? They’re short-handed back there.”

  I’m sort of being a dick to Callie, calling her Rainbow in reference to her brief clown stint at Tom’s the other night. But she still needs to do the rounds here and get experience at every workstation.

  Callie’s head snaps up and her eyes flare, practically screaming, I’m contemplating stabbing you with one of the cocktail toothpick swords right now. A slight flush spreads across her cheekbones, and I itch to skim my thumbs along them.

  What the fuck? I need to get a hold of myself.

  Her mouth presses firmly into a thin line before she responds with a clipped, “Got it covered.” She quickly disappears into the back, and I’m more than slightly disappointed. I really wanted—hell, I expected—her to war with me a little more. Sure didn’t expect her to give in so quickly.

  It’s been a slow day, the torrential downpour deterring even our most loyal patrons from coming in. Hurricane season is upon us, much earlier than expected, and we’re experiencing the effects of a tropical storm churning in the nearby Atlantic. I’ve done inventory, stocked everything that needs to be stocked, and cleaned the bar to the point it’s beyond pristine.

  Now, I’m bored as hell, which is why I had to send Callie in the back. Because my eyes kept roving to wherever she was. I’d find my eyes tracking her movements as she swept the floors beneath all the tables, wiped the tables down, and even cleaned the inside of our windows. The way she stretched so sinuously, like a feline practically begging to be pet, was driving me fucking insane.

  Because I want to pet her. Make no mistake about that. But I sure as shit don’t want to pet her anyplace innocent. In fact, I can picture her perched here upon the bar. She’d spread her thighs to allow me between them, I’d shove up her pencil skirt, and we’d both watch as my hand slipped beneath—

  Christ. I adjust myself as discreetly as possible, grateful I’m alone out here behind the bar.

  “Reid, man, I got a huge favor to ask you.” I whip my head around to face Clint, who’s just emerged from the back with a troubled expression on his face. “My wife just got into a car accident. Someone hydroplaned.” He holds up his hand when my lips part in alarm. “She’s fine. Just bruised and a few cuts they said needed stitches, but they took her to the hospital. I need to head there now. Tom said he’ll probably have you close early and to just close the kitchen, so do you mi—”

  “Go,” I instantly respond. I nod toward the large glass doors which have zero visibility from the pelting rain. “Drive safe. Call me if you need anything.”

  His features relax infinitesimally. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

  Clint leaves a moment later, and the place almost seems eerie. The sound of the rain hitting the roof and windows nearly drowns out the music playing in the bar.

  I crouch beneath the bar to where the satellite radio console sits. I might as well change it since no one’s here aside from me, Callie, and Tom, who’s in his office working on some paperwork. I flip through some stations until I stop on one that’s currently playing a Matchbox Twenty song I haven’t heard in a while.

  I’ve already tossed the trash into the dumpster, luckily before the rain hit, and this bar is so clean it practically gleams beneath the lights. Leaning back against the lacquered wood, I fold my arms against my chest and survey the place in an attempt to find something—anything—that might keep me busy for a few more minutes.

  And promptly fail.

  “Well, hell,” I mutter under my breath. That means the only other option is to head back to the kitchen and see if Clint forgot any tasks in his haste to go see his wife.

  I grimace because this also means I have to be in the same space as Callie.

  “Since when did you start turning into such a goddamn wuss?” I scrub a hand over my jaw, noting with dismay that I’ve also started to talk to myself.

  It’s all Callie’s damn fault, of course. The woman makes me crazy.

  Sighing in resignation, I stalk back to the kitchen. If someone braves this damn storm and enters the bar, I’ll hear it as soon as they open the door; the obscene roar
ing of the wind and the pinging sounds of the rain are exceptionally loud.

  I draw to a stop at the kitchen entrance and take a moment to observe Callie. She’s unaware of my presence, humming off-key to the song currently playing softly in the background as she empties one dishwasher, just as the other one beside it dings to signify the wash and sanitizing cycle is complete. I watch as Callie opens the machine and leans away, the steam pouring out.

  “Be careful, Rainbow. That thing’s hotter than Hades.”

  She doesn’t turn around, but I see her spine stiffen perceptively. Her tone is curt. “I don’t need you to monitor me like a child.”

  My jaw clenches in irritation. “Just a reminder. The other one had cooled off already when you unloaded it, right? And I’m guessing you don’t have much experience with commercial grade, high-temp dishwashers. Unless that’s included in your beer connoisseur skills?” I shouldn’t dig into her like this. We’ve finally got to a good place, and I’m going into self-sabotage mode. Because Callie is in direct conflict with what I want.

  Her head snaps around, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Go scrub the bar or something. I don’t need a sitter.”

  She turns and reaches for a plate in the dishwasher. Withdrawing it from the rack, she instantly drops it with a yelp. The plate shatters, shards scattering over the kitchen floor, and she cradles her hand to her chest. In three quick strides, I’m standing at her side.

  “Let me see.” I encircle her wrist with my fingers, striving to ignore the way I respond to merely touching her.

  “No.” She practically pouts, tugging her hand away, but I don’t relent.

  With an exasperated growl, I drag her over to the deep sinks and turn on the cold water. “Run some cold water on it, at least.” I tug at her wrist again, and she finally allows me to see her hand.

  “Shit,” I say. Her palm is an angry shade of red, and I swear I can feel the heat radiating from her marred flesh. My gaze flickers up to hers, and she instantly averts her eyes. I guide her palm beneath the stream of water, tensing when the cool water touches her burned skin and she hisses. “Seriously, you need to be more careful around these things.”