Beautiful Oblivion (Maddox Brothers #1)(13)
Author: Jamie McGuire

I fought back, and then Trenton grabbed my T-shirt, rolling onto the floor and bringing me with him, and then he began to tickle.

“No! Stop it!” I squealed, laughing. I placed my thumbs under his armpits and dug in, and Trenton instantly jumped back. The same maneuver worked with T.J.

T.J. Oh, God. I was rolling around on the floor with Trenton. This was not okay . . . not even kind of okay.

“Okay!” I said, holding up my hands. “You win.”

Trenton froze. I was flat on my back, and he was on his knees, straddling me. “I win?”

“Yeah. And you have to get off of me. This is not appropriate.”

Trenton laughed, stood, and pulled me up by the hand. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of wrong. If I was your girlfriend, would you think this is okay?”

“Hell yeah. I’d expect this shit to be a nightly event.”

“No. I mean with someone else.”

Trenton’s face fell. “Definitely not.”

“Mmk, then. Let’s watch the Forty-Niners get their asses kicked, and then you can tell Raegan you did your duty.”

“My duty? Raegan didn’t tell me to come over here. She just said you were alone and bored.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No way, Cami, I’m taking full credit for this one. I don’t need anyone convincing me to hang out with you.”

I smiled, and then turned up the volume.

“So, Cal said that for sure he’s going to need someone at the desk.”

“Oh, yeah?” I said, still watching the television. “Are you going to apply?”

Trenton laughed once. “He said, and I quote, ‘Someone hot, Trent. Someone with nice tits.’ ”

“Every girl’s dream job. Answering phones and handing out waivers while being ordered around by a sexist ass**le.”

“He’s not an ass**le. Sexist, yes, but not an ass**le.”

“No, thank you.”

Just then my phone buzzed. I dug into the space between the arm and the couch cushion to get it. It was Coby.

So . . . bad news.

What?

I got a final notice for my car payment.

Pay your bill, doofus.

I’m a little behind. I was wondering if you could spot me some cash.

My blood ran cold. The last time Coby got behind on his bills, it was because he was sinking his entire paycheck into steroids. Coby was the shortest of my brothers, but he was the thickest, both in body mass and in brains. He was hot tempered, but the way he was behaving at the Red Friday night should have been a red flag.

Are you using again?

Really, Cami? Goddamn . . .

Really. Are you using?

No.

Lie to me again, and you can explain to Dad where your car went when it gets repo’d.

It took him several minutes to respond.

Yeah.

My hands began to shake, but I managed to keep typing.

You enroll in a program, show me the proof. I’ll pay the bill. Deal?

That could be next week.

Take it or leave it.

Fuck you, Cami. You’re such a self-righteous bitch sometimes.

Maybe, but I’m not the one who’s going to be without a car in a few weeks.

Fine. Deal.

I took a deep breath and let the phone fall to my lap. If I’m going to help out Coby, I need a second job.

Trenton watched me with concern in his eyes. “You okay?”

I was quiet for a long time, and then slowly met Trenton’s eyes. “Cal’s really looking for a receptionist?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll give him a call tomorrow.”

CHAPTER FIVE

JESUS CHRIST, CALVIN,” TRENTON SAID. HE WAS LOOKING AT the large Chinese mural on the wall, trying not to notice that Calvin couldn’t manage to stare anywhere else but at my br**sts. Trenton’s red ball cap was on backward, and his boots were untied. On anyone else the look would have appeared sloppy and screamed douche bag, but somehow the look made Trenton even more appealing. It felt wrong to notice anything about him, but I couldn’t help it.

I didn’t have the most voluptuous chest in the world, but my slight frame made my small D cups seem bigger than they were. I hated to admit it, but they helped score extra tips at the Red, and now they could help me get a second job. It was a vicious cycle of not wanting to be objectified, and using the gifts God gave me to my advantage.

“When did you say you could start?” Calvin said absently, straightening a picture of a brunette beauty on the wall behind the counter. Her tattoos covered nearly every part of her, and ink and a smile were the only things she wore as she lay across the bodies of other naked, apparently sleepy women. Most of the walls were covered in either art or photographs of tatted-up models draped over muscle cars or sprawled in a way that best displayed their skin art. The counter was a mess of papers¸ pens, receipts, and paper clips, but the rest of the place seemed to be clean, even if it did look like Calvin had bought the décor at an auction held by a failed Chinese restaurant.

“Right now. I can work Mondays and Tuesdays, noon until close, but Wednesday through Friday I can only work until seven. Saturday I have to be off by five. I can’t work Sundays.”

“Why not?” Calvin asked.

“I have to study and do homework sometime, and then I have an employee meeting at the Red, before working the bar.”

Calvin looked over at Trenton for approval. Trenton nodded.

“Okay, I’ll let Trent and Hazel train you on the phone, computer, and paperwork. It’s fairly simple. Mostly customer service and cleanup,” he said, walking out from behind the desk. “You got any tats?”

“No,” I said. “Is that a requirement?”

“No, but I bet you’ll get one within the first month,” he said, walking down the hall.

“I doubt it,” I said, walking past him to stand behind the counter.

Trenton came over to me and rested his elbows on the desk. “Welcome to Skin Deep.”

“That’s my line,” I teased. The phone rang, and I picked it up. “Skin Deep Tattoo,” I said.

“Yeah . . . uh . . . what time do you guys close tonight?” Whoever he was, he sounded drunk off his ass, and it was only three in the afternoon.

I looked at the door. “We close at eleven, but you’d better sober up first. They won’t ink you if you’re intoxicated.”

Trenton made a face. I wasn’t sure if that was a rule or not, but it should be. I was used to dealing with drunks, and I would probably see my fair share of them here, too. In a weird way, I felt more at ease with drunks. My dad had popped the top of a Busch beer can every morning for breakfast since before I was born. The slurring, the stumbling, the inappropriate comments, the giggling, and even the anger was what I was used to. Working in a cubicle around a bunch of uptight weenies discussing memos would be more unsettling to me than listening to a fully grown man crying into his beer over his ex-girlfriend.