“Hey, roomie,” I say, coming up behind her.
She startles, and her little intake of air goes straight to my dick as she whirls around right into me. The impact throws her off balance, and she grabs for my arms. She misses, grasping my shirt instead, and I tug her forward by the waist before she tumbles backward. It puts us flush to one another, chest to chest, her fingers fisted in each side of my shirt. She tips her chin up to see me, the air charging between us as she blushes.
“We aren’t roommates,” she says quietly.
“We are sharing a room, though,” I remind her. “We’ll be sleeping in the same bed.” I raise my brow. “We’ll be naked in the same shower.”
Leighton swallows, the pulse pounding in the hollow of her neck. “None at the same time.” Then she shoves my hands away like it wasn’t just her pawing at me and turns for the stairs, leaving me at the bottom. Hard. As. Fuck.
“Accidents happen,” I growl after her.
I follow her tight little ass up, first with my gaze and then with the rest of me. She slams the door to my room, and I head down the hall to the den, squeezing my aching cock through my jeans on the way.
If the past hour was any indication of how the summer’s going to go between us, then I’m all-out fucked. There is no chance I’ll keep my hands away from her. And something tells me, once they’re on her, they won’t be coming off.
Chapter Three
Leighton
After the polo incident, I hoped to get through the rest of staff week without any more run-ins with Knox, but he dashes that by the middle of the all-staff meeting the next afternoon.
My phone vibrates, and I glance down at it on my lap. I don’t recognize the number, so I unlock the screen to read the text.
I’ve been thinking.
Before I have a chance to ask who they are, another message pops up.
About you.
I shift in my seat and try to keep the phone out of view as I reply.
Who is this? How did you get my number?
No bubbles pop up for a minute, so I go back to listening to Knox. Our Staff Director has once again shown up in jeans, tight on his thighs. His black tee adds even more shadows to his eyes, which stop on me more than once while he reads through the changes from last year, bored while he scrolls through them on his screen.
He hands the meeting over to Brex, head of security and cousin to our fearless leader. I don’t know much about him other than his mother is Brent’s sister and he seems about as enthusiastic about his job at the Cove as Knox. They both have the commanding stature and dark hair, but Brex’s eyes are a cutting hazel.
As his cousin directs us through policies, Knox leans back against the table pushed up to the wall. And that’s when I see it, the slight twitch of his lips as he taps on his phone, right before mine vibrates again.
Employee file. Fridge at the house. Stall in the bathroom. Take your pick.
I sigh and shake my head.
What do you want, Knox?
I want you to take over scheduling for the entire service staff.
He can’t be serious, but the wicked grin he gives when I look up says he most certainly is. Stifling a groan, I start typing out a less than friendly response when all of a sudden, Knox clears his throat at the front of the room.
“Sand polo in the back,” he says, cutting off Brex, and my thumbs freeze on the screen. “Care to share with the rest of us what’s more important than the resort’s safety procedures in the event of a hostage situation?”
What. A. Dick.
I lift my gaze to his while everyone turns around to see me in the last row of chairs. Knox smirks with his phone still in his hand, and I flip mine over on my leg, glaring at him.
“Just an asshole who needs to lose my number,” I grind out. “Hopefully he got the message.”
A few people chuckle, and all the heads swivel to the front as Brex continues. Knox holds my stare a little longer before pocketing his phone, not looking at me again for the rest of the meeting.
He must lose interest in torturing me after that, and I stay free and clear of any more Knox infused drama for the week.
By Friday, the first guests begin to trickle in for Memorial Day weekend. The bulk will arrive tomorrow, and simply having the option to show up early indicates one of two things—a hefty early check-in fee or a personal invitation from Brent himself.
I’m finishing up with a table when he walks over and slaps his hand on Mr. McGuire’s shoulder. The two carry on a quiet conversation while I finish clearing dishes, and right before I walk away, Brent lifts a dark brow at me. I raise one in return, and his lips turn up at the corners.
The past few months with him coming by the house have been nice. I might not need a father figure, but I have no doubt Brent would seamlessly fill that position if I ever asked. And after a lifetime of seeing my mom shafted by deadbeat assholes, she deserves her happy ending.
Even if it binds me to Knox for the rest of my life.
When I walk into the staff lounge later, it looks untouched from the morning, but with so few guests on the grounds, most of the workers have an easy day before it picks up tomorrow. I even canceled the shift scheduled for the poolside bar because they’re so slow. It gives me the afternoon off, so I leave my apron in my locker for tonight and tuck my tips in my back pocket on my way out.
I’m only a few steps down the hall when I look up and see Cole coming toward me.
“And this is why we shouldn’t wear khakis,” he says, holding his hands out.
I bite my lips together, trying not to laugh at the wine stain covering his crotch. Since he only had one table when I left him in the dining room, I can only assume the housewife accidentally spilled her merlot and then tried to dab it off for him.
“Or maybe we just need to keep you away from the women,” I say, walking to meet him.
He gives me a look. “And waste this?” He gestures to his face and shakes his head. “Come on, Leighton. We both know the real reason we walked out with two hundred in tips off a lunch shift with only a handful of guests.” He grins and ducks in close when he reaches me. “And it has nothing to do with carrying four entrees at once.”
Cole has a point. Brent knows what his guests want to look at all summer. Regardless of the color of polo, the staff consists of panty-drenching jawlines and cock-stirring asses. I don’t even think being the boss’s kid would guarantee a job if Knox and Kennedy weren’t ridiculously attractive.
And Cole’s no exception to the panty-rule. On top of his face and body, he has the broken bad-boy vibe most women can’t resist. No other local garners half as much attention at the Cove—from both the guests and the teal polos.
He graduated two years ago and picks up classes at a community college a town over, so I’d bumped into him a time or two around Seaside Heights before we worked together last year. With the ivies flitting around him and Brent acknowledging my existence, we were both slight outcasts with the other locals and buddied up.
Since Knox changed my shift this year, I didn’t think I’d work with Cole much, but he’s filling in for another server the next few days. The A shift serves the guests who eat later and the private dining room—the crème de la crème at the Cove. Even with far fewer tables, it leads to higher tips, but also requires quick reflexes to keep hands where you want them.