Page 22 of The Tomorrows After You
I tapped my phone, but it remained black. I tapped again as if pressing the screen harder would make a difference. I dug through my bag before remembering I left my charger in my car, which was still at the auto shop. A whiny sob escaped my lips. Pressing my palms into my eyes, I hung my head.
God, this was a mistake. A huge fucking mistake. Maybe I can call Melody and beg for a different assignment. I can cut my teeth on something else to earn back a shred of dignity because this shit wasn’t doinganythingfor my dignity.
But I knew that was a nonstarter. I had exhausted all my connections and favors before Melody reached out to me with the docuseries opportunity. If I couldn’t come to the table with something, I’d have to resign my life and career to somethingordinary.And that was out of the question. I didn’t work my ass off my entire life, sacrificing any semblance of a social or romantic life so that I could work a floundering news desk at some call-letter affiliate in podunk market ninety-four.
“What areyoudoing here?”the low tenor of a male voice asked. I felt it in my core. Muddy boots stood in front of me before I looked up, already wincing as the last of my dignity disintegrated. I lifted my head to see Riot, arms crossed over his defined chest, scowling in that signature way.
I leaped to my feet.
“What areyoudoing here?” I shot back.
“Community service,”he replied without hesitation. A crinkled hair net dangled from oneof his fists.
I rolled my shoulders back.Of course.“Oh, well. Me too.”I stuck my chin higher in the air praying my mascara from last night wasn’t running down my face.“I mean, not mandated or anything.”
Riot’s eyes darted to the green cot I had slept on, my belongings strewn about, making it obvious I wasn’t here to volunteer. When his glare floated back to my face, I could feel my cheeks burning red. I averted my gaze, looking around as if trying to decide where I should help.
“Good thing then,”he said, bringing my attention back to him.“One of the volunteers called in sick this morning.”He took a step forward and pushed the hair net into my chest. Our fingers tangled momentarily when I took the hair net.“Wash up. Meet me in the kitchen.”
“Wash. Cut. Tray.”He pointed to the fruit on my left, the giant cutting board in front of me then to the large metal serving tray to my right. Riot picked up a butcher knife, and I grimaced sarcastically, leaning away. He frowned at my reaction but there was a twinge of surprised amusement. He spun the knife, handing it to me handle-first.
“Yes, Riot,”I said, taking the knife. His eyes fluttered to me at the sound of his name.“I may be from the big city, but I know how to cutfruit.”
He shot me a look of doubt.“Once the tray is full, bring it out. Rush starts around seven-thirty.”
And he wasn’t kidding. The doors had been open since five a.m. but around seven twenty-five, people began to stream in by the dozens. Once I was done cutting the fruit, I graduated to the serving line.
My stomach grumbled. I had snuck a few pieces of cantaloupe while I was dicing it up, but my pride was too afraid of the judgment I’d get if Riot caught me taking advantage of the charity I, myself, was doling out. I don’t know why it bothered me so much that he thought I was a resident here.
But wasn’t I?
Ilooked around at the harrowed faces of our guests. As I took them all in, one by one, I started to pay attention to the families. Had I gone to school with kids like these? I couldn’t remember it being this bad twelve years ago. There were poor kids and rich kids, sure, but these parents’ faces had the poverty-stricken years painted all over them.
If less than thirty years ago, the impoverished population was refreshed with new homes and new jobs, how had things ended up this badly?
When the rush began to slow down, Riot's warm body sidled up beside me and started to wipe down the counters, sliding scraps of food into the garbage bin he held in his left hand. His forearms flexed and I watched his shoulder muscles ripple as he reached under the sanitary partition.
“Miss, may I have another scoop of eggs? They were simply delicious today!”a woman interrupted my ogling. She was probably in her mid-fifties but didn’t look a day younger than sixty-five.
My stomach growled, the eggshadlooked good. I reached for a scoop just as Riot slid his hands under my elbow, reaching for a sausage stuck between the warming tray and rider. His forearms brushed my elbow, and my body hummed, leaving a trail of heat where our skin touched. His eyes flicked up to me but I ignored him, unwilling to let him see the reaction he’d caused.
But I couldn’t ignore his scent. It was this strange mix of masculine sweat, leather, motor oil, and clean citrus. I found myself taking a deep inhale. Realizing his eyes were still on me, I jerked away, knocking the eggs off the spoon, and sending them rolling down his shirt.
“Sorry,”I said under my breath before piling the last spoonful of eggs on the woman’s plate. I stole a glance at Riot who was still looking at me with narrowed eyes. I wondered if he thought I was afraid of him. Was that better than thinking I found his scent invigorating?
I felt a greasy piece of sausage hit my arm.
“Sorry,”Riot said, mimicking my tone, one corner of his lips tipped up. I picked the sausage off and flung it back at his chest. It bounced off his hard stomach and into the garbage bin in his hand.
What a fucking child.
I glared at him, but he met my unwavering gaze. His eyebrows separated, amused. Was this Riot Asher’s attempt at flirting? And why did his attention feel sogood?
The two-dimensional human in me knew I should be wary of him. He admitted to killing a woman. Not just a woman. His mother. I should be afraid. But the distant, unfamiliar look in his eyes didn’t strike me as guilt. It doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. Nor does it mean that he wasn’t capable of it. Still, something inside me couldn’t help but find him intriguing. Compelling.
I hated the way Cherry looked at him. The way she spoke to him. Like his mere existence offended her. Like he was a danger. Perhaps Riot Asher had me fooled. Maybe hewasdangerous. But as he stood next to me, fighting a grin when I wiped away the grease mark the sausage had left, I felt more kindred toward him than I had with anyone else in a long time.
“Nicolette Parker, as I live and breathe!”A male voice bounded up to me from behind. I spun around and my stomach dropped.
