Page 24 of It Never Was

"The one and ONLY." She scoffs in response.

"You didn't mention how beautiful she was, M."

M? The fuck?

"If you are into that type." Her hands try to pull him to face her again.

He pushes her hands down and rotates so that he is now leaning on the top of the fridge door. His hand grabs my chin and jerks my face to look up at him.

"I think everyone would say they are into this type," he says, forcing my face to stay on him as he licks his lips. His gaze flits from my eyes to my lips. My stomach coils and nausea sets in as I feel for my lunch pail on the refrigerator shelves while my face is forced to stay in place. My mother looks over his shoulder, jealousy glowing her eyes.

"She could be fun, M. What do you say?" He meets her gaze over his shoulder while keeping my jaw in his grasp as I rise from out of the fridge.

"No, she would not be, Bill! Let her go. She wouldn't be able to keep up with you anyways." There is not an ounce of shame in her voice as she lays her claim on Bill while he meets my gaze again.

"I think she could." His thumb rubs against my bottom lip, his eyes following it as he drags it against my flesh. Bile rises in my throat as I gather the strength to grab his wrist and shove his touch away from me.

"How about not, you perv!" I manage to keep my tone cold. "How about you keep your fucking hands to yourself or my mother, who is willing prey for you." Meeting his gaze, he glares at me, heat starting to burn behind them. Bill moves closer to grab me, only for me to shove my lunchbox against his chest in time to push him off and start walking out of the kitchen.

"Feisty are we, little girl? You should know I like my girls that way," he says to my back as I continue through the living room, holding my breath till I am safely on the other side of the front door. I lean back on it and take a deep breath to calm my nerves. This isn't the first one of my mother's "friends" to pull shit like this. If I am being completely honest, he was one of the nicer ones. My mind starts to fog over.

The smoker's breath as he grunts. My cries were muffled by his hands on my mouth. Between his heavy breaths, he whispers, "Your mom will never believe you!"

Shaking my head, swallowing down the bile that is rising up my throat, I push the memories back. My skin feels instantly dirty. I fix my jacket and make my way to my car.

What a great way to start the day of an already shit one.

C'est la vie Ryen….

14

Ryen

"Like a Villain" by Bad Omens blasts at an extreme volume in my headphones, the only way to keep my thoughts from plunging into the deep end. I high tailed it to the shop in such a rush after the whole interaction with Bill I hardly remember the drive here. Hell, I hardly remember even getting into the shop, turning off the alarm system, or starting up all the kitchen equipment. But I must have, because here I am stuffing the coffee machines with liners and grinding the various roasts we have this week.

"It's okay, your mom will never know our little secret."

Swaying my hips harder, I sing along louder as the sound of Noah Sebastian's vocals clear my mind.

Thinking my own vocals are in harmony with his, I bring my singing to a whole new level as I start the machines up to brew. Dancing my way to the kitchen to check if the proofer is at the correct temp for the pastries to go in, I swoop around towards the kitchen and my body is met with a warm hard wall, causing me to fall straight back on my ass. A scream left my throat at the realization that someone else was in the shop.

"Fuck!" I exclaim as the throbbing in my ass cheeks starts to spread, my mind confused as to what just happened, and I pull an earbud from my ear.

What in the actual fuck? Who the actual fuck?

"I am so sorry about that," a deep heavenly voice says from above me. My heart drops at the sound and goosebumps creep across my arms. My body remembers that voice all too well. I haven't been able to get it out of my mind. My eyes bolt up to the figure in front of me.

No, it can't be. Paul didn't hire anyone yet…

"I didn't mean to scare you" the voice continues as I scatter to my feet, dusting my ass off in the process, the pain still throbbing. It is only then that I notice the strong, tan hand extended out in front of me. I bring my face up towards the sultry voice; the air leaves my lungs slowly as I am overtaken by the storm in his gray eyes blinking through soft lashes, his facial features expressing concern.

Parker fucking Evans.

He puts his hand down to his side, coming to terms that I am not accepting the offer of help, and instead runs it against his long, soft waves that are neatly in a bun. His arm flexes during the motion. He already has his black apron on, tied around his hips and accentuating his broad frame. His black shirt sleeves are rolled up to his shoulders even though they were already short sleeves, making it easier to recognize his tattoos, putting them on full display. I caught an eyeful of the different types of old-school traditional American designs scattered up his arms, a small dagger above his left elbow catching my attention. Then the smell of vanilla comes to my senses, and I wonder if it is from Parker or from the kitchen itself. I absentmindedly sway closer to him to find out but catch myself in time to take a step back. He must notice the small action because he lets out a soft chuckle.

How long had he been standing there?

"Are you okay…?" He asks. A trace of concern is still in his eyes but the grin lingers on his lips, filled with amusement. "Didn't mean to stop your concert." He says, grinning even harder at me. I can feel the embarrassment creep up my neck.

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