Page 6 of Lavender and Lust
Heat flames my cheeks, and my jaw clenches painfully tight as I close my eyes, taking deep breaths and mentally getting myself in check.
I had no idea he was even atThe Welllast night, but I should have known better. The guy continuously sniffs me out like a bloodhound on the hunt for some prized game and has a habit of just randomly showing up wherever I may be. But of all the people on this godforsaken planet to have evidence of me making a fool of myself, he is the absolute worst.
Ever since he started working here, there has been an ongoing war between us. Who actually started it is yet to be agreed upon. But there isn’t a day that goes by that we aren’t going out of our way to sabotage each other’s day by any means possible.
Checking my apron pocket for ketchup has become a religious ritual after being caught off guard on more than one occasion. Just like keeping a razor-sharp eye on my morning coffee on the back counter while I’m serving customers to ensure he doesn’t slip some tabasco sauce into it.
So the thought of what he actually intends to do with this video has trepidation raking down my spine.
Swallowing hard, I turn to meet my adversary head-on, silently wishing the ground would just open up and swallow me whole. But the minute my gaze lands on him, the sight before me instantly transforms that simmering embarrassment into a fiery pit of rage.
Standing by the stove, the spatula in his hand being used as a makeshift microphone, Owen lip-synchs the lyrics with his eyes closed and head tilted back in a mocking reverence.
Movement from the corner of my eye drags my attention over to Wyatt, on the other side of the island counter, swinging his hips in time with the music.
Feeling the rage bubbling inside finally reach its boiling point, I shoot my murderous glare back to Owen and storm toward him.
Sensing my approach, his eyes snap open, and without warning, I lunge for the phone in his hand, hoping to catch him off guard. Unfortunately, he moves at lightning speed and quickly raises it above his head with a wicked grin.
“Give me that phone!” I cry, jumping up and down and pawing at his arm in desperation.
“No.”
“I swear to God, Owen, if you don’t delete that, I’m going to make your life a living hell!”
“God, I love it when you turn all nasty on me, Mac,” he purrs, his eyes twinkling with mirth before glancing up at the video footage and scrunching up his face. “You kind of sing nasty too.”
“That’s exactly why you should delete it!”
“No way,” he scoffs like it’s a ridiculous notion. “I’m not deleting anything. However, I may be willing to make you a deal.”
My eyes narrow suspiciously. Making a deal with Owen Parker is like making a deal with the devil himself. It’s never a good thing. And I can only imagine what he has in mind. But with my five foot five, petite frame, I’m no match for the six-foot-plus mountain of a man standing in front of me. I’m left with no choice but to try and negotiate with the asshole.
Folding my arms across my chest, I continue to eye him off warily. “Okay.”
“If you can get the phone out of my hand, I’ll let you delete it,” he says.
I glance up at the phone towering above his head, then trail my gaze down over his large frame, contemplating how I can climb him like a tree.
“But! If you fail, this juicy little number will be my ringtone for a year.”
My nostrils flare, and he wiggles the phone above his head, taunting me with it being so close yet so out of reach and just as I’m about to gift him with a swift kick to the balls, a voice booms through the serving window, startling both our attention.
“What the hell is going on in here?” My father’s steely glare bounces back and forth between us.
“She’s picking on me.” Owen points a finger in my direction, and my jaw drops at his pure audacity.
“He started it!” I point a finger back.
“For the love of Christ, you two, knock it off!” my father growls, the spiking of his blood pressure visible from the scarlet coating his cheeks. “We have three tables out here still waiting for their order to be taken, and I have to leave in five minutes.”
“What do you mean,leave?” I grind out the last part, shifting my irritation in his direction. “You can’t leave. We’re short-staffed.”
“Well, if you get your butt out there, then we won’t be,” he deadpans.
“Where are you going anyway?” I ask, firmly planting my hands on my hips.
He looks away as a flush of pink sweeps across his cheeks, and my eyebrows lift, both in surprise and intrigue.