Page 24 of Pucking Matt
The next few days pass in a blur of work and plotting. I come up with and discard a dozen revenge schemes, each more elaborate than the last. But nothing seems quite right. I need something that will really get under his skin, something that will make him think twice before messing with me again.
My next shift at The Grind Stone can't come fast enough. I'm practically foaming at the mouth with pent-up rage as I tie on my apron, rehearsing all the scathing remarks I'm going to unleash on Matt when he shows his smug face.
When he finally saunters in, after not showing face for my past few shifts, looking nonchalant and carefree, it takes every ounce of self-control not to throw a sandwich at him. He perches on the counter like he owns the place, that smirk firmly in place.
“Hey there. Get any interesting phone calls at work lately?”
I grip the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles turn white. “You absolute–”
“Now, now,” he cuts me off, wagging a finger. “Language. There are customers present.”
I take a deep breath, forcing my voice to stay low. “You don't need to stoop this low. Just leave me alone.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but something catches my eye. A customer at the door, reading something with a furrowed brow. They shake their head and walk away.
“That wouldn’t be fun now, would it?” he says.
More people stop at the door, some laughing, others with a questionable look. A few even start taking pictures.
“What did you do?” I hiss at Matt, shoving past him to get to the door.
And there it is. A sign taped to the glass. It says: Closed For Sex.
For a moment, all I can do is stare. Then I start laughing because what the hell?
“Matt,” I stop laughing because now I’m mortified. “What the hell?” I rip the piece of paper off the glass. “You are so petty.”
Now that I’ve had my laugh at his audacity, anger sets in. Is he trying to get me fired from both of my jobs? It’s my livelihood, my reason for being on my own. He’s threatening the very things that I’ve worked so hard for.
I rip the sign, crumpling it in my fist as I whirl to face Matt. He's watching me, that damned smirk still in place, but there's something else in his eyes. A challenge.
“You want a war?” I ask, advancing on him. “Fine. But remember, you started this. And I promise you, Matthew Pearson, you're going to regret it.”
His eyebrows shoot up, a flicker of something. Surprise? Respect?
“Like attack me down the stairs and start using me as a punching bag?” He walks away and then turns back before stepping out. “By the way, I didn’t start this. You did.”
His words hit me like a slap in the face, dredging up memories I've tried so hard to bury. For a moment, I'm back in that high school hallway, my fists connecting with his face, the world spinning as we tumble down the stairs. The rage that consumed me then comes rushing back, hot and familiar.
“Screw you,” I mouth.
But he's already out the door. He gets into his truck. I look at the license plate and remember it. I smirk, proud of myself. I know what you drive, motherfucker.
I yank off my apron, ignoring the confused looks from my coworkers.
“I'm taking my break,” I snap, not waiting for a response before storming out the back door. The cool air does nothing to calm the inferno raging inside me.
I pull out my phone, my fingers flying over the screen as I start plotting. I don't care if it's petty or immature. I don't care if it gets me in trouble. All I care about is making Matthew Pearson regret the day he ever crossed paths with me.
The rest of my shift passes in a blur. And by the time I clock out, I've got the beginnings of a plan forming. It's not perfect, and it's definitely not legal, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And if Matthew Pearson thinks he can mess with my life without consequences, he's about to learn just how wrong he is.
A few days later, I’m working at the Grind Stone, wondering if Matt is going to show up today. I’m watching the door like a hawk, wishing I knew the exact times he would show up so that I had a better idea.
But eventually, there he is. Matt comes into view, and I drop to the ground. The door hasn’t opened yet as Jen watches me.
“I need to go,” I mutter, running off through the back.
Matt has no idea what’s coming for him. Jen has no idea what I’m up to. I’ve been keeping all his petty pranks to myself, other than Riley. She doesn’t live in the same state, so I feel safe telling her.
