Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
What I still had to figure out was whether this pace was typical for Alex or if he was trying to run me into the ground.
“Here.” Alex tossed me a rag and handed me a spray bottle the second I stepped into the hallway. “We have exactly fifteen minutes to turn over the tables before the next reservation.” He practically yelled to be heard above the music.
It’s funny how I could love the loud pulsing beat on nights I partied, but tonight, I found it annoying to constantly shout and never get a break from the noise.
“Parker hates, and I mean hates, if incoming customers catch us during turnover. Everything needs to be clean as hell and restocked. If there’s so much as a ring of condensation on the table, he’ll chew your ass out, and no one wants that.”
“I’m pretty sure Trevor wants that.”
He snorted, and his lips quirked, but the almost smile disappeared before I could appreciate it.
“You go wipe down the tables, and I’ll grab the water.”
Back to the grind. We’d been so busy, and he’d had so much Top Shelf wisdom to impart that I’d barely had time to get under his skin like I wanted. Although my mere presence seemed to irk him, I preferred a more active approach to driving him crazy.
It’s time to up my game.
“Gosh, fifteen minutes to wipe down two whole tables? Do you think I can pull it off? Maybe you need to show me how to work this strange contraption,” I said, holding up the spray bottle as I stared at it in mock wonder. “And do I have to wipe in a special Top Shelf way? Clockwise? In figure eights? Zig-zag across the table?”
He rolled those deep brown eyes of his and stormed away, scowling. Each step made his ass cheeks bounce in the skintight shorts. Damn, the man had an ass made for all the dirty things. I wiggled my fingers against the impulse to squeeze and knead those round globes. Not much beat the feel of a thick ass in my hands.
Alex’s tattoos had been a complete surprise. He seemed too rigid for permanent ink, but the man had a few on his back, one on his right arm, and a quote of some sort on his ribs. We’d been on the move too much all night for me to inspect any of them, but it was only our first night of many working together.
The only thing that surprised me tonight was how sexy I found Alex. Granted, he’d never been unattractive, but shirtless and with those ass-hugging, cock-cupping shorts, he was smoking hot. We were comparable in height, but that’s where our similarities ended. Dark to my light in temperament and coloring, he also had me beat in muscular bulk in the most delicious way. I couldn’t help but be drawn to the contrast. Everything about us differed, from our looks to our career paths to our families, not that I knew anything about his family beyond the fact that he hadn’t grown up with money. Nor did it matter. This was a fun way to pass the time until I began graduate school. It was just fascinating to note the differences and how my dick had suddenly taken an interest in working with Alex.
I wiped the last spritz of cleanser off the table as Alex strode over with a case of water on his shoulder. I’d done a damn good job if I did say so myself. Not a drop of liquid remained on the table. It was so clean I could see my damn face in the shine.
As Alex set the glass water bottles on the table, my attention snagged on the stretch of fabric over one plump ass cheek.
I nearly groaned.
“Get your eyes off my ass.”
Busted. I laughed out loud while shrugging. “You got a good ass, FL. What can I say?”
“Seriously?” He straightened and shoved two bottles of Perrier into my chest.
“Oh shit.” I bobbled them but managed to keep them from hitting the floor. Thank God. They were glass, and I didn’t feel like scooping wet shards off the club floor for the next hour.
“You’ve been chasing me around while I bust my ass for hours now, and you still wanna call me a freeloader?” Alex shook his head. “Just put those on the fucking table in the setup I showed you before. If you can manage to remember what I did.”
He turned toward one table and began displaying the bottles in the triangular shape he’d demonstrated at the start of the night while I stood there frowning.
The FL had slipped out. To be honest, I’d called him FL so many times in the past that I’d forgotten it stood for freeloader. To me, it was just a stupid nickname, but I could see how he found it dickish. On the flip side, it was just a stupid nickname. The man needed to lighten the fuck up, which was exactly why I teased him in the first place. That and because it was fun, although I wasn’t used to the tiny seed of guilt I now had embedded in my gut.