Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

ZANE

The next two weeks drag by at a torturous pace. Christmas songs and decorations have thrown up all over the office and every time I see Dayra, she’s so happy and cheerful. It’s a wonder I can manage to get anything done, with the sound of bells jingling and the scent of pine lingering in the office. I keep my door closed ninety percent of the time, but it’s no use.

I walk out of my office and head toward the lounge to fix a cup of coffee to help get me through this dragging day. I fill my stainless cup full and put two scoops of sugar in to add a little sweetness. I stir it and sit down at one of the tables for a minute.

Dayra comes barreling through with a tote in her arms, waddling as she tries to see where she’s going around the large object. I huff and stand up.

“Here, let me carry that.”

Dayra, never stopping, looks back at me over her shoulder for a beat then looks ahead around the tote. “I got it.”

She rounds the corner and takes off down the long hallway that leads to the stairwell, walking faster than she was before she saw me.

I walk behind her, trying to catch up with her before she tries to carry this thing down the stairs.

“You’ve already had one workplace incident, Dayra. Just give me the damn tote, already,” I demand.

She stops at the door and is fumbling to try and open it. Finally, I pluck the tote out of her hands and hold it above my head. She glares at me, her brows furrowed, but she doesn’t protest. She simply opens the door and steps inside, holding it open for me. I carry the tote down the stairs and place it in the storage closet with Dayra following closely behind me. I close the door to the storage closet and turn around, nearly bumping into her.

“Am I incompetent on how to put away a tote?” I ask.

“I just wanted to make sure the Grinch wasn’t trying to steal Christmas,” she says, planting her hands on her hips.

I take a step closer to her, our bodies so close that I can feel the heat radiating off of her. The fire in her eyes stirs something deep in my soul and I want to throw gasoline on it and watch it burn.

“I’m anything but a thief,” I grit out.

She stares up at me and I step toward her again. This time she backs up. I keep walking until her back is against the wall beneath the staircase. We’re alone, under the cover of the stairs, in the shadows. This feels…forbidden. The forbidden fruit, dangling just above my head. Or, just below my lips.

I run my tongue over my bottom lip and her eyes watch my every move, staring heavily at my mouth. I place a finger beneath her chin and guide her eyes to mine.

She pulls her lip between her teeth, and I can’t help but gaze down at the cleavage popping out of her button up shirt. The tote must have knocked a button off because her bra is visible beneath the thin white fabric.

“I—I wasn’t saying…” she trails off, her hand reaching up to touch my face. She runs her finger over my bottom lip, bending it down and then letting it pop back into place.

“I don’t take anything that doesn’t want to be taken. ”

I lean in impossibly close, our lips so close if I move an inch, I’ll be kissing her. The temptation is too much and I don’t know how much longer I can sit here and pretend that my hard cock isn’t throbbing for the girl that gets under my skin like no one else.

I place my hand on her cheek, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. Her eyes close beneath my touch and she leans into my hand. The sound of a door slamming above us in the stairwell has us separating so quickly that my raging hard on is instantly a mid-chubby.

Breathless, we stand there staring at each other. We’re hidden beneath the stairs but if they go to that same storage closet and not out the door that leads outside, I’m not sure what exactly we’re going to say. Because what the fuck are we even doing?

I press a finger over my lips and step closer to her, pressing my body flush against hers. She nods and turns her head to the side, giving me the most beautiful view of her side profile and her neck. I resist the urge to run my tongue across the thumping artery, giving away how fast her heart is beating. I’m not sure if it’s adrenaline or fear or maybe a combination of both.

The door that leads outside opens and slams shut. I step back and Dayra exhales loudly.

I stare at her for a beat, then walk away, taking the stairs two at a time. What the fuck am I thinking? Do I want a sexual harassment case? Because that… THAT is how you get a sexual harassment case. I burst through the door at the top of the stairs and beeline to my office. I close the door and sit at my desk, trying to gain my composure. I have never acted inappropriately with an employee before in my life .

I’m beside myself at my own lack of self-control. What if we had been caught? That was way too out in the open. I was seconds away from losing it, from giving in to the temptation of the forbidden fruit that was dangling so dangerously close to my lips. I know why Eve bit that apple. Temptation is a bitch.

I look over my workload and shoot a text to Mark letting him know I’m leaving early today. I make up an excuse about not feeling well and thinking it may be food poisoning. It isn’t. It’s fucking Dayra, but I can’t very well tell him that.

I leave everything sitting on my desk, right where it was.

I need to put some space between us. I need to clear my head and figure out what the fuck is wrong with me. Instead of heading home, I head straight to Scotty’s Place. It takes me a solid hour to get there and it’s quiet for a Thursday, especially the Thursday the week before Christmas.

There are a few regulars sitting at the bar, a few of the old timers that I recognize from my days here, but aside from that, there are myself, the bartender, and two guys around my age shooting pool and drinking beer.

Perfect. A quiet place to have a few drinks and try and gather my thoughts. Images of Dayra beneath the stairwell flutter through my mind in quick flashes. Her lips. Her breath hot on my mouth. The way her skin both burned me and sent chills down my spine.

I sit down at the bar and find the same bartender from a few weeks ago is behind the bar. Dolly, I think it was.

“What can I get ya?” She asks, resting her hands on the bar in front of me. Her short brown ponytail is high on her head and she’s wearing a Scotty’s Place T-shirt with a pair of black shorts. She’s mid-sized and has a pretty smile, despite her canine being smaller than the rest of her teeth.

“Old Fashioned, please.”

“That’s right. One of Johnny’s boys, right?”

I tilt my head in her direction with a questioning look on my face.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“After you and your brother beat up on ol’ Leon a few weeks ago, one of the old guys filled me in. Carlos over there,” she points to Carlos sitting in the same spot he’s sat in for likely the last forty years since this place opened.

He raises his beer in a greeting and I offer him a half-wave.

“ Aah . Makes sense. Good ol’ Carlos. Some things never change.”

She laughs and heads off to fix my drink. The smoke is thick in the air and the lights are dim, giving the bar a warm hue. The light fixtures are probably permanently stained by nicotine, giving a yellowish-brown tint to everything. I doubt they’ve been cleaned. Ever.

Dolly sets a rocks glass on the bar in front of me and I hand her my card.

“Leave it open.”

She nods and heads off to start a tab for me. When I’m three drinks in, I realize that the more I drink, the more I crave her. It isn’t working. I should’ve known it wouldn’t. Dayra has always been a constant in my brain, granted it was mostly irritation and aggravation at her mere existence. This, this is all-consuming. I opt for another drink, the whiskey only seeming to numb the pieces inside of me that need attention.

Soon, the after work crowd has piled in. A mixed bag of construction workers and day drinkers and random passersby alike. The bar is full in an instant and the whiskey is flowing through my veins like a rushing river. The more I drink, the more I’m flooded with images of Dayra. Lying beneath me. Mouth parted. Bared to me. I want to own her soul and make her come so hard she can’t help but scream my name.

I end up in a random conversation with one of the older men who’s sitting beside me. His name is AJ and his shaggy white hair sticks out of his hat a few inches. We’ve been talking about his woodwork for the last thirty minutes and I think I made a new friend. He’s got a custom shop at his house and he’s been showing me pictures of some of the custom pieces he’s done. He does beautiful work.

“Here’s my card, son, if you decide you want something done.”

I take it and stuff it into my wallet and order him a beer. He’s sipping Coors Light.

“I’ll definitely be in touch. Thank you,” I say, shaking his hand.

He moseys over to a crowd of men sitting at a round table a few feet from the bar and they all erupt in greetings when AJ sits down. I smile, watching their interactions, wondering if those would’ve been my father’s friends if he were still here today.

I try to push the thought out of my mind, especially when alcohol is involved. There’s nothing sexy about being a blubbering mess over a lost loved one. I take a deep breath and down the rest of my drink, ordering another one. Dolly is on the spot, replacing my empty glass with a full one.

I’m drunk and the jukebox is playing some good old tunes. My suit and tie and Wingtip Brogue Oxford Brown & Blue’s stick out like a dick on a fish amongst the steel-toe boots and Penny Loafers. I got these shoes on a whim about a year ago and they’re the most comfortable damn shoes. I probably could’ve used a change of clothes before sitting here for the duration of the evening, but I couldn’t think of anything other than putting distance between myself and Dayra’s daunting body.

I get up to break the seal and nearly fall over. I stumble my way to the bathroom trying to figure out how I’m going to make it back to the city from here with no Ubers available this far outside of town. I make it back to my barstool, somehow, and order an ice water. I think I’ve reached my cap of whiskey for tonight.

I look at my phone through a squinted eye and laugh out loud. It’s only eight o’clock. It’s so early. Dolly eyes me suspiciously.

“You good, Zane?” she asks.

I nod and give her a thumbs up and a smile. “Good.”

She laughs but holds her hand out. I look back and forth between her hand and her face. “What?”

“Keys. You’re not driving.”

I hesitate for a moment, then hand over my keys.

“Fine.” I huff, folding my arms against my chest. “But no one better drive my truck.”

Dolly giggles and walks off, storing my keys somewhere behind the bar. She’s mistaken if she thinks that I can’t get to them. Not that I want to. I don’t ever want my family to get that call. We all have to die somehow, I’d just prefer that it wasn’t at my own hands by making a choice that could be avoided. I’ve seen too many drunk drivers either get killed or kill someone else. I refuse to be part of that statistic.

I sit at the bar sipping water for what feels like hours, but when I look at the time again, it’s only eight-fifty. It hasn’t even been an hour. I’m tempted to just start drinking again since Dolly has my keys. My stomach churns at the thought and I think better of it. I’ll just sip some more water.

I’m so drunk that I don’t realize that there’s someone sitting beside me until I get a tap on the shoulder. Am I drunk or hallucinating? Dayra is standing beside me, in an oversized hoodie and blue jeans. My head is spinning. No. Maybe it’s the room that’s spinning. Dayra’s got a beaming, happy smile on her face.

“Did you have a few too many drinks, boss?” she asks, her tone playful.

I nod and rest my head on top of my crossed arms on the bar. Her hand runs back and forth across my shoulders and the sensation is soothing.

“I’m going to drive you wherever you need to go, okay?”

“In my truck?” I ask.

I hear her beautiful laugh at my question. “If that’s what you want, then yes. I’ll drive your truck.”

“No. No one drives my truck,” I slur, lifting my head. My eyes are heavy and I manage to peek through a small slit.

“Don’t worry, I’ll drive my car.”

I give her a thumbs up, or at least that’s what I think I’m doing. Everything is hazy and I’m regretting that last drink. I think I’m in and out of consciousness.

Next thing I know, someone is one either side of me and my arms are around them as they guide me out the door. I’m walking, with a lot of assistance. I make it to Dayra’s car and my eyes flutter open.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” I slur, looking at the compact car.

Laughter erupts around me and I shake my head. “I’m never going to be able to get out of this tuna can.”

“Oh, stop it. You’ll be fine. Get in.”

Of course she’s bossing me around. I expected nothing less.

I’m ushered into the front seat of her tiny car. Surprisingly, my head doesn’t hit the roof like I thought it would, but I feel like I’m sitting on the ground.

Someone buckles my seat belt and closes the door. Dayra plops down into the driver’s seat and flips through her phone for a minute before music begins to play through the speakers. It’s a song I don’t recognize but I like the melody.

“Where am I taking you?” she asks, buckling her seatbelt.

“I guess to my mom’s. Here, call her,” I demand, handing my phone over to her.

“Call your mom?” she squeaks.

“Yeah. That’s what I just said. Here— hey Siri, Call Mom,” I say, while she’s holding my phone.

Siri pipes up and says, Calling Mom.

Mom answers in two rings.

“Zane? What’s wrong?” she asks as soon as she answers.

“Hi, I’m driving Zane to you from Scotty’s Place. Can you give me directions? He’s had a little too much to drink.”

Mom laughs on the other end of the phone. “I’ll send the address. Are you that drunk you can’t tell the girl our address?”

I giggle and lean my head against the cool window of Dayra’s car. “Yep,” I slur and close my eyes.

“I’m sending it now, sweetheart. Thank you for driving him. I’ll see you in a few minutes. I’ll leave the porch light on and I’ll come out when you get here.”

The call ends and the car is silent as we begin moving. I start to feel queasy as the car gets further down the road. It’s like being on a rollercoaster ride that’s flipping upside down continuously. I force my eyes to open and the spinning subsides. I exhale a breath of relief.

“Whew!”

“You okay over there? We’re almost there.”

“Yep. I think I’m good.”

We turn into Mom’s driveway and the porch light is on, as promised and she’s standing outside in a robe and sweatpants.

She comes straight to the passenger side of the car and opens my door.

“Come on, you,” she says, offering me her hand. Dayra is standing next to her and all I can think is man she’s fast.

The two of them help me into the house and onto the couch. I lie there for a moment trying to listen to the two of them talking, but the alcohol is too much and I’m out cold before I can hear the first word.