Make Me Sin

9

My central nervous system decides it’s a circus. Acrobats catapult through my intestines. Clowns on pogo sticks bounce around in my brain. A chimpanzee twirls a baton and rides a unicycle back and forth inside my heart, and a strongman tightens a pair of bulging biceps around my throat, squeezing off all my air. I am paralyzed by the clamor of activity, and stare stupidly at A.J. as if he has just arrived from outer space.

He removes the sunglasses. He stares at me. He doesn’t smile.

Jamie nudges me with his elbow, and I snap out of my stupor. “You can order online,” I blurt, without an ounce of warmth. Jamie shoots me a surprised glance. I’m never this grouchy to people, but he doesn’t know the history between me and the grizzly bear standing on the other side of my counter.

A.J. says, “Don’t have a computer.”

I take that in, wondering if he doesn’t know how to use a computer, or if he’s just one of those antisocial people who hates technology. I decide on the latter. “You can also call to place an order. You didn’t have to come in.”

“Don’t have a phone.”

It takes me longer to process that. “What kind of person doesn’t have a computer or a phone?”

A.J. moistens his lips. He runs a hand over his unruly hair. Beside me, Jamie watches with unabashed fascination. Though I hate to admit it, I can’t say I blame him. The simple gestures somehow look incredibly erotic.

“You going to help me out with the flowers, or not?” A.J.’s voice is gruff now. His strange new patience with me has already grown thin.

My ears go hot with anger. My voice, though quiet, drips with contempt. “There are plenty of other flower shops in this town with owners you don’t despise. Why don’t you go try one of them?”

That brings a hint of a smile to his mouth, which promptly fades, as if his lips aren’t used to curving in any direction but down. “Nico said your shop is the best. I need the best.” He shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “I can put up with some aggravation in order to get it.”

My eyes bug out. Aggravation? I’m aggravating? Of all the nerve—

“Of course we can help you! Let me just get an order form, sir, and I’ll take care of everything.”

My lead designer, Trina, sidles up beside me, commandeering the discussion she can see has just gone off the rails. I was aware of her watching the back-and-forth from her position to my right, where she’s been processing bunches of roses, but now she’s decided I can’t be trusted to deal with A.J. any longer. She’s taken the matter out of my hands before I lose my temper completely.

If I had to guess how she knew I was about to lose it, I’d say my red face, stiff back, and clenched fists are all pretty solid indicators.

I turn and stomp away from the counter. I banish myself to the back room, which is conveniently out of sight of A.J. and his mocking eyes. Jamie is right on my heels.

“I can’t decide which is more interesting,” he drawls, taking a seat across from me at the round table where I usually eat my lunch. He leans back and crosses his legs. “Big Daddy with the hottest man bun since Jared Leto, or your reaction to him. What’s that all about, bug?”

“You have no idea what a jerk that guy is.” I try to keep my voice low so it doesn’t carry to the front of the shop. “He always treats me like I’m a piece of garbage that’s stuck to the bottom of his shoe.” I make a noise of frustration. “I can’t stand him!”

Jamie looks at me closely for what seems like a long time. “Hmm.”

“Seriously, this is the nicest he’s ever been to me. He was almost civil. I’ve met him, like, half a dozen times before, and he hated me on sight. He once barked at me for being a guest in someone else’s house, like I did something wrong by being invited! And I won’t even tell you the names he’s called me.”

Instantly, Jamie’s in protective-big-brother mode. He sits forward, his normally smiling face growing dark. “He’s called you names?”

“Yes!”

Jamie’s expression is a little scary. He might not be the burliest guy around, but he’s tall, and not afraid of anything. “Like what?”

“He calls me Princess. And not in a nice way. It’s like he’s really calling me a snob!”

He waits for more. I don’t think I’ve impressed him so far.

“And he said I was a stuck-up, frigid rich girl!”

Again, he waits silently for me to provide more examples.

“Who wears grandma panties!”

His lips twitch. Is he trying not to smile? I begin to feel desperate.

“Who wouldn’t know a d**k if it hit her in the face!”

Unfortunately, I shout this last sentence. There’s a sudden silence from the front, where Trina has been taking A.J.’s order. I prop my elbows on the table, and drop my face into my hands.

“I can see why you’re so upset,” says Jamie. “That is dire.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean, a princess who doesn’t know a d**k if it hits her in the face, well . . . that’s just tragic. What would she think it is, do you suppose? A random flying sausage?”

I lift my head and glare at him. He dissolves into laughter.

When he’s composed himself, he leans over and ruffles my hair like I’m twelve. “Bug, you can’t take everything so personally. He’s a drummer. They’re fire starters. They like to hit hard.”

“You know who he is?”