Page 5 of Pucking Matt
I look over my shoulder at her and stare.
She looks older now. Her face is much sharper and more refined. There’s no softness anymore. She’s a woman who can hold her own. And her eyes could kill. The way they are dark when I know they’re actuallyamber-brown. And the intensity ofher brows. God, I’m in for it, and I’m loving every fucking second of it.
She stares back and says, “I don’t know your regular order, asshole.”
I was thinking about where time has gone between us because it’s like no time has passed at all. I say, “Yeah, you do.”
She blinks, keeping her expression in check, her posture is straight, and the confidence she has would be scary if I were a pussy.
She snarks, “No, I don’t.”
“The turkey provolone sandwich with tomatoes, onions, and lettuce. The strawberry protein shake with extra protein.” I say it as fast as I can to piss her off.
She glances down at the Honey Badger logo on my shirt.That’s right, the honey badger don’t give a fu–
“Name?”
I chuckle.
She lifts a brow. “What? Like I know you?”
I lean in. “You know exactly who I am.”
Her eyes narrow. “I don’t know who the hell you are actually.”
“You know, holding grudges isn’t a good look on you.”
“Asshole it is.”
“Don’t spit in my sandwich,” I warn, leaning over the counter.
She grits her teeth. I can practically hear them grinding. Music to my ears. She taps away on the screen in front of her as I watch her. Long black lashes, blushed cheeks, andambereyes. They darken when she glances at me.
I remain leaning against the counter, drumming my fingers on the surface. Just loud enough to be annoying. It's a gift, really.
“That’ll be $20.75.”
I pull out my wallet, making a show of rifling through it. “You know, I thought you looked familiar.”
Her glare could melt steel. “That'll be $20.75. Sir." The 'sir' sounds like an insult. Impressive.
I hand her two twenty-dollar bills. “Keep the change. Maybe you can use it to buy some anger management classes.”
As I turn to get out of the ordering line and wait in the pickup line, I can feel her eyes burning holes in my back. I resist the urge to glance at her again.
When my order’s ready, she doesn’t call out my name. Instead, she walks up to me, personally handing me the protein shake and brown bag.
“Stop coming in here,” she demands, still gripping the bag.
I try to tug it from her, but she keeps her hold on it. I lean in and say, “Or what?”
“Or nothing, Matthew. Just don’t come in here when I’m working.”
She walks away, not waiting to hear my amazing comeback. “Hey,” I call out. She continues walking to the back, ignoring me.
I check if she's written anything on my cup this time. Part of me hopes she has. It's always nice to have a raging fan, but there’s nothing scribbled on the cup. Damn.
Walking out into the sunshine, I take a sip of my protein shake. It's not poisoned. It’s actually pretty good. I might have to make this a regular thing while she’s working.
