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“Malibu girls aren’t my type,” Gabriel confirms.
He knows she’s not from Malibu, but that’s not the point.
“Not my business,” I tell him, even though a wave of relief washes over me. When I slide my eyes to him, he gives me a knowing look.
“You think your uncle will take half?” I hold up the camera, changing the subject.
“Don’t get too crazy,” Gabriel laughs.
He pushes off from the counter and before he leaves, he says, “By the way, I forgot to tell you the other day that Emil has that new exhaust in you wanted.”
His cousin Emiliano ownsDeSoto Customsin Boyle Heights, and he does good work. I’ve wanted to get a custom exhaust on my bike for some time now.
Gabriel exits the store, and I hold the camera in my hand, thinking about Sasha.
* * *
Rocket Queenby Guns N’ Roses
As soon asI open the back door to the record store, I hear an oldGuns N’ Rosessong playing louder than acceptable through the Bluetooth speakers at the front. Sasha’s young and I know she’s used to working in bars, but this isn’t a bar. Plus, I’ve already told her this is a noGuns N’ Roseszone, which makes me believe she’s still a little upset, and this is her way of getting back at me.
I place the camera on my desk before heading into the front. As soon as I get to the counter, I stop dead in my tracks. I was intent on turning the music down or off, but I’m fixated on the scene in front of me. My chest feels heavy, and I can’t breathe as Sasha stands on a step stool dusting some of the guitars on the wall.
I shouldn’t be looking at her ass as it sways back and forth to the music, but I can’t look away. She bends her knees, shaking her hips, the layers of her skirt shifting back and forth, threatening to expose the color of her panties underneath. The heavy but undeniable sound of Axl Rose’s voice singingRocket Queenis muted in the background, because all my thoughts focus on her. A lump forms in my throat and my stomach tightens.
My eyes travel from her high-top Converse up her long as fuck legs that disappear under a very short, very pink, skirt. I can’t help but imagine running my fingers up the back of her thighs and taking her heart shaped ass in the palms of my hands. The temptation is real, and I feel it deep in my gut, stirring more than just my dick.
An uncontrolled groan travels up my throat, threatening to escape as she raises her hands over her head to dust a shitty Ibanez on the wall. TheRamone’st-shirt tied at her waist inches further up her stomach exposing a thin tan line at her hip, and I think I might just die on the spot. The room spins and I’d give anything to have my hands on her, but this is my place of business.
I should turn the music off but I’m rooted to the spot, mesmerized as my body betrays me, and I feel like a seventeen-year-old kid who can’t control his erection. Tendrils of blonde hair fall loose from her bun, and I realize I’m standing on thin ice, all too willing to crash through and take what’s mine.
Fuck me.
She turns around and sees me as I lick my lips with heat in my eyes I’m not fast enough to hide, and my fists clenched at my sides. The stool tilts, her balance faltering, and it takes me three quick strides to reach out and grab her before she falls. Her body rests in my arms, and I tighten my grip, not ready to tilt her upright just yet. She feels like a puzzle piece being set in its place, and my heart bangs against my rib cage. Her eyes pin me, and become a version of what feels like home.
I don’t want to want her.
But I do.
I shake the vision from my head, regaining composure. “Rule number one, baby, noGuns N’ Rosesis to be played in my presence,” I say, as I tuck the loose piece of hair behind her ear and set her upright.
She stands on her own, smoothing down her skirt before saying, “Well, it’s a good thing you weren’t here.” She smirks, her face full of mischief.
The music blares from the speaker as I glare at her. “What if a customer came in?” I ask, annoyed.
My eyes track her hand as she reaches into her blouse to pull out the phone that was tucked under her bra strap, and shakes it at me. “I can turn it off from here.”
She taps the button with exaggeration and the music ends. Suddenly, the store is so quiet I can almost hear my heartbeat.
“Besides, it’s late afternoon,” she explains. “Usually nobody comes in at this time. It’s like the dead zone.”
“You’ve only worked here a month. You think I don’t know that?” I rub the back of my neck, feeling remorseful for being so harsh, but she has me on edge and I’m ready to snap.
“Sorry, boss,” she says, sounding offended.
I soften my expression, realizing that she’s not at fault for my feelings. “You don’t have to dust the inventory.” I point to the instruments hanging from hooks on the wall.
“I know, but your dust bunnies are having babies.” She attempts a smile, and just that little tilt at the corner of her mouth fills the dark corners of me with light.
