Love Bank: Jobs From Hell #1

by Ray, Marika

  I cleared my throat and picked up the phone. Maybe my manners were funny to an eighteen-year-old, who knows? The Hell Raisers were back to chatting.

  Amelia: Bonfire on the beach tonight at 7. You gotta come, Lucille!

  “See? Whatever’s got you smiling is a good thing.”

  I looked up and Keva was watching me, her smile matching the one on my own face. It felt good to be included. Sure, the thing with Bain was a dumpster fire, but everything else in my life was pretty great.

  “Just some friends of mine inviting me to a bonfire.”

  Keva’s face lit up. “Oh! The one on the beach?”

  I tilted my head. “You know about it too?”

  She bounced in her chair. “Yes! I’ve been wanting to go to that ever since I heard about it when I was a freshman in high school. I know my friends Lukas and Dante went last week.”

  I guess the beach bonfires were the place to be seen. Didn’t sound like something I’d usually go to. Too many people, a little too wild.

  My thumbs flew over the screen, texting Amelia back.

  Lucille: Thank you for the invite, but I have to decline.

  I put my phone facedown and took a big bite of my cookie.

  “Maybe I’ll see you there.” Keva smiled even broader and I hated to disappoint her.

  I shook my head. “No, I won’t be—”

  A loud squawk swallowed the rest of my statement. A damn seagull flew over the wall and swooped close to Keva’s head, making her scream as we both jumped up and scooted away from the table. It landed right by our chairs and stared at us. I’d done some Googling and found that staring directly back at a seagull would inform them who was boss. Stare long enough and hard enough and they’ll leave you alone. I put on my best beady-eyed stare and glowered at him for all I was worth.

  The breeze picked up and the filthy animal must have gotten a whiff of our cookies. I broke the staredown to look at the box sitting there on the table where I’d left it in my haste to get away. The seagull turned its head and looked at the box too. Gah! I’d failed the staredown within a matter of a minute. He’d never learn who was boss if I gave up that easily.

  He opened his beak and let out another squawk so loud Keva stuck her fingers in her ears. Five more seagulls flew over the wall and they all pounced on the cardboard box of cookies. My mug of coffee tipped over, spilling my precious caffeine all over the table and down onto the cement floor.

  Keva and I gasped at the same time as they started ripping into the cardboard and shredded it. Jagged pieces of the box went flying in the air, wings flapped, and angry bird noises added to the melee. A few more birds flew into the courtyard and that was all I needed to see. I opened the back door and pushed Keva through, following quickly behind her and locking the door.

  She looked at me wide-eyed. I wasn’t as shocked. Not after several seagull attacks. I was an experienced seagull attack survivor. But I was definitely still angry.

  “Get the phonebook, Keva. We’re calling animal control.” I tapped my finger on my lip. “And I have an idea for another way to control those damn birds.”

  She spun and ran down the hall to the front desk where we kept the phone book Auburn Hill produced once a year even though most citizens below the age of fifty used it as a doorstop.

  My phone dinged again in my hand. Thank God I remembered to grab it off the table or I’m sure the seagulls would have tried to eat it too.

  Amelia: I bet Bain will be there…

  I rolled my eyes and turned off my phone even as my heart rate sped up. I never should have told them I’d run into Bain. As innocent and brief as I’d kept it, I couldn’t control the blush on my cheeks and they’d picked up on it. Their teasing or any further involvement with Bain was the last thing I needed. I had a seagull crisis to attend to.

  * * *

  “Lucille? You have a visitor.” Keva poked her head in my office door again an hour or so later. I’d just gotten back to the clinic after running my errand. At this rate, I’d get nothing done today. Thank God for Keva. She kept the clients happy while I was sidetracked by seagulls and sexy wardens.

  I followed her down the hallway to the front reception area. She pushed open the door for me and I nearly skidded to a halt when I saw Bain standing there in my lobby staring me down with a distinct smolder. My goodness, he was gorgeous.

  Tall, maybe six foot four, that dark hair I’d had in my hands just yesterday, the scruff on his face even longer today. I remembered instantly what it felt like scraping against my face. His taupe uniform fit him perfectly, the buttons of his shirt straining against the width of his chest. And that dark twinkle in his eye. Like he wanted to simultaneously spank me and kiss me until I lost all train of thought.

  My face flamed at the idea of Bain bending me over his knee. His lips pulled up in a smirk and I swore he knew what I was thinking about. Maybe I was hitting early menopause. Maybe the hot flashes were age induced, not a side effect of the insufferable man before me.

  “Um, I’m just going to go clean up the mess in the courtyard.” Keva’s voice came from directly behind me and, truly, I’d forgotten she was there. I heard her spin around and hustle down the hallway, leaving me alone with Bain.

  Unlike the silence after he kissed me yesterday, I felt the need to fill in the space with inane chatter. Perhaps all I should have said yesterday was trying to get in on the opportunity today.

  “Here to give another sample?” I tried on a smile and failed miserably. “We have all new specimen cups. I really think you’ll find them satisfactory. Nine out of ten men prefer an opaque cup for privacy reasons. Not sure who exactly takes those surveys, but the science doesn’t lie!”

  Jesus H. Christ. Shut your damn mouth already, Lucille.

  He took a step toward me, those dark gray eyes twinkling as they roamed across my face. “I’m not here—”

  A cat, the one I’d hired today from Yedda next door, walked in front of him, rubbing her side along his leg like she couldn’t get enough of him. Get in line, girl, get in line.

  “What the hell is that?” His gaze finally left mine to stare down at the orange and white animal. She was missing a few patches of fur, but she was remarkably spry for her age.

  “It’s a cat,” I answered dryly.

  He looked up at me while she continued to twine back and forth between his legs. “Thank you so much for that clue. I meant, what is a cat doing in your clinic?”

  “Well, that’s not just any cat. That’s Ethel, a retired cat who, in her prime, excelled at chasing birds. I’ve hired her from Yedda at the National Cat Protection Society to help rid us of our little bird problem out back.”

  His face went blank. The twinkle faded before lighting back up again. It was fascinating to watch, so much so, I decided staring at him might be my new favorite thing to do. Right after kissing him.

  “Are you kidding me?” His mouth dropped open slightly.

  I shook my head slowly, not taking my gaze from his lips. “No. The seagulls are out of control. I had to do something.”

  He smiled faintly. “No, I mean you hired a cat named Ethel?”

  He paused and I searched my brain for what he could be having an issue with. When I came up with nothing and the moment hung there, he spelled it out.

  “Your name is Lucille. You have a cat named Ethel.” He splayed his hands out wide and dipped his head toward me like I was supposed to finish his sentence.

  “I-I don’t follow.” This conversation was becoming as confusing as his kiss.

  “Like I Love Lucy? Lucy and Ethel?” He scrunched up his face and even that was attractive.

  “Never seen it.”

  He sighed and dropped his head. When he picked it back up again, all the twinkle was gone. He’d gone dead serious.

  “Listen, I just came over to tell you I’m making it mandatory for out-of-town inmates to leave town directly, no stops in Hell. I can’t do much about the locals who stay a night in my prison, but those
aren’t usually the ones causing problems. That’s the best I can do.”

  I shifted closer, thinking maybe I heard him wrong. Sounded a lot like he’d agreed to my demands. Which couldn’t possibly be right. Not when I’d made him so mad with my stunt yesterday he’d kissed the hell out of me and then ran down the street tearing the flyers off each of the poles for a straight mile.

  “Pardon me, but did you just agree to help me?”

  He nodded once, quickly. “Yep, I did.”

  I was suddenly at a loss for words, so surprised by his reversal I couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence. That happened frequently around him.

  “Well, thank yo—”

  “Oh my God, Lucille!” Keva burst through the front lobby door, struggling with a plastic box of some sort in her hands. Her eyes were wide and frantic. “Look what I found sitting in the dirt behind our back wall.”

  She turned it around and I got a glimpse of a metal cage door with a huge plastic bag inside filled with what looked like seeds of some sort. I scrunched my nose and investigated at a closer distance. It looked like—

  “Is that birdseed in there?” I exclaimed.

  I shot straight up, the facts coming together in my head at long last.

  I’d been sabotaged.

  14

  Lucille

  I whirled in a self-righteous flurry, pointing my finger at Bain.

  “You!”

  He looked from the cage to my face, his neck turning red, a neon blinking sign of guilt as far as I was concerned. I advanced on him, shocked and angry, and if I was truly honest, a little bit impressed with his creative shenanigans. I didn’t stop until my fingertip dug into his chest. At that close range, I could smell a hint of that woodsy cologne. My finger itched to travel, to caress, to explore each ripple of muscle I knew he hid behind that uniform. The fury of missed lunches and narrow misses of bird droppings on my head staid my unruly finger.

  “What are you talking—”

  I interrupted him, too caught up in my fury to let him try to dodge this one. “I know it was you, Bain. You’ve purposely flooded my courtyard with seagulls just to piss me off. Well, guess what, Mighty Hand of Justice. It worked.” I pushed harder and he took a step back, then another, eyes widening the harder I pushed. “But I’m on to you now. That nice little apology? Total bullshit.”

  His gaze flicked down to my lips, his contrition quickly turning to the same madness that led to him kissing me.

  “I like hearing those lips say curse words,” he whispered, the sound rougher than his beard against my soft skin.

  For a hot second, I quit pushing him out the door and leaned in, seduced and entranced, ready to forgive it all if I could just get another taste. His chest flexed beneath my hand and, God help me, I bent my fingers and fondled.

  Ethel let out a loud hiss from Bain’s feet where she was rubbing against his leg like some shameless hussy pussy. Guess that made for two of us. The sound cleared the fog and brought back the angry. He’d sabotaged me on purpose and then had the audacity to look at me like he wanted to devour me. Hell no. I may not have had extensive experience with men—or any experience really—but even I knew he’d crossed the line. Danced right over it and mocked it while he wreaked his havoc.

  “Oh no you don’t, mister! Get out of here with those bedroom eyes.” I gave him a final push with both hands. His belt buckle of weapons and handcuffs and whatever else wardens carried clanked against the metal doorframe.

  Instead of leaving like I wanted him to, he grabbed my arms and took me with him. He pushed the door open, twirled me around, and next thing you know, I was standing outside on the sidewalk with him, his chest pushing me against my own storefront.

  He leaned in real close and every endocrine gland I possessed squeezed out more hormones, sending my blood pumping and making my head woozy. I didn’t have time to worry about clients or peers catching sight of the two of us. As far as I could tell, it was just me and Bain alone in the big wide world.

  “I’ll leave, but you and I aren’t done here, Lucy. Take some deep breaths, realize a little birdseed isn’t much compared to blackmail, and then we’ll have a chat. A real nice neighborly chat.”

  He rubbed his nose against my cheek. My eyelids fluttered shut and there went the hot flash again. God help me, I wanted this man.

  It wasn’t menopause after all.

  * * *

  Clyde was kind enough to drop off my Ghia to me at the clinic that afternoon. He had a service feature only seen in small towns: if he towed your broken-down car for you, he’d also pick it up from the mechanic and return it to you. She’d needed a new part the mechanic thankfully had a healthy supply of on hand, so she was back to running like a sleek panther.

  I slipped out the clinic door, locking it quickly, and firing up Ghia before certain people next door in the prison might catch sight of me. Bain said we’d be talking again, but how did I know what timeframe he was thinking? I needed some space first. Some time to figure out why I was so turned on by the big buffoon of a man.

  And what I was going to do about it.

  Needlepoint, a glass of wine, and quiet. That’s what I had in store for my night. It would be just what I needed to wrap my brain around the conundrum of years of repressed sexual desire making its presence known at the most inopportune time. Definitely no beach bonfire in my future. I needed to calm the flames of passion, not spur them on.

  I hit the button clipped to the visor in my car and watched my garage door slowly inch its way up. I mashed my foot down on the brake as the garage door revealed another car in my garage. My mom’s car.

  “What in the world?” I muttered.

  My plans for the evening just went up in smoke.

  I parked in the driveway, set the brake, and turned off the engine. Why did relationships have to be so conflicting? While I was excited to know my mom was home for a bit and I’d be able to chat with her, I was also a little irritated that she just came and went as she pleased. Never here for me when I needed her, and here when I wished she wasn’t. Almost as confusing as my relationship—or whatever it was—with Bain.

  I went in through the garage, hanging up my tote bag and keys on their respective hooks in the laundry room. Mom hadn’t been back for over six months.

  “Mom?” I called loudly.

  I could hear the television blaring from the living room, but no one answered me. Walking into the living room, I grabbed the remote and turned the program off, blessed silence my reward.

  “Lucille, sweetheart, is that you?” Mom called down from the top of the stairs.

  “Who else would it be, Mom?” I hollered back.

  She came down the stairs in a hurry while I waited. We’d done this song and dance a few times before, so I knew my role. Polly Eureka in all her glory, stood on the landing with a big smile on her face as she made her grand entrance. Her hair was dyed a dark brown this time, the fluffy curls she got from a quarterly perm and hot rollers a little lopsided like she’d taken a nap earlier today and forgot to refluff.

  “Oh, Lucy! I’m home!” Her singsong delivery of the famous I Love Lucy line used to irritate me to no end. Somewhere around my mid-twenties I let it go, knowing she’d never stop. One didn’t make Polly change, you changed your attitude to endure Polly. Besides, contrary to the teasing I gave Bain earlier today, I loved that show. Knew every episode by heart. My feminist mother had approved of the show, and pretty much nothing else, based on the groundbreaking work Lucille Ball did in the advancement of women in comedy. The references to the old black-and-white show were a cross I’d learned to bear over the years.

  “Welcome back, Mom.” I came forward and gave her a hug, trying and failing to reach my arms all the way around her middle. My mom was bigger than life and wasn’t afraid to eat with that same gusto. While I worried about her health, I loved how she didn’t care about being a certain size to fit the modern perception of beauty. While a hippie by nature, she did still wear a bra and fo
r that I was grateful. Size triple Ds took on a life of their own if left unharnessed. Ever been whipped by a flying boob?

  “Come sit with me.” Mom hooked her arm through mine and tugged me over to the couch. She went to Russia last year when she turned sixty-five, saying she preferred to check out Russian art than have a big party full of drunk locals thrown for her here at home. Don’t let the age fool you. She was feisty, strong, and would probably outlive me.

  She plunked down on the couch and I sank down next to her, catching a whiff of her perfume, the one she’d been wearing since I was a child. Despite the intrusion on my plans, I melted into her side and let my head rest on her shoulder. Girls never stopped needing their moms, no matter the age.

  “You never called me back.” Mom pouted.

  I lifted my head, confused. “When did you call?”

  Mom’s eyes went wide. “Over a week ago, honey! I left you a voicemail to call me back and you didn’t. So I hightailed it back here to see what was going on with my baby.”

  I scrunched my nose, guilt chipping away at my irritation. “Mom, you didn’t need to come all the way back just because I didn’t call.”

  Her mouth opened and closed a couple times. “Well—well, what was I supposed to do? I can’t get ahold of my precious child. Was I just supposed to go about my merry way? Unconcerned? Uncaring?”

  I would have giggled if that performance hadn’t been directed at me. “Oh wow, that’s laying it on pretty thick, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I’ve been dealing with a situation, which as of today, is finally under control.”

  “Well, I say, it surely is. Look at you.” Mom twisted as much as she could on the overstuffed couch and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Let me just look at you a second.”

  She held a lock of my hair and her gaze tracked every detail my new friends had helped me with. The makeup, the clothes, the fact I hadn’t worn my hair down since sixth grade when a boy cut a piece of it off in social studies. Story was he had a crush on me, but cutting my hair lopsided was the world’s worst way to grab a girl’s attention. That poor boy had endured a lecture from my mother all about gender equality for an hour that I was sure went right over his bowl cut–groomed head.