AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Does that mean I have a job, too?” she asks.
“Yes, darlin’ Daniela, you have a job. You can start tomorrow at six,” I reply.
I reach for her bag and she says, “Be careful, it’s heavy.” I smile and toss it over my shoulder. I could toss her over the other one and carry them both up the narrow staircase if I wanted to. She follows me to the stairway but I do the gentlemanly thing and tell her, “lady’s first,” so that I can watch her ass bounce from side to side as she climbs to the second floor. Yeah, she’s a delight from every angle.
I tell her to stop at room two, pull the keys out of my pocket, and open the door. She steps in and surveys the room while I set her bag on the little sofa.
“It isn’t much but it has a small kitchen, a privy, and a queen size bed,” I tell her.
“It’s like going back in time,” she replies.
“Sorry it’s not a penthouse suite in Manhattan,” I answer and she turns to me and smiles.
“No, it’s better than that!” she tells me, “It’s like the inside of a country cottage or something. It’s exactly the kind of place that I want to stay.”
I can’t help but grin as her innocence melts a little more of my heart. “I’m glad you like it, darlin’. See you tomorrow at six sharp.”
I leave her and go back to the bar but I can’t get her off my mind. I lean against the wall and look out at the crowd of inebriated patrons but I don’t really see them because I’m consumed by the image in my head of what’s going on upstairs. She’s probably undressing now and I wonder what color panties she has on. She seems like a city girl so her bra must match. I’d love to be up there helping her out of her clothes. I can feel tiny beads of sweat forming on my brow and I know I have to go into the office and calm down before the entire bar sees the erection that's growing in my pants.
I splash some cold water on my face and do my best to shake it off. If I can’t get a grip on this it’s going to be a very long night.
3
My First Day
Daniela
I’ve slept away most of the day and my stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten anything since the airport in New York. I foolishly pop open the fridge in my room to find nothing more than an empty, metal ice cube tray inside so I decide to slip downstairs to see what’s on the lunch menu. There are a handful of patrons seated at the bar watching the television, a stout, burly bartender, and a skinny redhead in an apron standing by the kitchen door. They all turn to look at me as I walk to the bar and sit down.
“Good day, what can I get ya?” the bartender asks me.
“I’m not sure. Are you serving food now?” I ask in response.
“We’ve got bangers and mash, boxy or corned beef sliders for lunch today,” he replies.
Bangers? Boxy? I have no idea what he’s talking about and I wonder if he’s messing with me because I’m American but he sees my expression and laughs.
“Sausage and mashed potatoes, potato pancakes, hot corned beef sandwiches, and maybe, if ya ask me nicely, a burger and chips…or French fries for you,” he tells me.
“Burger, medium well, sounds great. Thank you,” I reply.
“Name’s Bryce and you are?” he wipes his hand on a bar towel and holds it out to me. I take it and say, “Daniela Morgan.”
“Nice to meet you, Daniela. I hear you’ll be working with us tonight,” he replies.
“Yes, six o’clock,” I answer.
“Welcome aboard,” he tells me then heads to the kitchen to deliver my order. He comes back a couple of minutes later with a tasty looking burger and a mountain of french friends and leaves me to my meal.
I look toward the closed office door and I wonder if Dex is in there. He’s not at all what I expected to find when I came here. I figured my new stepbrother would be the stereotypical Irish man with red hair and a matching beard. Having seen his father’s dark hair I should have known better but nothing could have prepared me for the man that I met last night. He looks like something out of a Hollywood movie with his perfectly chiseled jaw and bright green eyes not to mention his height and muscles. I’m five foot four and he’s at least a foot taller.
I’m practically drooling over the memory of my stepbrother when I hear Bryce, the bartender, shout some sort of greeting to someone at the door. I turn around and see Dex on his way inside wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of cotton shorts and there’s sweat glistening on his rosy cheeks. He looks even wider than he did last night with muscular arms that appear larger than my head. Even his legs are perfectly toned and, well, judging by the size of the bulge in his shorts, he’s large everywhere.
I size him up again. He’s easily six foot five and ripped like a bodybuilder. He makes me feel like a child when he slips past me and heads up the stairs. I watch his every move until he’s out of sight and wonder where he’s going. He didn’t mention us being neighbors last night.
“Get ya anything else?” Bryce asks, breaking my trance.
“No, thank you. I’m good. Does Dex live here?” I ask.
