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He raises his eyebrows as if to ask if I’m questioning him. “Your coat isn’t part of your uniform,” he says with a tight smile. “It’s not a request.”
Yanking my arm free, I turn to Fiona and hand her my stuff before storming to the box office. I pull the door shut with a slam, refusing to look back into the lobby, and go to work booting up the computer and ticket machine and setting up my till.
The first few hours of my shift pass slowly. I hate it. I can hear Fiona and Trey in the lobby chatting and laughing, and Link’s running the concession stand with a perfect view of my misery. A cold gust of autumn wind whistles through the little hole in the window, and my teeth chatter.
I jump when there’s a knock at the door. I spin in my chair and open it to find Trey, a smiling tugging at his lips.
“Can I come in?”
I look to see if Lincoln’s watching. “Are you allowed to?”
Trey laughs, the sound stirring a flutter in my stomach. “It’s cute that you think Link has any say in what I do.”
I glance around the small space doubtfully but shift to the side and let him enter. His body presses close to mine, and I start to warm up.
“Relax, Bennett,” he says with a smirk when he sees me lean back awkwardly against the ticket machine. “It’s not like this is the first time we’ve been this close.”
A blush creeps up my neck as I recall the way he touched me at the party, but he has a point. Trey reaches for my sad, red hands and rubs them with his. I close my eyes at the contact. His skin is callused and so warm, and his larger hands engulf mine perfectly as he massages feeling into my aching fingers. I moan involuntarily, and Trey chuckles.
I open my eyes to find his bronze eyes looking back, his pupils dilated. His breath picks up and mine follows suit as westare at each other, our faces inches apart. I can see the dusting of freckles across his nose and a little scar running above his mouth that stops just at the pink of his upper lip.
The box office door swings open, and I startle.
Lincoln looks between us and then his eyes drop to where our hands connect, but he doesn’t seem angry. He gives Trey an exasperated look, then points a finger at me. “Out,” he commands. Now, he sounds angry.
“I thought I had to stay out here…,” I start.
“Do youwantto stay out here?”
“Well, no.”
“Then go inside,” he grits out as if I’m annoying him.
I glare at him. He’s giving me whiplash. First he goes all alpha male in my defense at his party, and now he’s back to being a bully.
Pick a lane.
I push past his shoulder, hating the way my skin zips with the contact even with two layers of clothing between us. Trey follows us into the lobby, and I give Fiona a tired smile when she gives me a sympathetic wave. But as I walk toward her, Link’s voice stops me.
“This isn't a social hour,” he sneers as I turn to face him. “There’s film Mylar all over the floor upstairs—it needs to be cleaned up.”
John taught us early on in training that if you let the end of a reel slap against the metal of the projector when a movie is finished rewinding, it makes a mess. It’s one of the downfalls of having old-school projectors—they have a lot of upkeep.
“Oh, that was my fault…,” Trey starts, but Lincoln raises his hand, his eyes never leaving mine, and Trey falls quiet, his gaze curious. “Sunshine, here, was cold, and I think this task will warm her up.”
“Sure,” I clip, walking to the supply closet and wrestling out the ancient vacuum. I eye the frayed cord. Damn thing is a fire hazard.
“No,” Lincoln interrupts as I start to haul it toward the stairs.
“What?”
“You can’t use that—it’ll make too much noise.”
I blink at him in confusion, and he rolls his eyes.
“Use the broom.”
“But that’ll take forever. Can’t I just wait until the movies are out and vacuum then?”
