“You working again this week?”
“Yeah, I’m not off until next Tuesday.”
“I’m sure I’ll see you around real soon.”
“Sure, yeah.” Tom smiled nervously. “So, uh, are you gonna tell me? Or do I have to guess?”
“What?”
“What I look like,” Tom pressed. “You said I don’t look like an embalmer, so… isn’t that why you told me to stay?”
“Maybe I just wasn’t done enjoying your company yet,” Cypress replied coyly.
Tom didn’t know what to say. All he could do was laugh and bow his head. Cypress, HFG, was actually flirting with him. His brain simply wouldn’t cooperate and restore enough function to let him respond in any normal way.
“Hey.” Cypress gently nudged Tom’s chin, catching his eye. “You shouldn’t hide your smile like that. You have a great smile.”
Tom’s heart proceeded to implode.
“You take care, Thomas Hill,” Cypress said with a smug little smirk, “and maybe I’ll tell you next time.”
“Okay, yeah, I’ll hold you to it,” Tom replied dumbly, unable to stop himself from laughing anxiously. “And hey, next time make sure you bring the right flowers.”
Cypress looked confused.
“You know, since Gerald thought you… you’d brought the wrong ones.” Tom’s ears were hot. “It was a joke. A really bad one. I’m sorry.” He tried opening the garage door without punching in the key code, helplessly pulling on the locked knob and drowning in a wave of embarrassment. “Right. Um. I’m gonna go.”
“I’ll see you around, Tom,” Cypress said, offering one last dazzling smile before slipping out the door.
Tom finally got the code in the keypad and slunk defeatedly back into the hallway. He was already replaying the entire conversation in his head, picking apart what he’d said and how lame his joke had been, and he was definitely committing to memory how nice Cypress’s hand had felt.
Oh, and that strange rush of heat when he’d told him to stay.
Was that a thing? Did he have a thing for being told what to do? Why was it so hot?
As he made his way up the hallway, the door on the other end was opening. It was probably Aaron, coming back to demand more lessons in wound filler and to complain about what a jerk Gerald was.
Instead, it was Junior, Gerald’s oldest son and Tom’s worst mistake after drinking too many tequila shots ever. Unlike his father, who was pale, balding, and quite fat, Junior was tan, blond, and gorgeous. Those good looks had been Tom’s downfall, but now the very sight of him made Tom’s skin crawl.
The relationship, if it could even be called one, had ended badly.
Tom wished he could turn right around and hide in the garage, but he needed to get to the office. He forced a polite smile, sliding around the stretchers and trying to pass by Junior as quickly as he could. “Hey, Junior.”
“Hey there, Tommy.” Junior smiled, far too friendly, blocking the office door. “I was looking for you.”
“What is it?” Tom frowned. “Is something wrong with Mr. Corman up front?”
Junior was a funeral director like Aaron and Gerald. Gerald had insisted that his son follow in his footsteps, though it was obvious that Junior hated working there. He would rather be out playing golf or buying big gaudy watches to go with his flashy suits. The only thing he genuinely seemed to enjoy at the funeral home was making people as miserable as his father did.
“We gotta talk.”
“About?”
“About all that embalming fluid you’re gonna sell tonight,” Junior replied coolly.
Tom’s stomach churned. “No, I’m not doing it again. I’m not. Last time was the last fucking time.”
“Not so fast, babe.” Junior smiled venomously. “I own you, remember? If you don’t do this, I’ll tell Daddy and Mr. Crosby all about it. I mean, how many times have you done it now? A dozen? What’s one more, huh?”
