Page 48 of Pucking Matt
He clocks in and then walks back out with an apron and the sandwich.
Have I ever mentioned how ridiculous he looks in the apron?
I’m making an order when he walks over like he’s not on the clock and unravels his sandwich.
“Oh, turkey. You made my regular. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Someone ordered it and changed their mind.”
He opens the sandwich and finds the raisin.
“This is how I know you’re full of it.” He picks it out and throws it at me. I try to block it from hitting me but it hits me anyway.
I laugh, continuing to make the order for the patient customer.
“Seriously,” he says. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I shrug.
“You think not replying means you don’t have to say it, but honestly, it speaks volumes. One of these days, I’m going to crack you open and make you say it.”
I purse my lips because I have no idea what he’s talking about. I swear I understand his childhood trauma now, but I’m constantly met with a cocky arrogant man. There’s a war in my mind from my newfound knowledge and what’s in front of me. And that’s why I can’t say anything. If I have nothing nice to say, I shouldn’t say anything at all, right? I’m quiet, waiting for him to leave. Instead he takes a bite of the sandwich and groans. My stomach rumbles at the sound.
“Don’t get used to it,” I murmur.
With his mouth full, he says, “I wouldn’t dare.”
He smiles at me, and I don’t like it. I don’t like this. Not one bit.
I call out the customers name and hand over their order.
“What?” Matt asks as I glare at him. “I’m enjoying my food. Practice kicked my ass today.”
Hence, the sandwich.
“Did you remember I have practice?”
I raise a brow at him.
“Good play, Hughes.”
I catch him glancing around the food containers with that confidence and ease I was talking about. Like he has no problems in the world.
“Where are these raisins?” he asks.
I look around for them too. I say, “Huh, they’re not out here today.”
He shoots me a glare and then bumps me with his shoulder.
“Oh my God, I’m going to fall over if you do that again,” I say out loud, falling off balance. I catch myself and glare back.
“What?” he smirks. “You can take me on.”
I observe his face, wondering why he’s teasing. He’s a lot taller than he was in high school. Is that normal?
I say, “I won’t touch you. I’m not like that anymore.”
He dramatically sticks his lips out. “I wonder why?”
