“When can you start?” I ask.
He gapes at me. “What?”
Reaching for a Post-it note, I quickly jot down a number, turn it to face him, and slide it across the desk. His eyes bulge, his lips parting. He closes his mouth, opens it again, makes some kind of noise like he’s trying to string together a sentence, then clamps his mouth shut.
A speechless Luke Parker is fucking adorable, honestly.
I arch an eyebrow, silently prompting him.
“Are you for real right now?” he blurts out.
I nod and then swallow when I’m hit with an unexpected flutter of nerves in my belly. Ironic—so ironic—that I onlyoffered to give him an interview as a favor to my son, and now it doesn’t feel like a favor at all. If his drawings are anything to go by, he has quite the creative streak and an eye for beauty. Despite his shit interview skills. And his lackluster interpersonal skills. But still, how has no one else discovered the gold mine that is Luke Parker and snatched him up yet?
I genuinely want him on my team now, and I want to see what else his creative mind comes up with. And I’m willing to play dirty to get it. The number written on his Post-it note is higher than a new grad would expect in this field of work, but I want to make sure no one else tries to steal him from me.
“The office is pretty laid back. No need for formal attire,” I add, ignoring the inquisitive look he gives my own formal attire. I have my reasons for wearing form-fitting dress shirts and trousers, and hedefinitelydoesn’t need to find out what I hide beneath them.
Not someone as attractive as him.
“I’ll take it!” Luke exclaims, a happy grin stretching across his face as he snatches the note up. Some of my tension bleeds out at his easy acceptance. Honestly, I was ready to haggle and bargain. I make a mental note to teach him the art of counter offers later.
Much later, when he’s officially on my payroll.
“Great!” I reply. After a brief discussion, we settle on a start date, and I give him directions to the office of my HR lady. She can be a bit of a grouch, but she knows her stuff, and he’ll be in good hands with her. As Luke strides out my office door and begins the trek down the short hallway, I can’t help but eye his pert little ass. It’s a firm, perfect fucking handful. My breath stutters at the idea of grabbing each globe in my hands and squeezing. I lean a forearm against my door frame, unashamedly admiring him as he goes.
This would probably be a good time to make a self-imposed rule about not eye-fucking, or flirting, with my new employee, but I’ve never been very good at following the conventual rules of society.
And honestly, fuck them.
Some rules are meant to be broken.
When he glances behind him, for a brief second, I think his eyes darken as they roam over my face. Then they dip down slightly, and the tip of his pink tongue glides along that plump bottom lip before he finally disappears around the corner.
I suck in a deep, quick breath. Did Luke Parker just ogle my forearms?
I groan, not at all surprised to see the outline of my semi-hard cock through my black trousers.
Quickly shutting the door behind me, I quietly engage the lock and unbuckle my belt. When I come, it’s with his name on my lips.
Hours later, my mind is still buzzing with thoughts of the green-eyed, blonde-haired, sassy temptation. Sweat pours down my temples as my feet pound along the surface of the treadmill, my cotton, long-sleeve shirt, rolled up to my forearms, slick with perspiration and clinging to my body like a second skin. Air saws in and out of my lungs, music blasting in my headphones as I slow the machine down. I gradually transition into a walk, giving my heart rate a chance to come down as my body begins to cool before going through my usual stretches.
When I’m ready, I weave around the various gym equipment within the Cedarwood Valley 24/7 Fitness Center and make my way into thelocker room. Stepping into one of the shower stalls, I shed my sticky clothes and drape them over the stall. The hot water pelting against my back is soothing, the soap sudsy as it cleanses.
My thoughts wander to Luke as I scrub. I remind myself that there are so many reasons why I should not go sniffing around the Parker boy. He’s my son’s best friend, my employee, nineteen years younger than I am, and he’s straight.
Although, the look he gave me before he left certainly makes me question that.
Turning to face the water spray, I reach behind myself to run the soap along my upper back. I’m reminded of yet another reason why things would never work with Luke, a wave of self-disgust nearly bowling me over. A sigh slips from me at the familiar ridge of bumpy scars and thickened skin under my fingertips. They run along my upper biceps, my shoulders, and the entire expanse of my back.
Logically, I know I’m lucky. So damn lucky to not only have survived the extensive burns that had nearly killed me as a teenager, but to do so without any lasting muscle damage. Sometimes though, I can’t help but to feel sorry for myself. To carry my scars like a secret shame, to constantly give into the need to keep them covered. The skin is mottled, discolored, and…it’s an eyesore.
I’ve had more than one hook-up turn away from me or avert their gaze.
Over the years, it has led to an insecurity I haven’t been able to shake. Hell, most of the time I can’t even relax enough to fully undress in front of another human. I also crave the feeling of being in charge, of being in control. I’m a lot for anybody to handle, both in and out of bed.
I hate feeling small and weak. And handing control over to someone else?Thatmakes me feel small and weak. It leaves me vulnerable in away that makes my skin itch. My dedication to the gym has nothing to do with vanity and everything to do with taking back control over my body and the ridges of thick scarring that make me feel ugly.
Does it matter if Luke Parker is off limits? Most partners can’t handle me long term, so why should I fool myself into believing he would be any different?
