Heart on the Run (23 page)

Are you so sure? Chaz definitely doesn’t want you…

Sprocket shook the unwanted thoughts out of his head. Chaz could date anyone he wanted, let Diego be the sorry sucker he runs from next.

He finished stocking the front registers and headed for the storage room. They’d sold out of all the DIY wooden Christmas ornament kits, and he was sure there were a couple more boxes of them in the back. Shawna had ordered double this year since they’d sold out the previous two years. It never mattered how many ornaments one owned, the joy of hand-making them with the children in the family drew people to do it every year. Sprocket knew of quite a few families that used them as a fun project for the kids and nifty gift tags for the presents.

Of course, as soon as he restocked the ornament kits, he noticed the scrapbooking display was bare. So he quickly filled that up between helping customers find the cross-stitch easels, sewing patterns, and whatever else they needed.

Luckily, the continuous thrum of people made the day whirl by quickly. Having no major customer service hassles or inventory outages proved to be a pleasant bonus on the busiest day of the year. Even lunch was uneventful. Of course, what did Sprocket expect, Chaz to hand deliver the food and beg for a quickie in the back?
Alimentaire
was just as busy today as any retail store. Plus, if Dermot decided to start selling gift cards like Chaz had told Sprocket he’d suggested…

When they were putting together those corny table ornaments for the holiday party the beginning of the month, Chaz explained his idea for Dermot to roll out a new gift card system on Black Friday. Entice people to buy stocking stuffers, and for each one they bought for a certain denomination, they got a sampler appetizer platter or something. It was a terrific idea, and if Chaz ever did start a restaurant of his own…

Damn!
He swore he wouldn’t think about that man anymore. Jesus, it had been a month since Sprocket held Chaz…tasted his lips…came in his mouth.

One thing was true, Sprocket’s body didn’t give a flying fuck if they weren’t supposed to want each other anymore, it tensed every time he thought of Chaz. His prick thickened every time he remembered Chaz lying on his bed stroking himself.

It was only a week…a short one at that. A relationship wasn’t built on one week of fucking. Didn’t matter if before the first time they slept together last year they were friends who shared breaks and anecdotes throughout the day. Didn’t matter if they used to be a staple at Prudence’s, enjoying coffee while Chaz continued to try and guess her secret ingredient that made her cinnamon buns so damn heavenly. It all boiled down to one short week of great sex, and no one would label that anything more than one short week of great sex.

“
Are you sure you’re good with locking up?” Shawna interrupted him as he counted down register two’s drawer.

“
Huh?” He looked up, losing track of his tally. “Oh…yeah, sure. Xander left a couple hours ago to catch a sale on a new iPad thing for Dermot—good luck getting him to actually use it”—Sprocket snorted—“but Thom’s sweeping and I’ve only got one more register to count down then we’re out. Any additional straightening can be done by Lydia and Xander in the morning.” Normally Shawna was good at making sure the managers didn’t put in more than nine hours a day, lunch included, but on certain high volume days, Sprocket and Xander easily put in a dozen hours each. Neither one made a big deal about it. Shawna was always fair to them, and truth be told, this was more than a simple job. The relationships Sprocket had with his co-workers would last long after he moved on.

“
And you’re not coming in until noon, right?” She lowered her tone and raised her eyebrow, the true expression of Shawna’s serious attitude.

He smiled; it was almost like she’d read his mind. “I might be a rebel and show up late, you never know with me, I’m wild.” Sprocket straightened the twenties and got ready to re-count them.

She laughed. “Go ahead. See if I don’t put you on the register for the night.”

“
Evil woman.”

“
Lock this door after I leave,” she reminded him as she hooked the closures on her coat and pulled her beanie down over her ears.

Sprocket turned and looked out the window. The snow wasn’t heavy yet; in fact, it melted within moments of touching the ground…but the fact they were getting it so regularly in November proved they would definitely have a white Christmas. Sprocket loved the snow.

“
Will do, boss lady. You be careful driving home.” He nodded at her as she exited the store then watched her carefully speed-walk down the sidewalk toward the employee parking.

Someone hurried past her, walking the opposite direction, his stride faltered slightly like he might have a bum leg. “Hmm,” Sprocket mumbled under his breath. The chimes on the clock tower had rung ten times right before Shawna left, marking the late hour. Sure, it was Black Friday and plenty of businesses were still hopping in the more conventional shopping areas, but here, on Maple Street, with the more specialized quaint storefronts, the businesses were winding down. Shawna once said it had to do with a type of business-owner’s association to keep the flow of Maple Street similar throughout all the stores and restaurants. It worked. This street was a delight to not only work on, but shop and peruse also.

Just made seeing someone he didn’t recognize walking up the street at this time of night slightly odd, especially when it obviously wasn’t someone strolling along enjoying the ambiance.

He slipped the money back in the drawer and closed it before heading to lock up. When he reached the glass door, he froze in shock. Standing on the other side staring back at him was the guy from the sidewalk. He looked awfully familiar…recognition hit him at the same time the stranger’s eyes widened, as if he remembered also. This was the tweaker from last month who wanted spray paint in a serious way. He looked different tonight, his eyes rolled around in their sockets in a crazy dance and beads of sweat peppered his upper lip.

Sprocket quickly reached up to lock the door, but unfortunately pushing a door open is a lot easier and quicker than turning a knob to lock it. Before Sprocket could redirect his actions to hold the door closed the tweaker already nudged himself partway into the store.

“
I’m sorry. We’re closed,” Sprocket gritted out, trying to stop the opening movement of the glass separating them. Jesus, the guy was strong.

The forceful stranger squeezed his arm through and aimed a knife at Sprocket’s eyes. “You either let me in with both eyes open or without one of them. You choose, asshole.”

Sprocket leaned away from the knife but didn’t back off the door. He wasn’t an idiot. If he let this man in, he’d be putting his and Thom’s life in jeopardy.

Thom
!

“
Thom,” he screamed at the top of his lungs, aware that by dodging the tip of that knife he lost some of the leverage he had on the door.

“
Just back the fuck up,” the man grunted.

Sprocket ignored him, shouting for Thom again.

“
I’m gonna cut you, man. I’m gonna do it.”

The struggle at the entrance of the store heated up drastically, the tweaker freaking out over losing an inch that he’d originally gained. Sprocket kept calling for Thom, trying to rubberneck around the store to catch a glimpse of him, but knew deep down the guy was wearing earbuds while doing his closing work. If he was in the storage area, there was no way he’d hear this commotion over his preferred cleanup music, Fear Factory.

And wasn’t that band name apropos right now?

Suddenly Sprocket stumbled forward. The door no longer pressed up against his side caused him to lose his balance. He threw his hands out to the opposite wall that helped make the quaint entryway of the store to stop his fall. Confused, he looked out the door, wondering what the hell happened.

“
Shit!” He scrabbled for the lock again, leaning against the now fully closed door as the tweaker barreled from halfway in the street toward him.

“
Oh god, please slip and break something…” he mumbled. When he tightened his fingers around the lock and twisted, a sigh of relief whispered from his lips.

But before it could slide all the way home, the maniac jumped mid run and threw his entire body at the door.

The huge screech sounded as the glass cracked diagonally across the door, but ultimately didn’t shatter. Not that that mattered, the impact was hard enough to stagger Sprocket back a step and knock the lock so it no longer was half-closed, but completely open.

For a drugged out idiot, the man had his wits about him enough to take the advantage he’d created for himself and slam his palms into the door one more time, driving the side metal of it into Sprocket’s head. He screamed as a burn traveled down the center of his face and blood gushed from his nose.

“
I fucking warned you,” the thug sneered, stepping forward and plunging his knife into Sprocket’s abdomen.

Sonofabitch that hurt like hell. No, hell probably was a blizzard compared to the burning pain radiating from his midsection. Shit, he could feel his heartbeat thumping loudly. He immediately tried to control his breathing, focus on staying conscious and vertical…vertical was good.

Sprocket was the one with tattoos and piercings, shouldn’t he be the badass out of the two? Why the fuck couldn’t he be a cliché right now? Trying not to lose all rational thought, he wrapped his hands around the knife and yanked it out, making sure to keep it straight so as not to cut any of his insides.

“
Ahh!” He bellowed in pure agony, tears streaming from his eyes as the switchblade slid from his fingers to clatter on the floor.

That was not the equivalent of ripping a Band-Aid off. Fuck, he was gonna vomit on Shawna’s floors. He pressed his hands over the wound, watching the blood slowly seep through his fingers. Slow…that was good, right?

The asshole who tried to gut him walked gingerly over to the register and punched buttons on the touch screen.

“
Hey, how do you open this damn thing?” He looked around the register, lifting the heavy equipment enough to slide his hand under it. “Where’s the fucking key?” He went back to hitting the display panel.

The registers were in closing mode, which meant that the only way to open them was to enter the manager’s code. Like hell he was going to give that six-digit number to this shithead. He wouldn’t even if he could think straight and actually talk, which he doubted at this point.

“
Hey, I’m talking to you, asshole.” The now cocky guy strolled back in front of him and slapped his face hard. “Open the goddamn registers, or I’ll fuck you up and then fuck up Thom too.”

He slapped him again then slammed him backward. Sprocket’s head bounced off the wall. Oh goodie, the throb on the back of his head now matched the one coming from his nose. Balance was the key.

Sprocket had never felt so helpless in all his life. Not only had he let this asshole into the store, but he was gonna let him hurt Thom too? Thom was just a kid, couldn’t even buy a six-pack yet.

Adrenaline rushed through his system—or it could’ve been his blood pressure spiking from the lack of blood—either or. He let out a warrior cry and threw himself at his assailant. His attacker paused his idiot stream of cursing for a moment, staring at Sprocket wide-eyed. He lifted his arms to fend Sprocket off a moment too late and ended up wrapping them around Sprocket instead. They did a weird dance, hopping from one foot to the other, wrestling with each other until they lost their joined balance and teetered over.

Sprocket was good with this. He could be dead weight on top of the asshole, keep him on the ground where he couldn’t hurt anyone. The tweaker shifted his balance one more time mid-fall and it sent them bashing their heads on the edge of register one’s solid ceramic counter.

Sprocket remembered when Shawna had installed them about three years ago. He’d still been a mouthy part-time employee and she’d been thrilled she’d saved up enough for such fancy register counters.

The impact caused the back of Sprocket’s eyes to burst into kaleidoscope vision. He couldn’t wait to tell Shawna her counters were worth the money; he doubted his skull even chipped them.