The water runs hot and feels good on my skin as I toss my fingers through my hair to loosen the braids and get the dirt out of each strand of pitch black hair. I close my eyes, and Brighton, half-naked, flashes across my vision.Shit.I open my eyes and stare at the faded teal tiles of the shower room wall, and then look around before closing them again to find him standing there.
The tattoo stretches across his back as he moves around the kitchen, and I continue to shower with my eyes closed to keep the image there a little longer. He turns and looks at me over his shoulder, and the door to the locker room slams shut, causing my eyes to shoot open.
I reach out and turn the handle to the right.
Cold. I need a cold shower.
Sunday and Rhea crash through the front door of the Hollow twenty minutes before puck drop, and I instantly regret hiring one of my sister’s friends. I remember quickly why I haven’t allowed it before: Sunday is going to be a menace.
“You’re late,” I say, cleaning one of the high bar tables that surround the dance floor as Boone sets up the projector in the corner for the game.
“Coach ran us hard because Rhea’s a dumbass,” Sunday giggles, throwing her bag behind the bar.
“Punishment for being a tough guy.” She holds her hand in the air and smiles at me. I roll out my shoulders and go back to cleaning. Ignoring them both and their excuses. Sunday walks Rhea through some of the easy stuff, like where to put her crap and where all the important things are behind the bar. It’s all things Rhea knows from being around for so long, but Sunday insists. I keep my eyes on them as they move around the Hollow, stopping periodically to talk to people flooding in from the streets to catch the game.
The Huskies are looking good, better than they have in a long time, and if they want to make the playoffs, they’ll need to keep that energy up. They were playing Pittsburgh tonight, and it’ll be a hard-fought game. I personally don’t care, win or lose, people will drink.
“Brighton?” Rhea’s voice floats over the white noise from behind me, and I turn to see her standing at the end of the bar as I fill the ice buckets.
“Bright,” I remind her, and she winces but nods. “What do you need?”
“Where do you want me tonight?” she asks.
“Uh—” I clear my throat. “Just keep an eye on the girls tonight. Sunday, and Ida are working tables. If anyone gets handsy or rough, toss them out. No warnings, just get rid of them.”
“I can handle that,” she says, looking around. She’s wearing a tiny black crop top that scoops around her muscular, tattooed arms and shows off the dark ink on her stomach above the waist of her skin-tight black jeans. “Did you hear me?” she asks, and I look up from her boots to meet her gaze. “Do I… like need a name tag?”
“That could be fun! Think of all the stupid shit I could put on mine!” Boone interjects from behind me as he hops down from the stage and rounds the bar. “I actually have something for you,” he says to her, and starts digging in a bin on the floor. He holds up a Hollow T-shirt that doesn’t look big enough for her and flips it around to show her the back.
“I make grown men cry?” Rhea says, cocking her head to the side. For a second, I think she might say no. The alternative is worse. She whips off her tank top, standing in the bar in nothing but a sports bra, and she does this stupid grabby thing with her hand. Boone laughs and chucks it at her so she can pull the T-shirt over her head. She motions scissors with her fingers as Boone pulls them out and starts laughing as he helps her cut off the bottom half of the already tiny shirt.
Fuck me.
“It’s perfect, Bobo,” Rhea coos, and Boone stands back to admire his work.
“Not quite,” he says, his fingers pick at the now ratty hem around her taut abdomen. I bite down on my tongue to suppress the unreasonably jealous groan that rumbles at the base of my throat. Boone pulls the fabric away from her ribcage and cuts two narrow slits in the sides that flatten into rough diamond shapes as the shirt stretches back over her skin. He does the other side to match and puts the scissors between his smile as he backs away to admire his work.
“What do you think?” At first, I think she’s asking Boone, but she’s staring at me with her arms out at her sides.
I swallow tightly, watching her bare, tattooed stomach rise and fall with each shallow breath she takes as she waits for me to answer.I’m going to kill Boone.
“Cat got your tongue, Bri?” He teases like he can feel my thoughts imploding. I want to flip him off, but that would tell Rhea exactly what I’m thinking, and that’s quite possibly the most dangerous answer possible.
“It’s not workplace-appropriate,” I clip.
“Perfect,” Boone says with pride. He takes her hand and gives her a twirl before tying the discarded length of her shirt around his forehead to push back his unruly brunette hair.
“I can change if—” Rhea asks, clearly concerned by the tight expression on my face, but I can’t tell her I’m not pissed off with her, because that would mean admitting all the other reasons why I’m trying to keep a straight face.
“It was a joke,” I say, “as long as you’re in a Hollow shirt, you’re dressed for work.” She shrugs, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “And Reaper, no drinking if you’re working,” I warn her, and take the chance to pull myself out of her gravity. If I stood there any longer, I’d burn a hole through her.
I start to restock the bar, and as the Hollow starts to reach capacity, I take a second to scan the crowd for her. She’s leaning against a booth, talking to some of Kaia’s firefighting buddies with a smile on her face, but her body language suggests she’s telling them off. Boone rests against the bar with his arms crossed as Sunday slides up to sit on top.
“That’s unsanitary, Day. Get down.” I smack her thigh with the back of my hand, but she doesn’t budge.
“She’s doing really well,” she says, reaching for a bottle of water. “Some of them in the back were getting rough and almost knocked over Ida, but she calmed them down really fast.”
“Good, that’s why she’s here,” I say in a clipped tone. “Game’s turning sour, keep an eye on table nine, and the line back there.” I point to a group of guys along the wall who are more drunk than I’d like. As I sayit, Rhea pushes off from her spot and crosses the bar to two of them, shoving once before she grabs the larger one by the back of the collar.
