Page 69 of Ice Me Out

His hand ghosted my thigh.

“You deserve it.”

I smirked and sipped my coffee before teasing him a little. “You just want me to come home with you tonight.”

“You caught me, Sugar,” he said, winking at me. “And while we’re at it. If you ever leave me like that again, I’m spanking that ass.”

“Leave you like what?” I asked, playing dumb.

“Like you got what you wanted, and I don’t mean shit.”

“I charge $500.00 for morning cuddles and goodbyes.”

“I charge $500.00 to eat pussy,” he replied, sending me a challenging glare.

“I’ll never dip without saying goodbye,” I commented.

“That’s what I thought.”

***

We were forty-five minutes into our trip, making small talk and singing and rapping to whatever played on Hart’s playlist, when Hart received a call.

“Sweet Hart, DeAndre is calling.”

“Do me a favor and ignore his call and text him for me.”

“What do you want me to tell him?”

“Ask him if it’s business or personal.”

I did as he asked and waited for DeAndre’s response.

“He said it’s business and it’s an emergency.”

“Shit,” Hart cursed, reaching for the phone. He called DeAndre and put it on speaker.

“What’s going on, D?”

“I hate to do this to you, Hart, but you need to come in.”

“I can’t. I’m on my way to Portland.”

“I know, and I don’t know what’s in the fucking water, but we’re severely short-staffed tonight. We are down a hostess, our kitchen manager, three waitstaff, a cook, and the dishwasher just called out sick.”

“What the fuck is going on there?” Hart questioned, fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

“I wish I fucking knew.”

“Did you—”

“Yes, I’ve reached out to all our contacts and put out feelers for gig workers, but I haven’t gotten any bites.”

The conversation fell silent. The muscle in Hart’s jaw repeatedly flexed as he digested the disappointment.

“Bro, I wouldn’t have called you on your day off if I didn’t need the help,” DeAndre said pleadingly. I patted Hart’s leg until he gave me his attention.

“Turn around and go back,” I whispered.