Page 17 of Sizzle

6

Joelle

I don’t know who came up with the whole idea of cold showers but it’s a crock of shit.

I shut off the water and grab the towel, drying off as fast as I can to try to stop the shivers. Now I’m just annoyed AND horny.

I don’t know what came over me the other night, flirting with Alex at the bar like that, but whatever it was it hasn’t gone away. My skin is hot and feels too tight. I can hardly walk without squeezing my thighs together against the ache there. I can’t concentrate.

I’m a hot fucking mess.

I swear to God, I don’t think I was this hormonal in high school. I want to blame it on the stress of a new job, or tell myself I’m deflecting because juggling my responsibilities at home with my new job is hard. But Jesus, you’d think I’d never had an orgasm before.

And even if that were true, it’s definitely not the case after these last few days. Ever since I sat in that bar and heard Alex mention me riding Elliot, I can’t stop thinking about it. Even though I know he didn’t actually say that. Alex was perfectly respectful and appropriate the whole time we talked, which was frustrating as hell. I thought for sure he was interested in me. He was definitely flirting with me at the beginning.

That’s what’s so confusing. I don’t know which part turns me on more—flirting with Elliot’s super-hot friend, or the idea of riding my boss like I’m trying to save a horse. I’ve never been as attracted to a man in my life as I am to Elliot James, and now all of a sudden there’s two of them? It makes no sense.

I’m going to spontaneously combust—and not in the sexy way. Sometimes I think I’m literally going to catch fire.

“Joelle!”

I groan, burying the sound into my towel before I crack open the bathroom door.

“Be out in a bit,” I call. I dress quickly, putting on the barest minimum of makeup. No point in making more effort—I’ll just sweat it off in the kitchen.

Hormone explosion aside, the job is better than I could have dreamed. I’m learning a lot, especially since Elliot lets me shadow him whenever he’s in the kitchen. The rest of the crew, too. Aside from the usual new-kid ribbing, they’re great about showing me the ropes and making sure I don’t get overwhelmed. It’s only been a couple of weeks but I’m taking it as a good sign that I haven’t run away screaming. Maybe, just maybe I’m finally heading in the right direction.

When I get to the living room, Dad’s already in his chair, TV on mute.

“Morning, Dad,” I say, bending to kiss his cheek. He grunts.

“Where do you think you’re going at this hour?”

“I told you yesterday, remember? I’m heading in a couple of hours early to work on the new menu.” I force my shoulders to relax. “I sent a copy of my schedule to your email the other day. Did you see it?”

I know he did. Read receipts are a thing. And he knows that I know, but he just shrugs.

“Is there anything you need before I head out?” I ask from the kitchen. He’s got food ready to heat up and the team will be here soon so he won’t be alone all day today.

“What am I supposed to do when those morons aren’t here?” He asks. “They’re only around three times a week. What am I supposed to do the other days?”

“I don’t know, Dad,” I say. If I can hear my own exasperation, there’s no way he can miss it. I take a deep breath and try again. “Maybe try taking a walk?”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

Dad’s face goes red. “Don’t you disrespect me, young lady. I’ve kept a roof over your head for damn near twenty-three years.”

Pretty sure I’ve been doing the keeping the last couple of years. I bury the thought fast. It won’t help.

“I know, Dad, I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect. I only thought the fresh air would do you good. Maybe you could go visit some of your friends down at the VFW. You haven’t been in ages, right?”

I don’t know I was thinking, suggesting he go to a bar. Dad’s barely left the house in years for anything, let alone to socialize.

As if he can hear my thoughts, he snorts.

“Those jerks,” he says, adjusting his leg where it’s propped on the ottoman. “I got nothing to say to that lot anymore.”

“Maybe the library, then,” I suggest. I sneak a glance at my watch. I’ve got about thirty more seconds for this conversation, otherwise I’m going to miss my bus.