Page 109 of Burning Embers
As Reid gives me a brisk tour of the diminutive theater, that trademark glower never leaves his face. He looks as if he wants to murder someone.
Correction—he looks as if he wants to murderme.
And I very much prefernotto be murdered, thank you very much.
Everything he shows me is pretty self-explanatory. The four theaters. The ticket booth-slash-concession counter. The employee break room. Silas’s office. The locked closet the staff keeps all cleaning materials.
If you’re working the opening shift, you’re required to arrive an hour before the theater opens to prepare for the day. The closing shift is responsible for the majority of cleanup, but the morning shift is supposed to start the popcorn machine, openthe register, turn on the soda fountain, etc. And after every showing, a team of two will head into the theater and clean it.
“This seems simple enough,” I tell Reid as I peer into the tiny closet at the very end of the hall. I spot a broom, dustpan, vacuum, window cleaner, and a duster.
Reid mumbles something noncommittally as he guides me back towards the front, where Jake is working the counter. My foster brother offers me a huge smile and a thumbs-up when he sees me.
Reid, I’ve come to notice, doesn’t spend any time near the counter. I wonder if it’s because of his…smell. I can’t imagine patrons would be eager to buy popcorn from someone like Reid.
Before the large man can guide me back into Silas’s office, I dig my heels in and turn towards the bathroom.
“Can I quickly change my shirt? I’ll be quick.”
Reid volleys his gaze between me, the shirt in my hands, and then my white blouse. His cheeks turn an enticing shade of red as he mutters a quick, “Yeah.”
I hurry into the stall, unbutton my blouse, and then shove the shirt over my head. The damn material fits me like a glove, conforming to every curve. I try to tug it away from my chest unsuccessfully, but it continues to cling to my breasts and stomach.
I sigh.
Maybe I should lay off on all of those brownies…
Folding my blouse, I hurry out of the bathroom to find Reid waiting for me, his muscular arms crossed over his chest and a scowl firmly in place. He scratches absently at his forehead and then frowns when he accidentally makes himself bleed.
He drops his arms to his sides quickly.
“Is there a place I can put this?” I ask, holding the white shirt in the air.
Reid turns to stare at me, his frown growing…
And then he freezes.
Stares.
Gulps.
His gaze should feel unnerving or even slimy, but it doesn’t. I’m surprised by that discovery myself. The weight of his eyes on me is almost a physical caress. It cascades over my body like rivulets of warm water on a freezing day.
We continue to stare at each other, and though his eyes never dip from my face, I swear I can feel his gaze everywhere. On my bare arms. Across my chest. Stroking my thighs.
I swallow heavily, and either the sound of it or the sight of my throat bobbing makes him straighten. He turns away from me as if it physically pains him to stare at me for too long.
“Come,” he says briskly. Curtly.
After placing my folded blouse in the break room, I shoot a text off to Hale explaining the situation. Hale tells me to be careful and to text him when I’m done.
Reid turns and heads back towards the supply closet. Once there, he pushes open the door and says, “Grab disinfectant wipes and meet me in theater two.”
Before I can say anything else, he stalks away, leaving me baffled. His scent still lingers long after he leaves, a pungent, musky smell that makes me crinkle my nose.
Okay, then.
One packet of disinfectant wipes, coming right up.