Tricked Steel: A Friends To Lovers Standalone Romance

by Fields, MJ

  I look at the clock and sigh. Five minutes until lights out. Thankfully, it’s been dead all night, since Marcy only scheduled me to close, knowing that most of the world is at home, cooking pies, or traveling to be with family for the holidays.

  I have the espresso machine so clean it’s shining, not because I’m overly ambitious but because it’s been dead most of the night. Only one of the three bean to cup machines is running with my very own special pumpkin spice recipe to fill up my thermos for Chloe in the morning, giving her at least a taste of the holiday that she’s missing. It won’t take me the normal half-hour of cleaning time after hours, and I’ll be home earlier than expected.

  When a beep comes through my headset, telling me someone is here, I groan to myself before saying, “Welcome to The Bean. What can I get for you tonight?”

  Snickers come through my headset, and I roll my eyes, bite my tongue, and wait for the bullshit to subside.

  “This is our first time; please be gentle.” A guy chuckles.

  You have got to be kidding me. I cringe to myself. I hate these kinds of idiots.

  “Any suggestions?” a smooth, low, raspy voice says, or sings, or tries to sound sexy—whatever.

  Gross.

  I don’t say a thing.

  “Tell me; is there a secret bean that will make me crave no other bean ever again?” Yet another male voice asks.

  “Bro, do not do that to her. If she tells you, she could get fired,” smooth, low, raspy voice says, or sings, or tries to sound sexy—again, whatever.

  Again, Gross!

  And then … all together, they laugh hysterically, and a couple different voices say, “For spilling the beans!”

  “We close in two minutes, so either order or drive away with some dignity.”

  “Oh, shit.” One laughs.

  “Guessing that means no time for a sampling?” Another now laughs.

  Fuck them, I think as I watch the clock tick to nine p.m. and reach over, killing the lights.

  “Oh, come on; it’s a holiday. We’re weary travelers who want to chow down on the bean. Be kind and ask yourself: what would Jesus do?”

  One of them whispers as if I can’t freaking hear them, “It’s Thanksgiving Eve, man; Jesus is next month, so it should be: what would the Pilgrims do?”

  I hear a laugh. “Right, too much smoke.”

  And now they’re pulling at my one heartstring. They’re high, which somehow makes stupidity a little more bearable.

  I let out a long, exaggerated sigh then tell them, “You have two seconds to order, so save the one brain cell you share combined, and the history lesson, and place your order or jet.”

  “Whatever’s easiest, babe. There are three of us,” smooth, low raspy says, or sings—again, whatever.

  And again …

  Gross.

  “Babe?” I huff.

  “Dude, ma’am, miss, sir, or whatever pronoun floats your boat, three coffees, three burritos, whatever flavor is convenient. We’re easy.”

  Chapter 2

  “Confidence is the sexiest thing…

  a woman can wear.”

  ~Author Unknown

  Patrick

  “You two tryin’ to get my ass in trouble as I’m saving yours?” I ask, attempting to put them in check, but right now, they’re a damn trip, and it’s hard as hell not to laugh.

  “Fucking brownies.” Max chuckles from the back seat. “Who’d have thought?”

  “I’m gonna go with everyone else at the party, under the damn pier, but the two of you.” I shake my head.

  Still waiting on a total, I look over at Amias then back at Max. “Look, I don’t want to have to do this, but you’ve given me no choice but to remind you of the rules. You two don’t take an open drink from anyone at a party, because—”

  “Dude, we’re not chicks.” Max laughs.

  “Or …” I pause long enough to make sure I have Cheech & Chong’s attention. “Buy a fucking brownie from a white guy with dreads. Clearly, he’s not the head of the PTA, and obviously, it’s not a fucking bake sale at Saint Mary’s. You wanna hang with the big dogs without JT or me, you follow those rules. Or have Truth or Brisa—”

  Amias laughs now. “We expect good advice from you. That’s some bullshit, and you know it.”

  Max chimes in, “Yeah, I mean, let’s talk about where you went tonight and—”

  “Let’s.” I arch a brow at him. “You interrupted my date.”

  “Getting a dick in isn’t a date.” Max laughs.

  Little shit’s right, but still … Could have gone for round two; at least given her another orgasm. I mean, shit, she’s the only one of the masses sliding in my DMs that was straight up wanting to fuck. How do I know this?

  Her message: You’re hot. I’m hot. Let’s fuck.

  Nothing sexier than a woman with confidence. Well, nothing except the next message.

  Her: One time.

  Me: I like that rule. No sense in catching feels at 17.

  Her: *high-five emoji*

  “I’d have left mid-thrust if any of you needed anything, but that’s not the point. The point is, follow the rules, don’t lie to a chick to get sucked or fucked. Plenty out there who know what they want. Don’t leave room for interpretation. We all know what happened to Noah Beckett, and we all know that’s some major fuckery of the me-too movement. And don’t put a damn thing in your mouth unless you know where it came from and where it’s been.”

  From the speaker comes, “That’s nineteen dollars and fifty-eight cents, and add extra for my therapist. I’m going to need extra sessions to be able to digest the bullshit I just heard from you all tonight.”

  I smirk as the boys begin to laugh, and then I put the Jeep in drive.

  At the window, I watch as this chick, who I would have expected to be a fuck of a lot bigger than the maybe buck ten, based on her voice and give-no-fuck attitude, fills a bag. She’s in jeans that are too big, belted with black leather that wraps around her tiny waist, a tee-shirt tied in a knot in the back, looking like a bunny tail. Her jet-black hair is in pigtail braids, hanging about waist-length and thick as hell beneath a backward ball cap. Her ass, like an onion, brings a tear to one’s eye.

  Max leans up and thinks he’s whispering as he says, “I got a fifty that, when she turns around, she’s like sixty years old and has meth mouth.”

  She whips around as Amias leans back and “whispers” to Max, “Nothing wrong with older women, especially ones who look like that from behind. At least they know what the hell they want.”

  Her large, almond-shaped eyes are several shades of brown, maybe even yellows and a tinge of whiskey. They rival the beauty of the season that is now all but gone. Lashes, long and thick, naturally frame them. Truth be told, if they weren’t the angriest set of eyes I’ve ever seen look at me, I’d tell her how damn beautiful they are. Her brows full, and not because they’re drawn on, penciled, or filled in, are one hundred percent natural … and furrowed.

  Her face is more round than oval, but her cheekbones are very sharp and defined. Her lips are insanely full, and I bet, if she smiled, which she’s not, not one bit, they’d cover her perfect fucking face. Her lower lip is plumper than the top, but not by much, and she has a killer cupid’s bow … Perfection, so damn perfect, yet she’s frowning.

  When I attempt a smile, which isn’t easy because my throat and mouth are now the Sahara Desert, and I’m not even one of the two who’s fucked up like that in my ride, she narrows her eyes and sneers as she drops burritos wrapped in foil into the bag, showing that she has a slight gap between her front teeth.

  This girl is an anomaly in today’s world. She’s natural perfection.

  I can’t stop my eyes from glancing down, and … fuck, I hope these two jackasses don’t catch the twisted humor in her shirt that has a cup and a burrito on it, with the words, “It’s All About The Bean” arched over it, but God help them if they notice her tits, because she’s straight-up perfect, free as
fuck, too, and if they mention that, I’m calling their fathers—my uncles—to come get them.

  Why?

  Who the fuck knows why? And who the fuck knows why I want to climb through the window and lick her? Probably because of all the comments on the videos and pics I’ve posted where chicks comment, ‘I licked it, it’s mine’.

  I want that to be mine.

  She carries the cups over and sets them down, scowl in place, and I get no eye contact whatsoever. I’m seriously worried that, the minute she opens that window, I’m going to fucking lick her.

  She turns and walks the short distance to the counter behind her, grabs the bag, and then carries it back. Rolling her eyes again, she releases a breath, opens the window, and looks up. “Nineteen dollars and fifty-eight cents.”

  Max leans forward as I dig in my pocket to grab cash and asks, “How much for the therapy?”

  “Save it. You need it more than I do.”

  Amias cracks up, and so does Max.

  Tone completely flat and emotionless, she says, “I’m not joking.”

  I grin as I peel off a bill and hand it to her.

  “Thanks, bab—”

  “Don’t even.” She snatches the money from my outstretched hand then slams the window shut so quickly that I’m just barely able to retract my damn hand.

  “Damn … sis.” Max laughs. “She’s—”

  “Back down, Max.”

  “Oh, shit.” Amias laughs. “Tricks is into—”

  “No, bro, I just don’t want our food spit in.” I turn back and look toward the window as she’s opening it.

  “No disrespect,” I say, looking for a name tag as she thrusts her hand holding my change at me.

  “I don’t tamper with food and stop looking at my tits.”

  Max and Amias again bust out laughing.

  “I was looking for a name tag,” I explain.

  “Yeah, well, take your change, your food, and your drinks. You don’t get my name. Feel free to complain to management.”

  “I’m not going to complain,” I say, trying once again to redeem myself. “And keep the change.”

  “You gave me a hundred dollars; I don’t—”

  “Call it an inconvenience tax. You’ve more than earned—”

  “Oh my God, just take your daddy’s money and let me get the hell out of here.”

  “Better not let his mom hear that. She and his father are co-owners of—”

  “Max,” I say at the same time she leans over and drops the change in my lap, saying, “Great.”

  I scowl at them, trying to shut them up, when the bag of food is then dropped in my lap.

  As Max and Amias bust up laughing again, I swing back around as she shoves two of the three cups out the window. I grab them before she can drop them into my lap, too. Quickly placing one in the drink holder, I then grab the third.

  “Have a great—”

  I stop as she slams the window shut.

  “The fuck?” Max chuckles.

  “Dude, think of how your mom would react if she heard all that shit that she just did,” Amias scolds him.

  “She does … daily.” Max laughs harder.

  “From her husband, not a stranger who she knows has mad respect for her,” I sigh, handing him his coffee. I look back through the window, and she’s sputtering to herself.

  She’s fucking pissed.

  I decide to cut my losses.

  I throw my Jeep in drive and decide right then and there that, after Thanksgiving break, I’m going to be spending a shit load of time here, because that girl, that insanely sexy, confident, give-a-shit-less girl, doesn’t even see … me. But I’m going to make sure she does, and I’m going to make sure she likes what she sees.

  Stopping before I pull out onto the road, I reach for my phone to send a text to my parents and realize it’s not there.

  “Fuck!” I snarl.

  “Bad coffee?” Amias laughs.

  “Phone’s not here. I think I left it—”

  “Bro, your hook-up has your phone?”

  “Fuuuuck,” I growl as I peel out and onto the road.

  * * *

  With Amias and Max buzzing as they feed their faces in the Jeep, gushing about the pumpkin spiced coffee and the burrito that taste like Thanksgiving, I hike it down the quarter mile service road on Seashore Academy property, a private school the Crew and I will begin attending after break. I’m hoping like hell I don’t get busted by the campus cop walking around outside, or the RA in MacArthur Hall, the all-girls dorms, and maybe somehow, someone will be coming in late, and I can slip in. Chances of that happening on a holiday, with only a couple handful of its residents having stayed back over break, are one in a fucking million.

  Standing on the ground, looking two stories up at the only lit window, hoping like hell I’m beneath the right one, I throw a pebble at the window and wait.

  I’m going to get busted. Best-case scenario, I’ll get detention before I even begin school here, followed by the possibility of getting suspended, and finally, the great possibility I will get arrested for trespassing.

  All for a piece of ass.

  A one and done.

  A hot as hell one and done.

  The one before the one who’s gonna fuck you up.

  Christ, I think as I pick up another pebble and toss it at the window, disgusted with myself. Straight-up, I’m not a fool. I know the difference between catching feels and wanting to nut. I don’t fall in love with anything that doesn’t have string, and I don’t promise anyone more but a mutually beneficial and hot as fuck exchange of orgasms. That’s right; not sex, orgasms.

  At our last school, I had a regular for about six months, Kenzie. Kenzie and I did the dating thing before the fucking thing. She got pissed when I didn’t tell her that I loved her after we fucked. I tried to explain that I didn’t say it before, what would make her think I would after. She acted like she understood. Clearly, she didn’t, because she got even more pissed when I told her the truth—that she was my favorite unrelated female.

  She became insanely jealous of my cousins, and I started distancing shit. Then she tried to start some rumors about Truth and me. Said shit about me liking cousins, specifically ones with fat asses more than her perfect one.

  I knew damn well she was talking about my cousin Truth, the most body sensitive of all the girls, especially about her ass, due to her dancing and the way those bitches can be so ruthless and brutal. They distorted the fuck out of a girl’s body image. Truth had some extra junk in her trunk, but she wasn’t fat, for fuck’s sake.

  Truth never heard the rumor; her brother, Justice, and I made sure it was crushed. When I confronted Kenzie, she didn’t deny it, and I was done.

  I was already fucking done.

  Before we moved, I slept with her best friend, and no, it wasn’t a revenge fuck, not on my part anyway. But Annie made sure word spread. That pissed me off, too, for a hot minute. However, Annie told me she was sick of Kenzie’s superiority complex, the way she thinks she’s better than anyone else because she fucked me, get this, “the most.”

  Did I feel used? No. Fuck no. But I easily could have.

  Tossing another stone, I see lights reflecting off the windows to the far left and grab a fistful and toss them.

  When the window opens and the blonde looks out, I whisper, even though I’m not sure she can even hear me, “My phone.”

  “Go around back. I’ll meet you.”

  When I’m about to ask her to just toss it down, I hear a car door slam.

  She motions to the tree line and gestures for me to get out of the light. I do just that.

  I wait until she gives me the all-clear then head in the direction to the back entrance.

  Chapter 3

  “I got whistled at once and my mom

  told me not to respond.

  ‘You’re a lady not a dog’.”

  ~ Author Unknown

  Savvy

  It took forever to get out
of work after dealing with the three last-minute Neanderthals. Neanderthals who were eating three of the best burritos I ever made.

  My own recipe that Marcy approved, as long as I made some for her to sample—my Thanksgiving Garbage Burritos. Chopped cranberries, apples, garlic, onion, some honey, and lime make up a thick, chunky spread. Then I added pinto beans, turkey, corn, salsa, stuffing, cheese, and a bit of sour cream, all wrapped up in one of the homemade wraps. It sounds a little gross, but I sampled the goods, and it tasted like Thanksgiving to me.

  I may choose to fast on Thanksgiving, and I may choose to stop giving the finger to holidays by celebrating the total opposite way as intended someday. But my world is upside down and twisted. Chloe’s isn’t. She should have something to remind her of home and the holiday. Truth be told, I have tried not to be bitter. Case in point: the creation of the Thanksgiving Garbage Burrito. But, if I had my way, I’d drive three days for two minutes with either Mom or Liberty. For now, however, I live the path put upon me, not the other way around. Well, at least this time of year.

  Those fuckers may have three of those burritos, but at least Chloe will have one, and the others I threw together to compensate. I’ll just make more in the morning if she happens to like them.

  I lock the door behind me, set the alarm, and hurry to the safety of the VW.

  Once I start it up, I look at the clock and groan, seeing it’s half an hour later than I expected to be heading back, which means less time to binge-eat, binge-read, and sleep before opening up at six.

  * * *

  Standing in my empty room, wondering where Chloe is, but not really, since it isn’t unusual for her to sneak across the quad to McKinley Hall to “Netflix and chill” with one of the guys, or hang out in one of her friends’ rooms. Hell, maybe I will get some alone time in.

  I toss my clothes off and am about ready to hit the shower when I hear the door open and hear that voice say, “Just need to grab my phone.”

  Not just a voice, that voice, I think as I drop down and scurry under my bed, thinking, Un-fucking-believable.