I shoot him a cutting look over the edge of the mug as I swallow the rest of the amber liquid.
“After all,” he folds his arms across his chest, “you are the Big Bad Wolf.”
My grin is half-grimace. “And that is very bad news for grandmas right now.”
Chapter2
Trash Troll
RED
“Hey, I know you,” someone exclaims, cutting through the music in my ears.
My combat boots drop off the table and slam into the ground as I jackknife up in the chair, my heart taking off like a shot. Sweat pools in my palms, and I swipe them down my rumpled black rock band sweatshirt.
I pull out my earbuds with clumsy fingers. A guy hovers over me in the library, excitement and recognition sparking in his eyes. His friend stands next to him, watching me with curiosity.
Witchtits, I knew I should have receded into the depths of the university stacks. Curse my dependence on mochas. They only allow students to drink cafe drinks in the study room. Here, people talk quietly and work in groups.
I traded my usual solitude for four shots of espresso to cure my trash troll state. I love working nights, but I’m getting only about two hours of sleep before my nine AM class. And right now, I feel like absolute garbage.
Which begs the question, how did this guy recognize me in trash troll mode, and why would he bother me?
Because he knows who you really are.
My heart pounds like a jackrabbit’s at the nasty little thought.
The guy adjusts the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. “You’re that redheaded girl who works at the Poison Apple. Aren’t you a bartender?”
His shorter buddy chimes in. “Oh yeah, that’s your name, Red.”
Of course. My hair is a bright fucking beacon, announcing me everywhere I go. Vibrant red, most people assume it’s a dye job, but it’s pure genetics. And right now, it’s a shaggy mess, in a haphazard bun.
I almost sag in relief. “Yeah,” I force the word out, though I feel shaky to my core.
“Well, shit. I’m Alan and this is Jimi. Think you could hook us up with free drinks some time?” the first guy asks, before shooting me a flirtatious look that comes off more like a leer.
Rolling my shoulders backward, I regain my balance. I’m used to this kind of coercion, but usually it’s after midnight, and I’m behind a bar. Right now, I’m too exhausted and on edge to deal with entitled little boys thinking they can charm something out of me today.
“Sorry, they don’t let me do that,” I coolly lie, readjusting my textbooks on the long, shared table.
People start to take notice from a few seats down and look up with interest.
“Of course they do,” Alan says with a cheerful scoff. “I’ve heard you can be a lot of fun.” He leans in and traces his fingertip down my neck.
Goosebumps immediately rise and race down my entire body at the touch, and it’s like a switch is clicked into the “on” position.
“I can be a lot of fun,” I purr, despite myself.
My legs instantly press together as I think about first taking Alan and then Jimi on the ride of their lives. The images come almost violently, as they are unbidden. Heat rushes through my body as I glance up through my lashes in a way that I know is pure seductress.
Calm down, I order my hormones. You can control yourself.
My chair scoots back with a loud metal shriek. The second he’s out of reach, my body dramatically wails, wanting to be touched, wanting more touch everywhere. But I’ve cooled it, and I regained control.
Wiping away the sultry vixen trying to muscle her way out, I shoot the two boys a stony look. “But I’m not interested in having fun with either of you.”
The playful air evaporates immediately and Alan scowls. He leaves with his friend in tow, but not before muttering an audible, “bitch.”
