He read the printing on the box he held, never once sparing her a glance. He tapped the second carton resting on the counter with his cut finger. “Would you mind checking your inventory in the back? I’ll need more.”
“I’m not allowed to leave the register, but I’ll be happy to page our stock boy.”
Douche-man grunted and flipped the package around. “It’s gonna take at least two boxes for Lola. She’s big. Got wide hips. Skinny legs, though. Kinda like a twenty-gallon tank on toothpicks.”
What an ass, talking about his girlfriend like that! Molly sneered and depressed the button on the store’s intercom. “Cruz, could you check our supply of mixable douche powder? I have a man who needs three or four boxes.”
“Make it five or six. And they have to be Massengill, don’t forget. God, I don’t know which girl smells the worst.”
Well, quit putting your nose in their hootchies. Molly cleared her throat and rolled her eyes before depressing the button on the intercom. “Could you make that six boxes of douche powder? Massengill, please, Cruz.” A few snickers floated over from aisle two.
“I can see I’m gonna have a rough night ahead. Maggie Mae hates when I give her a good scrubbing, especially if I get soap in her beady eyes or get too rough with her.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and sighed like a man greatly imposed upon. “God, I hate a whiny bitch.”
Oh, I am so going to belt you.
“Caroline handles her bath pretty well. She likes it rough, especially when I hold her head under the faucet.” He had the audacity to chuckle. “She tries to drink the water, but then she’ll drink most anything.”
She’d have to be drunk to put up with you, buster. You need some serious help.
Cruz hurried to the register, his arms full of boxes. “Here you go, Molly.” He shot the customer a curious glance.
“Thanks. Would you do me one more favor, please?”
The pimply-faced teen’s head bobbed. “Sure.”
“Our customer needs a bottle of peroxide and Neosporin for the cut on his finger. It’s showing signs of infection.” Cruz nodded and hurried back to aisle four.
Douche-man glimpsed at his hand. “Thanks. I do have a first aid kit, but I’ve been too preoccupied with work to take care of it. Ain’t nothing but an infected splinter. Can’t seem to dig deep enough to get to it.”
Oh, just give me a machete. I’ll show you how deep a good woman can cut.
He slid his fingertips into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling them a little lower on his hips, until he finally tugged out folded bills secured with a silver fire truck money clip. “What’s the damage?”
To your wallet or the self-esteem of those poor women?
After totaling his purchases, Molly handed him his change and six plastic bags. “Hope you get them cleaned up.”
He grunted again. “Sure as hell hope so. Don’t know if I can sleep without the girls laying all over me.”
Oh, puh-lease.
He headed for the exit, high-top sneakers clunking the tile floor.
Molly glared at his retreating form. What a piece of macho jerk.
He snapped his fingers and returned. “Where’s the dog toys? They’ll be expecting a treat after I scrub the skunk smell off.”
“Dogs? Dogs!” Had he been talking about dogs all this time?
Douche-man nodded, his blond five o’clock shadow more an eight o’clock sexy scruff. “Yeah. An overweight Black Lab, a beady-eyed Chihuahua and a Collie mix. I’m kinda partial to my girls, but not when they chase skunks and get a good spraying.”
“Skunks? Spraying?” God, I sound like an echo.
“Used to wash them down with tomato juice after being sprayed, but Caroline would lap at the juice and get terrible gas.” He shook his head once. “Couldn’t stand to be around her for days.” He grinned and dimples slashed his cheeks. “So, I researched online and found out about bathing animals in Massengill after encounters with skunks.”
Boy, talk about a miscommunication.
He studied the bags in his hands for a beat and then raised his gaze. “I’m sorry for storming in here earlier and ranting about my dogs, calling them bitches, but they had me so damn mad.” He winced. “Sorry. After a long day of tearing out decrepit kitchen cabinets and replacing them with new ones, moving walls and installing appliances, the last thing I want to do tonight is to scrub down three dogs.”
His gaze flicked over her hand before his green-eyed perusal once more settled on her face. Had he just checked for a ring? “Could I interest you in a cup of coffee after work?” He peeked at his watch. “Store closes in fifteen minutes.”
Not expecting his boldness, she stepped back. “Sorry, I don’t meet strange men for coffee.”
A wide smile spread, exposing straight white teeth with a chip broken off the corner of his left front one. Those deep dimples and chipped tooth added a boyish charm to his male persona, a charismatic contrast to the arrogant sternness he’d exhibited earlier. He set his bags in front of her on the checkout counter before tilting a hip against it and crossing his arms, obviously settling in for a chat neither she nor her boss wanted. She was on the clock, after all.
The door swished open and she jumped. God, she had to get beyond thinking she’d seen Wade’s vehicle twice. Sure, he’d been royally pissed when she threw the engagement ring in his face, but no woman wanted to marry a man who cheated on her…and then became violent when she called him on it. But he wouldn’t come all this way to find her. Would he?
The strange man’s eyebrows were furrowed as if he’d been studying her and he cleared his throat. “You know, I really do owe you an apology for my ranting when I came in the store.” He managed to make his grin almost unsure, as if he’d suddenly lost his confidence. How many times had he practiced this technique—and how often had a woman fallen for it? “A coffee and a piece of pie couldn’t hurt, could it?”
“I repeat, I don’t know you.” She motioned him aside so she could ring-up another customer’s purchases.
She hoped Douche-man would take the hint but, no, he patiently hovered nearby while she waited on two customers, his male aura slowly swirling around her like a testosterone fog. Turning to him, she scowled. “What part of I don’t spend time with strange men don’t you get?”
He extended his hand, his charming smile increased another dangerous notch. “Barclay Gray. Fireman, marine rescue diver, dog lover and pie connoisseur.”
The man certainly knew how to pour on the charm, she’d give him that. But she couldn’t forget that men had a potential for violence she’d never known before…
Molly shook Barclay’s hand. The warmth from his callouses sending shocks of awareness through
