Chapter One
“Hey Jane, I’m going to need you to go clean up aisle three in the romance section.”
I looked up from the fashion magazine I was reading into the beady brown eyes of my balding, middle-aged boss, Brad. On further examination, I determined that his shirt was pulled apart at the buttons, his wide tie wasn’t straight, and his pleated pants were doing the slouchy, open butterfly thing beneath his protruding belly.
“I just cleaned aisle three an hour ago.” My excitement must have been written on my face. It was the only explanation for Brad’s annoyed reaction. Narrowing his beady eyes, he pointed in the direction of the mess. He’d apparently mastered the art of the silent command. I assumed sit and fetch would be next.
Holding my hands up in defeat, I caved - quickly. Most times with Brad, caving was the only thing you could do. Plus it was the easiest thing to do and I liked easy.
“Fine. What am I cleaning? Did someone knock over the books again and your stomach is preventing you from bending over to pick them up?” Okay, sure, being sarcastic with the boss wasn’t the brightest idea, but considering I was working for next to nothing, I thought I was entitled to be snarky.
He grinned and I knew the bastard was enjoying this. “Nope; teenage boy in the romance section. You figure it out.”
The grimace on my face resulted in a victorious grin on Brad’s. At least once a week, some post-pubescent asshole sneaks into the mommy-porn section to wrestle his weasel because he can’t get into the adult section of the video store next door.
Casting him an annoyed glance, I muttered, “You seriously need to come up with some cash and install a mirror or a camera in that section so we can stop the little shits before they blow.” Storming out from behind the counter, my hand locked to the handle of the bucket and sponge before my feet plodded me off in the direction of the aisle. Balding Brad was snickering at my back.
“Sorry, Jane.” He snickered again. “But you know how those young boys are. They finish up pretty quick. Catching them is almost impossible.” Another snicker and I considered turning around and shoving the bucket right up his nose.
Reaching the aisle, I swore under my breath when I saw the tell-tale wet spot on the twenty year old brown carpet that was thin and threading from years of traffic. My eyes roamed the shelves of books and my head shook in disgust at the amount of muscle bound naked men that graced the covers.
Now - don’t get me wrong - I have no problem staring at the sculpted pecs and six pack abs of most of these guys, and I can’t say I haven’t been turned on a time or two when I was busy stocking books, but something in the back of my head always told me there was no point to the stories. I mean, how many happily ever afters can really exist in this world?
I never considered reading a romance novel because I operated on the belief that they were fairy tales developed to appease bored housewives who realized that men were nothing more than squishy bags of flatulence who were only good to have around when you needed to lift something heavy.
Dropping to my knees, I used my finger and thumb to pick up the book, taking care not to touch much of the cover in case the horny teen wasn’t clean about shooting his load. Glancing at the title, I laughed. “ A Pirate’s Booty – One Woman’s Journey as a Slave to the Sea .” My eyes took a good roll and I shoved the book back on the shelf with such force, the cheap-ass rickety bookshelf decided to spit out another fifty titles – all of which landed in my lap or on my head.
Fuck my life…
Pushing the books to the side, I scrubbed at the spot left by the audacious teen and threw the sponge back in the bucket so hard the water splashed out the side and onto my clothes. My breath huffed out in front of me blowing my mouse brown bangs up and out of my face.
“Screw this.”
There was nothing more
“Hey Jane, I’m going to need you to go clean up aisle three in the romance section.”
I looked up from the fashion magazine I was reading into the beady brown eyes of my balding, middle-aged boss, Brad. On further examination, I determined that his shirt was pulled apart at the buttons, his wide tie wasn’t straight, and his pleated pants were doing the slouchy, open butterfly thing beneath his protruding belly.
“I just cleaned aisle three an hour ago.” My excitement must have been written on my face. It was the only explanation for Brad’s annoyed reaction. Narrowing his beady eyes, he pointed in the direction of the mess. He’d apparently mastered the art of the silent command. I assumed sit and fetch would be next.
Holding my hands up in defeat, I caved - quickly. Most times with Brad, caving was the only thing you could do. Plus it was the easiest thing to do and I liked easy.
“Fine. What am I cleaning? Did someone knock over the books again and your stomach is preventing you from bending over to pick them up?” Okay, sure, being sarcastic with the boss wasn’t the brightest idea, but considering I was working for next to nothing, I thought I was entitled to be snarky.
He grinned and I knew the bastard was enjoying this. “Nope; teenage boy in the romance section. You figure it out.”
The grimace on my face resulted in a victorious grin on Brad’s. At least once a week, some post-pubescent asshole sneaks into the mommy-porn section to wrestle his weasel because he can’t get into the adult section of the video store next door.
Casting him an annoyed glance, I muttered, “You seriously need to come up with some cash and install a mirror or a camera in that section so we can stop the little shits before they blow.” Storming out from behind the counter, my hand locked to the handle of the bucket and sponge before my feet plodded me off in the direction of the aisle. Balding Brad was snickering at my back.
“Sorry, Jane.” He snickered again. “But you know how those young boys are. They finish up pretty quick. Catching them is almost impossible.” Another snicker and I considered turning around and shoving the bucket right up his nose.
Reaching the aisle, I swore under my breath when I saw the tell-tale wet spot on the twenty year old brown carpet that was thin and threading from years of traffic. My eyes roamed the shelves of books and my head shook in disgust at the amount of muscle bound naked men that graced the covers.
Now - don’t get me wrong - I have no problem staring at the sculpted pecs and six pack abs of most of these guys, and I can’t say I haven’t been turned on a time or two when I was busy stocking books, but something in the back of my head always told me there was no point to the stories. I mean, how many happily ever afters can really exist in this world?
I never considered reading a romance novel because I operated on the belief that they were fairy tales developed to appease bored housewives who realized that men were nothing more than squishy bags of flatulence who were only good to have around when you needed to lift something heavy.
Dropping to my knees, I used my finger and thumb to pick up the book, taking care not to touch much of the cover in case the horny teen wasn’t clean about shooting his load. Glancing at the title, I laughed. “ A Pirate’s Booty – One Woman’s Journey as a Slave to the Sea .” My eyes took a good roll and I shoved the book back on the shelf with such force, the cheap-ass rickety bookshelf decided to spit out another fifty titles – all of which landed in my lap or on my head.
Fuck my life…
Pushing the books to the side, I scrubbed at the spot left by the audacious teen and threw the sponge back in the bucket so hard the water splashed out the side and onto my clothes. My breath huffed out in front of me blowing my mouse brown bangs up and out of my face.
“Screw this.”
There was nothing more
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