Page 20 of King of Pain
I glance at him, confused, and a little relieved. “Why not? You’ve been calling me Ant all day. What’s the difference?”
“That’s exactly it,” he says, his grin softening into something almost thoughtful. “I’m guessing a lot of people call you PacMan, but I like being the only one who calls you Ant.” He shakes his head. “No, I don’t want anyone else using it.”
My chest squeezes at his words. The way he says it so casual, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to stake that claim. It makes my stomach flip.
“Whatever,” I manage to say, faking indifference while busying myself with inventory that doesn’t even need counting. Heat rises to my cheeks and blood flows to my cock, pressing uncomfortably against my thigh.
“Are you actually going to do any work, or are you just going to watch me all day?” I ask, while trying to conceal my very noticeable situation in the classical music section.
“Can I get paid to do the second option? Because that would be a win-win for me,” he teases back.
I tell myself I’m imagining things when he says shit like that. The way his voice seems to dip a little lower when he speaks to me. The way his smile lingers a moment too long. It’s probably my overactive brain reading into things that aren’t there. Or maybe he’s just a natural flirt. Flirts with anything that walks upright. Yes, that must be it.
As if summoned by thoughts of flirting, the jingle of the front door ushers in Jen, right on time for her afternoon shift. She stops by the counter, dropping her bag and pulling off her jacket in one fluid motion.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Moody and Broody,” she announces, her voice dripping with mock cheerfulness.
I roll my eyes as Chance smirks. “Good to see you too, Jen,” I say, picking up my clipboard.
Chance leans casually against the counter, grinning. “You’re just in time, Jen. Ant here was about to tell me his deepest, darkest secrets.”
“Ant? Is that what we’re going with now?” Jen asks, arching a brow as she looks between us. “Is this a nickname thing? Ooh does he know why they call you PacMan?”
“Don’t you dare,” I sputter, my face heating up.
Jen grins wickedly. “Noted. Anyway, how’s he doing so far?” she asks Chance, gesturing toward me.
“Promising,” Chance replies, his smirk widening. “Though he’s still warming up to me.”
“Our Anthony…taking a while to warm up to someone? Never.” Jen teases, rolling her eyes.
Chance opens his mouth to respond, but the door jingles again, and two girls walk in, giggling and clutching iced coffees.
“Ah,” Jen says, spotting them immediately. “The freshmen seekers of retro dorm décor have arrived.”
The girls wander toward the aisle behind us, sneaking glances—probably at Chance—and whispering to each other. Jen watches them for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the scene.
“Okay,” she says, crossing her arms and cocking her head. “They’re either ogling fresh meat over here,” she pauses to point at Chance, “or both of you. And honestly? My bet’s on both your asses. And, might I add, what asses they are.”
I groan, heat rising to my face. “No, I think the new guy has some fans,” I say quickly, trying to steer the conversation anywhere but toward me.
Chance flicks his eyes toward the girls briefly, then turns back, completely unfazed. “Nah, Jen’s right. It’s both of us.” He pauses, his smirk widening into something almost dangerous. “But they’re not my type.”
Jen tilts her head, intrigued. “Alright, Sullivan, then whatisyour type?”
I glance at him nervously, my heart skipping a beat. “Yeah,” I manage, my voice cracking slightly as I attempt to sound casual. “Wha—what’s your type?”
Chance leans in slightly, his voice dripping like hot honey as his gaze locks on mine. “Why? You throwing your hat in the ring, beautiful?”
The words hit me like a freight train. My face flushes so red I’m surprised I don’t spontaneously combust. My mouth opens, but nothing coherent comes out—just a series of stammered sounds.
Jen gasps audibly, her jaw dropping as she stares at us. “Ohmigod,” she whispers, “that was so hot.”
Chance straightens up slowly, and gives Jen a quick wink before resuming his work as if he didn’t just set the entire room ablaze.
Meanwhile, I’m rooted to the spot, my ears burning, my mind racing, and—to my horror—my body betraying me in ways I’d rather not acknowledge. Again.
“Relax, Ant,” Chance says, his tone teasing but somehow reassuring at the same time. “Just trying to loosen you up.”
