Oh, Keep Your Shirt On
Shaped By Love Book 2
By Michelle Pennington
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Copyright © 2020 by Michelle Pennington
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Michelle Pennington
P.O. Box 54
Hartford, AR 72764
Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locals is completely coincidental.
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Chapter One
Nothing made a work shift feel eternal like being on your period. And despite my utter lack of anything else feminine, like curves of any kind, my uterus didn’t hold back on making me suffer every month.
Normally, I enjoyed being a hostess at one of Spring View’s most popular restaurants, The Loft. And I was good at it. But tonight, it took every ounce of energy I had to stand up straight and smile at customers while a clawed monster clenched and scraped my insides. For eight hours. Eight. Hours.
Luckily, no one on staff expected me to be cheerful or peppy. That was their job. Mine was to smile with just the right mix of welcome and snobbery my boss wanted while managing the flow of waitstaff, table assignments, and hungry customers.
Sure, tonight I felt more like murdering people than putting up with their crap, but I was four days late on my rent and had eight miles left in my gas tank. All too aware of how much I needed this job, I kept moving—putting the families with multiple kids at tables where they wouldn’t upset the high-maintenance couple celebrating their anniversary, pacifying the hulking man who’d drunk too much at the bar while waiting for a date that never showed up, and chasing after an eccentric old lady who’d ordered a sixty-dollar steak to take home to her dog and promptly forgot it at the table.
At least it was payday. Every cent I earned kept me safe from admitting I was a loser and moving back in with my mom and stepdad. I’d lived with them after graduating from college, since they wanted me to start working for their real estate company, but the whole situation was toxic for me. I needed to build my own life. Even if that life was poised on the edge of financial disaster.
When the last customers finally left, my car wasn’t the only thing running on fumes. I dredged up just enough energy to sanitize the menus so I could go home, fantasizing the whole time about getting into bed with a hot rice bag on my abdomen.
“Thanks for the table of cheapskates, Krista.” The male voice dripped with sarcasm.
I looked up and saw Bryce walking toward me. He was a smug piece of work with a hipster beard and hard eyes. Sure, he turned on the charm for the customers, but he didn’t hide his dislike for me. Which was fine. I didn’t like him either.
“You know I go by the rotation Patrick gives me.” And like I could tell if someone was a bad tipper or on a budget just by looking at them.
“Amazing how my tips have gone down since you started working here.”
I hated conflict, but I’d learned how to shut other people down when they wanted to fight with me. It was amazing what a hard, steady look could do to unnerve people. I finished wiping the last menu and dropped it onto the stack before looking at Bryce, my gaze straight and fierce. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t have to. He leaned away from me until his Adam’s apple looked ready to break through his skin.
Satisfied that I’d terrified him just shy of making him pee his pants, I picked up my purse and headed for the manager’s office.
When I walked in, Patrick looked up from his work. “Want your check?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to gauge his mood. Patrick was curt and grumpy on a good day. “And my tip share, if you have it ready.”
He handed me a white business envelope with a long-suffering expression. “I don’t have tonight’s figured yet, but I suppose I can give you everything else you’ve earned for the week.”
“That would be great. I need to get gas on the way home, and I have about twenty-four cents in my bank account.”
He counted out the cash and had me sign for it. “Not my problem. You can always work double shifts if you want to.”
I sighed. Maybe I should, even if it killed me and meant I would lose time working on my art. But things were getting desperate. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”
Turning away, I put my money in my purse and dug around for a tampon. A quick trip to the bathroom, and I could be on my way home.
Tampon found, I took a shortcut through the kitchen, holding the small purple package in my fist since my pencil skirt didn’t have pockets and I wasn’t about to lose it in the depths of my bag again.
Charlotte, one of the chefs, was hard at work cleaning the grill, but she took time to smile at me as I walked through. “Hey, Krista. There’s a leftover slice of chocolate cake over there if you want it.”
Chocolate? I stopped dead in my tracks and spun to the side. There on the empty, stainless steel counter sat an open to-go box with a thick wedge of cake covered in decadent dark chocolate ganache. I’d tasted this divine creation once during my training and had been craving it ever since. For the first time in a long time, the universe had shown me some mercy.
“I’ll take it,” someone called from the other side of the room. It was Bryce.
If I’d wanted to smack him before, now I was ready to shank him.
Since he was bigger than me, likely faster, and closer to the cake, I didn’t have a chance. But I ran toward it anyway. And then, with a resourcefulness born from desperation, I remembered the tampon in my hand and threw it toward the cake. I had one thought. To claim what was mine.
Bryce and I both froze a few feet away from the counter. I stared at the purple package of the tampon now stuck in the ganache like a tilted flag on a muddy battlefield. I let out a choke of laughter at the surprising accuracy of my aim, but Bryce had a vastly different reaction.
Who knew such a mean punk could squeal like a girl? But he did, scrambling backward like it was a venomous snake about to strike. He crashed into a rack of pans and utensils, making the whole thing rattle until tongs and met
al spoons crashed to the floor.
“Bryce!” Charlotte yelled, stalking over. “What are you doing?”
He steadied himself against the rack and pointed at me. “She threw a tampon on the cake.”
Charlotte swung around to me. “What?”
I shrugged and pulled the tampon free. “He was about to steal it from me.”
Charlotte burst out laughing. “Nice move.”
“That is so wrong,” he said, his voice breathless with disgust.
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a paper towel and wiped the chocolate away. “It’s not like it was a used one.”
Bryce flinched again and went pale.
Totally enjoying this now, I closed the lid of the container and held it out to him. “I’ll share it with you if you want,” I said, knowing there was no way he would accept.
“Get that away from me.”
“Huh.” I looked down at the cake. “Okay. If you’re sure.” I turned to nod at Charlotte. “Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
“See you,” she said, trying to smother her amusement since Bryce looked like a volcano about to erupt.
When I got out to my car, I did some quick calculations and decided that I could get home without getting gas. It was late, and I was even more desperate than ever to get there now that I had a treat to indulge in. I’d only have fumes left to get to the gas station tomorrow, but I’d make it. Probably.
But as I made the last turn toward home, I saw a lovely sight waiting for me—a million cars lining the street. My neighborhood was made up of two-story duplexes with neatly manicured landscaping, tree-lined walkways, and covered front porches on every building. My unit was at the end on a corner lot, so it was normally quiet. You’d have thought that having the landlord in the unit next to mine would make it even more so, but unfortunately, Damien was a young guy with a lot of friends. In the few weeks I’d lived here, this wasn’t the first time I’d come home to one of his parties.
“Looks like I’ll be sleeping with ear plugs tonight,” I grumbled as I negotiated the narrow space left by cars parked on both sides of the road.
When I got to my driveway, however, I found it blocked by a teal Jeep—of all ridiculous things. I glared at it, my foot pressing down on my brake harder than necessary, wishing I had lasers for eyes so I could just incinerate the thing. But no matter how annoyed I was, the only thing I could do was park somewhere else. Damien was definitely going to hear about his.
Not wanting to block the road, I had to drive down the street to park—something the Jeep owner clearly hadn’t wanted to do—and hike back to my driveway. The only thing that kept me going was the cake I carried. Its sweet scent swirled past me on a breeze that danced by. But after a few yards, my steps slowed. My feet ached from being on them all night, and my cramping was getting worse, so every step became another coal thrown on the fire of my anger. At least it wasn’t cold. It was the beginning of February, but here in Texas, the weather was rarely very cold. Tonight, it was in the sixties, which I was grateful for, since I only wore a light cardigan over my thin white blouse.
Despite my annoyance, I didn’t really blame Damien for having a party on a Thursday night when it felt like this outside. Especially since a cold front was supposed to move in overnight.
The sound of country music grew louder the closer I got, adding insult to injury. Then, as I walked past the Jeep, I saw a pink bumper sticker that said “Daddy’s Princess”.
It didn’t surprise me one bit.
As I walked onto the wide, shared porch, the automatic light came on overhead. Since I needed to find Damien, I knocked on his door instead of opening my own. After a long minute, it was opened by a short, skinny guy. Definitely not Damien.
“Oh, hey,” one of them said. “Here for the party?”
I tried to repress a glare. “No. I’m Damien’s neighbor.”
The guy looked me over. “Wow. He was right. Pretty but scary.”
I raised my eyebrow in response, hoping to shrivel him into a worm.
His eyes widened, and he cleared his throat. “So…are you wanting to talk to Damien?”
“Yes. Where is he?” I asked in a deadly sweet voice.
“In the back yard, I think.”
“Thanks.”
“Uh…do…do you want to come in?”
“No. I’ll go through the back.”
The guy looked massively relieved as he shut the door again. It usually annoyed me that people made assumptions about me. Besides being quiet and blunt, I had one of those faces that made people think I was a witch. I didn’t care enough to correct them, however, especially when I was in a bad mood.
I unlocked my door and shut it harder than necessary behind me. So Damien had been telling his friends how scary I was, huh? Well, if he didn’t get the jeep girl to move, he’d find out how right he was.
Or, maybe not. I was late on my rent after all. Should I force myself to be nice and sweet when I talked to him?
Ugh. The thought made me clench my teeth.
I walked down my entry hallway, dropping my bag on the stairs as I passed by, and left my cake on the counter in the kitchen. I didn’t bother to turn on any lights since that would make it harder to see through the sliding glass door that opened into our shared back yard. Damien’s half of the property was ablaze with exterior lights, torches, a fire in his fire pit, and—to my amazement—colored lights strung around a pergola over a freaking hot tub.
The hot tub was new.
My mouth fell open as I stared at it. Yes, it was really there, complete with changing neon lights under the water, frothing jets, and three pretty girls in bikinis. Oh, and one happy-looking guy—though surprisingly not Damien.
“Where the heck did that come from?” I asked out loud, my breath briefly fogging up the glass.
For the hundredth time, I wondered if the owner had any idea what Damien was doing to his property. Surely landlords weren’t allowed to do whatever they wanted. But Damien had. He’d built a huge, custom grill area next to the patio outside his door, an outdoor sound system, a flagstone path leading to his gravel fire pit, and a hammock in the back corner under the trees. Just beyond the edge of the property ran a stream where Damien had put a bridge to connect the property with the walking path that ran around the whole neighborhood. But none of those things seemed as crazy—as audacious—as installing a hot tub.
Landlords must make more than I’d thought. I never saw the guy going to work, but somehow he could afford all of this while I couldn’t afford to put more than ten bucks at a time in my gas tank.
As I stared outside, the rude guy who’d opened Damien’s door a minute ago walked across the yard and over to the fire pit. He tapped on the shoulder of a guy sitting on one of the benches with his back toward me. After only a few seconds, the guy turned around and stared in my direction.
Bingo. There he was.
I stepped back even though there was no way Damien could see me. My eyes stayed glued to him, however, as he stood up and turned his whole body my way. Thanks to the well-lit yard, it was easy to see him, even from a distance, and as always, I couldn’t help but stare. The man was…way too good-looking.
He reminded me of an oak tree. Tall and graceful, but strong and rooted. His powerful, sloping shoulders blocked out the fire pit behind him, but the orange glow outlined his silhouette and turned his spiked blond hair to gold. Everything about the man would have been intimidating if I didn’t know all too well how boundlessly friendly he was.
Well, that and the fact that I didn’t let myself get intimidated—yes, I reminded myself of that fact. Maybe I had when I was a scrawny art nerd with no confidence back in high school, but now I was a scrawny art nerd who’d graduated from college and had learned to stop worrying what others thought of me. Mostly.
With a deep breath, I unlocked my patio door and slid it open, not bothering to shut it behind me as I stepped outside. As I walked across my patio, Damien said something to his friends and starte
d toward me, his long, athletic stride eating up the distance quickly.
“Hey, Krista,” he called out to me as we moved closer. “How’s it going?”
And how did I respond to this truly delicious man? Did my pulse pick up? Most definitely. Did my heart flutter? Like a swarm of panicked butterflies.
But my mouth, unsurprisingly, had a mind of its own. “Which one of your genius friends drives a teal Jeep? They’re blocking my driveway.”
And that is the brilliant way I, Krista Bennett, talk to hot guys.
Chapter Two
After my epic start, I added sweetly, “Know anyone who might be Daddy’s Princess?”
Damien didn’t respond immediately but kept walking toward me until we met at the boundary line between his side of the yard and mine. We were close, only a few feet apart. From here I could make out the sable-colored stubble on his jaw and the crease between his brows as he turned back to look over his shoulder at his friends.
“Just about every girl here, but the Jeep is Jen’s. Sorry. I’ll get it moved.”
“Thanks.” I held out my keys to him.
His eyebrow shot up, and an amused smile flashed across his face. “Um…? I don’t think your keys will work on her Jeep.”
I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh at his joke. “Really? Thanks for pointing that out. Since I had to park down the street, you get to move my car too.”
His smile glinted through the soft shadows on his face. “I guess that’s fair.”
“I’ll open my garage door for you,” I said, turning away despite the insidious urge I felt to stay right where I was.
I walked back inside, resolute but not without regret. Once a sheet of glass safely stood between me and my desire to go back to him, I hurried to the kitchen. Since I hadn’t turned on the lights, I could only see by the exterior light coming inside. Luckily, it was more than enough to help me navigate. I grabbed my cake and a fork, then stood by the glass door while I ate, looking to see if Damien was making any progress.
He stood by the hot tub talking to a girl with a big, messy bun, an adorable blue-and-white striped bikini, and the perfect figure to fill it out. She stood up, revealing her flat stomach and wide, feminine hips as well as her long, shapely legs as she climbed out of the hot tub. Damien handed her a towel and stayed talking to the others in the hot tub as she ran across the yard. It was weird that he didn’t even seem that interested in her. Of course, there were a half dozen other women around the yard, and they were just the ones I could see. Maybe he was dating someone else.
Oh, Keep Your Shirt On: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Shaped By Love Book 2) Page 1