Gable Read online

  Subject: Misogynistic tendencies

  Date: September 18, 11:41 p.m.

  To: 9565876

  Funny.

  xx

  I left it at that. I had class in the morning so I needed sleep and just as I was drifting off, my phone dinged again.

  ______________________________________

  From: 9543254

  Subject: Thanks

  Date: September 19, 12:11 a.m.

  To: 9565876

  I’m glad I have you to talk to… thanks for listening. You might be the first chick I’ve ever been just friends with.

  xx

  Oh, wow. Now what was I going to do with this? Gable really did have a sweet side (if this was actually him). I took a deep breath and blew it out knowing if he kept being nice, it might spell out trouble for me. I mean, I was already wildly attracted to him physically, but if on top of that he turned out to be a decent human being, I knew I’d be in danger of possibly falling in serious like with him. Definitely needed to be careful here.

  ______________________________________

  From: 9565876

  Subject: Thanks

  Date: September 19, 12:13 a.m.

  To: 9543254

  I’m glad you’re glad ;) I’m glad too.

  Goodnight

  xo

  I closed my eyes and smiled that he might not be as bad as I thought he was.

  Boy, was I wrong.

  Week Five

  I’d finished my training at O’Leary’s, gotten my permit to serve alcohol and had been on my own for a week now. I’d only worked short shifts from five to seven, but tonight I was on the clock until eleven. It was Monday, but working that late wasn’t too bad because my apartment was only about ten minutes away, so I’d be home before midnight and my first class wasn’t until ten in the morning, so I’d have time to study some for the test I had in French.

  Things tonight had been going great so far. I’d made some pretty good tips because NFL football had started and since there were five TVs in the place¸ it seemed as if every guy in town had shown up to watch and have a couple beers. And if I’d learned anything from working at Rosie’s, it was that beer made guys happy and if there was a ballgame on, they were even happier, which meant they tipped well.

  So I made my rounds again, grabbing beer mugs and pitchers for refills, making my way to the bar and that was when my night started going not so great.

  “Priss! When’d you start working here?”

  Oh, God. Gable was a bartender and he was grinning from ear to ear at me. And, damn, did he look good. He had on a football jersey too, but his was a full jersey that he had tucked into the front of his jeans. His hair was styled how he’d worn it in class and he had his glasses on. His tattoos were on full display and my stomach fluttered as I stood looking at him.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” I finally mumbled, placing my tray of three mugs and two pitchers on the bar. I glanced up at him and gave him my best indifferent face. I liked this job, I’d now memorized the menu and I really didn’t want to quit even if he was going to act rudely toward me.

  “So… I like the jersey.” He kept his grin and nodded at the 49ers half jersey I was wearing. Waitresses’ wore half jerseys as their uniform during football season that showed our bellies, and I realized that Gable and I wore the same team and we both had the number forty-nine. Yay. I honestly didn’t know anything about pro ball, so I’d just grabbed a couple jerseys when Jack had told me to pick last week. But I thought they were cute and I did have a flat stomach since I’d been an athlete, so although they’d taken a little getting used to at first, I found I really wasn’t that self-conscious about them. I also think I got better tips wearing them, so whatever. In December, we’d switch to basketball jerseys which were the full jersey, thank God, then we’d wear baseball jerseys until football began again in the fall.

  I smiled weakly at him then told him what each order was, watching as he turned to fill them. Damn. Even his butt was nice. And the way he carried himself, so confident, was freakin’ hot.

  “Thanks,” I murmured after he filled the last pitcher, setting it on the bar. He stood watching me for a moment as I loaded my tray. Irritated with being scrutinized, I glared at him with a scowl. “What?”

  He grinned. “Nothing. Just makes everything easier now.” I was still scowling when he winked then he turned away to take a customer’s order.

  Easier? What’d that mean? Was he talking about hooking up with me? Not happening if he was going to be a jackass to me all the time. I didn’t care how sweet he was in his emails. Well, I wasn’t going to let him bother me. I needed this job so my plan was to just ignore him as best I could.

  And it was a good plan until around the third trip I made to the bar.

  “I like black,” he said waggling his eyebrows at me.

  It took me a second to realize he was talking about my bra that I’d made the mistake of wearing because it showed through the little holes in the white jersey’s fabric. I gave him a bored look then put the drinks on my tray and walked away.

  On the fourth trip, he said, “Like the jeans, Priss.” I still gave him no reaction.

  Fifth trip, he leaned over the counter and mumbled, “Really like those jeans.”

  By the sixth trip, I’d had it. I’d brought four pitchers and when he’d filled them all, he’d leered at me and said, “How ‘bout we add twenty and go for it.”

  When I’d frowned and seemed puzzled, he’d pointed at my jersey then back to his slowly. When he saw my eyes get big, he’d grinned wickedly. Forty-nine plus twenty equals sixty-nine. What an ass.

  “Are you always this immature? What are you, like thirteen?” I stated giving him an apathetic look.

  He narrowed his eyes at me and I could tell I’d offended him. Good. “I’m twenty-one,” he replied indignantly. I thought he was finished and I was mentally chalking up a tally for myself when he opened his mouth again. “In my prime, sweetheart. Can’t wait to prove it to you. Over and over and over.”

  Despite the fact that my body was now fully alert and reacting to what he’d said, butterflies in my stomach going nuts and nipples all freaking perky, damn it, I gritted my teeth and snapped, “You do know there’s a thing called sexual harassment?” I glared at him then added, “And don’t call me sweetheart.”

  He snorted. “Go ahead and report me. What have I said that can be construed as anything sexual? You may have taken it that way, but to me, it was pretty innocent.” He then smiled impishly.

  I frowned and thought of the things he’d said and he was right. It was all pretty innocent on the surface; I was just inferring that what he was saying was sexual. Crap.

  “Besides, Jack’s my uncle. I’m his favorite nephew. He knows I wouldn’t do anything like that.” He shrugged and the damned smirk he sported was begging to be slapped right off his beautiful face. He wiped his hands with a small towel and threw it to the side then crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the counter. As I picked up my tray and started to walk away, he tacked on, “Or you could just quit.” I turned back to see him watching me, his eyes challenging, daring.

  “Wh—what?” I sputtered. I’d never quit anything in my life. It wasn’t how I was raised. As he stared at me with that damned smug expression, I finally gave him a scowl then turned and headed to my tables knowing there was no way I was quitting now. Stubbornness was in every Patterson’s blood. And also a competitive nature. And bullheadedness. Nope. Not quitting.

  So stupid, stupid me sucked it up, knowing I’d never be the first to wave the white flag. Fantastic.

  ~*~*~*~

  My shift was almost over so I was rolling silverware in the back. Alyssa had the night off but came in to get her paycheck and had been her usual charming self, giving me a snotty look as she’d walked throug
h to the office to talk to Jack which made me roll my eyes. I’d gone to the back to complete the innocuous little chore and had noticed that Gable hadn’t been at the bar so I assumed either his shift was over or he was on break.

  “Hey, take this out to the back, would you?” Glen, one of the kitchen guys, asked, handing me a box of slimy, wilted vegetable leftovers.

  “Sure,” I muttered, grabbing the nasty thing from him and heading out the back door into the alley. As I walked to the Dumpster, I heard giggling and turned to see Gable, who had Alyssa pinned against the back wall of the bar and I froze.

  “That tickles!” she said with another giggle as he nibbled on her neck.

  “Mmm, you taste good,” he mumbled, pulling his head away but keeping his hands against the wall on either side of her face, his hips pinned against hers. I must’ve let out a gasp because he suddenly turned his head toward me then smirked when he saw what I knew was a whole lot of astonishment on my face.

  Startled out of my reverie, I said, “Just taking out the trash! Didn’t mean to interrupt.” My face burned as I opened the lid to the Dumpster and threw the box inside.

  “Like the show, Priss?” he asked when I turned around, which made Alyssa giggle some more.

  I shot a look at him as I walked back to the door. “Can you for once not be a jerk?” As I grabbed the doorknob, I glared at him and added, “Why is that so hard?”

  “That’s what she said,” he answered with a snort and a leer before turning back to Alyssa who was now laughing like some damned hyena but stopped when he pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her hard.

  Ugh.

  Why did seeing that make me want to throw up (other than the fact that she was a heinous bitch and he was a complete douche)? I went back inside quickly, washed my hands and finished rolling up my silverware. A few minutes later Alyssa came in, her hair appropriately mussed, and gave me a smug look. She flirted with Glen on her way through, doing her hyena laugh again when he flirted right back, which made me want to punch a puppy. A moment later, Gable came in, walking through as if I didn’t exist, nodding his head at Glen before going back out to the bar. It wasn’t lost on me that he’d probably had to stay out there longer to adjust himself from being aroused. God.

  When I finished with the silverware, I clocked out then left through the back, not wanting to walk through the place and see Alyssa and Gable flirting or in another heated lip lock, or hell, she could’ve been on her knees behind the fucking bar giving him head for all I knew. When I got in my car, I slammed the door, started it and peeled out of the parking lot then headed to my apartment.

  And, man, I was so fucking angry! And what made me even madder was I didn’t know if I was more pissed at myself that I’d let what I’d seen affect me or that I was infuriated at Gable for flirting with me all night long then turning around and acting like such a prick.

  But you know what? Why the hell did I care? He was nothing to me. Nothing. If he wanted to make out with rude bitches that was his business not mine. I’d known he was bad news from the start, so this was all on me because stupid me had to get all caught up in the fact that he may have had a nice side. Well, fuck him. I was so over Gable Powers and I was moving on and never looking back because, and I repeat, he meant nothing to me.

  So why did this hurt so bad?

  ~*~*~*~

  When I got home, Amy was already asleep, so after I showered then went to bed, I lay there in the dark and got even more pissed off about what’d happened. God! I’d been so humiliated at catching them back there. It’d just been so… gross.

  As I lay there stewing over everything, I suddenly sat up and sucked in a deep breath at my discovery, totally wanting to scream because it finally came to me that my problem wasn’t that I was repulsed at catching them making out or even that I was disgusted that he’d embarrassed me.

  No, I was pissed because I realized that I wished it’d been me out there with him instead of Alyssa.

  Oh, my God.

  It was times like this that I wished that Ivy and I were still best friends. She would’ve understood what was going on and told me what to do. But she was in Baltimore with my ex-boyfriend, going pre-med too, just as they’d planned behind my back. The last I’d heard, they were going to get an apartment together and live out the dream. Whatever.

  So, feeling lost, I grabbed my phone and shot off an email to my pen pal who may or may not have been the prick I was upset over.

  ______________________________________

  From: 9565876

  Subject: Pissed off

  Date: September 24, 12:15 a.m.

  To: 9543254

  Ever have nights where you wanted to strangle someone?

  ______________________________________

  From: 9543254

  Subject: Pissed off

  Date: September 24, 12:20 a.m.

  To: 9565876

  Yep. All the fucking time. What’s up?

  ______________________________________

  From: 9565876

  Subject: Pissed off

  Date: September 24, 12:22 a.m.

  To: 9543254

  Just a guy I know. Why does everything have to be so hard?

  ______________________________________

  From: 9543254

  Subject: Pissed off

  Date: September 24, 12:24 a.m.

  To: 9565876

  Six… you’re makin’ this too easy…

  That’s what she said… ;)

  And I knew right then it had to be him. Bastard.

  Week Six

  ______________________________________

  From: 9543254

  Subject: You there?

  Date: October 1, 9:54 p.m.

  To: 9565876

  Six,

  You okay?

  xx

  ~*~*~*~

  At the beginning of the week, Chris had informed me that my pen pal was indeed one Gable Stephen Powers, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do—go to Dr. Horner and ask to be switched, or ride it out. I’d talked to Amy about it (not telling her about the lovely revelation I’d had about how I’d wished he’d been making out with me instead of Alyssa, of course) and she’d advised me to give it a week, telling me that if he was rude either in person or through email, then I should ask to be changed. So even though I was giving it another chance, that still didn’t mean I was gung-ho to write to him, having not sent anything since the night I’d seen him and Alyssa behind the bar.

  ~*~*~*~~

  On Wednesday morning I got out some paper and a pen to take notes in psychology as Dr. Horner began her lecture.

  “Everyone knows Freud is the founding father of psychoanalysis,” she began and that was when Gable came in late, walked up the steps, stopped at my row, crossed in front of me and had a seat right next to me.

  “Mornin’, Priss,” he said with a grin as he got out his own paper and pen. He arranged his paper on his desktop then sat there all studiously paying attention to the lecture as if I wasn’t there, and all I could do the whole while was sit and fume, wanting to smack his stupid face.

  Wow. What an ass.

  I finally turned my attention back to the lecture and immediately regretted showing up for class. Jesus, why hadn’t I just stayed home in bed?

  “Freud believed that our lives consisted of two realms: tension and pleasure. He felt that all tension was grounded in the libido and if it was repressed, depression ensued, meaning, when we deny ourselves sexual pleasure, we can never truly be happy. That’s one thing on which my husband agrees with Freud,” Dr. Horner said and got a smattering of laughter from the class.

  Gable leaned over and whispered, “See, Priss? Let it happ
en. I’ll make you so happy you won’t stop smiling for days.”

  I batted him away and heard him chuckling at me. Douche bag.

  “The psychosexual stages of development coincide with our ages, according to Freud. The first stage, ages zero to one, is oral: licking, sucking, swallowing, anything to do with the mouth.”

  Gable’s knee knocked into mine and I gritted my teeth but didn’t dare look at him because I knew he’d be donning his nipple-hardening half grin.

  Again, why the hell did I show up today?

  “Ages one to three years is the anal stage…”

  Dear God. I steadfastly focused on my notes and not the idiot who I knew was now grinning from ear-to-ear at my side.

  “The phallic stage is where masturbation becomes a new source of pleasure and the Superego develops…”

  Gable’s hand came over and he started writing on my paper. When he moved it away, my eyes drifted down to see what he’d written. Would love to watch you masturbate some time, Priss.

  I sucked in a breath upon seeing that, my face flushing as I felt a dip in my freakin’ womb which immediately made my panties soaked, fully aware that my nipples had hardened despite my mental protest, as my entire body reacted to his words. Good lord, he was even unsettling using a damned pen.

  After forcing myself to relax, underneath what he wrote I penned, Never gonna happen.

  He reached back and wrote, It will. You can’t resist me.

  I wrote back, Watch me.

  I heard him chuckling quietly beside me as if resistance were futile or something, like we were living in a Star Trek movie or some shit. I just shook my head and kept taking notes, putting him on ignore as best I could, regardless of how many knee knocks he gave me the rest of the time.

  When class was dismissed, I turned and glared at him.

  “What?” he asked, his lips tipping up.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” I hissed under my breath, so tired of him keeping me off balance with his stupid, sexy self.

  “I’ll be doing you soon,” he responded.

  Oh, my God.

  “You’re a huge jerk,” I snapped, shoving my notebook into my bag.