Not His Type (9 page)

“We’ll see you
Monday morning at six,” Jazz added.  “Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Brooke!”

Brooke left the
bakery and headed to the mall.  She parked as close as she could to the food
court and limped inside.  The line in front of Hot Diggity’s was, as usual,
snaked to the side, overflowing into the mall.  Brooke bypassed the line and
slipped behind the counter.

“Hey, Brooke!” a
young man in a bright yellow and red cap greeted her.  “How ya doin’?”

“Pretty good, Bryan,” Brooke answered.  “You?”

“Not bad,” he
replied.  He jerked his head toward a door behind him.  “Schmidt’s in his
office
.”

The young man
rolled his eyes and made air quotes with his fingers.  The employees at Hot
Diggity’s all thought it was a huge joke that Mike Schmidt called the tiny
store room his ‘office’.  He’d squeezed a wobbly chair and a rickety little
table into the tight space between shelves stacked high with condiments and
paper products; from there he reigned his little hot dog dynasty.  Now Brooke
tapped on the door and opened it to stick her head in the stuffy space.

“Hello, Mr.
Schmidt,” she said respectfully.  “How are you?”

Brooke cringed
when the man looked up at her.  He gave her one of his leering smiles and
gestured for her to come in and close the door.  Brooke hesitated, then pulled
the door shut behind her.  She turned and smiled politely at the man.

“Mr. Schmidt,
I’ve come to ask if I still have a job,” she said.  “I realize I missed a
couple of shifts, but I was in the hospital.”

“So I heard,” he
said, leaning back in his chair.  His eyes slithered over her from the top of
her head to her toes, with a few pauses along the journey.  “You look
just
fine
to me.”  He chuckled at his little joke.

“Well, I – it’s
my leg,” Brooke said.  “Lots of staples.”

“Maybe I should
make you show me, just so I know you’re not trying to pull a fast one on me.”

“Um…uh…” Brooke
stammered.  She gave him an awkward smile.  “So do I still have a job?”

Schmidt frowned
thoughtfully.  He ran his hand over his oily comb-over, eyeing Brooke the whole
time.

“I’m
short-handed tonight,” he said finally.  “Can you work right now?”

Brooke just
managed to keep her shoulders from drooping in exhaustion.  Instead, she felt
her smile stretch a little wider, almost a grimace.

“Absolutely, Mr.
Schmidt!” she said as if working at Hot Diggity’s was the most exciting thing
she could possibly think of at the moment.

“You’ll have to
have a tee shirt,” he said.  “And I’ll have to take it out of your next check.”

“Of – of course.”

The man rummaged
in a box.  He pulled out a red shirt and tossed it to Brooke.  She glanced at
it and frowned.

“Mr. Schmidt,
this is a small,” she said.  “I really need at least a medium.”

“Sorry, that’s
all I got.  Unless you want
extra
small?”

“Oh.”  Brooke
sighed.  “No, this will do.  I’ll just run to the restroom and put this on. 
I’ll be right back.”

When Brooke
returned from the ladies’ room with the red tee shirt on, Bryan gaped at her. 
He cleared his throat as if he wanted to say something, but remained silent.

“I know, I
know,” Brooke muttered.  “It’s too tight.  This was all he had.”

“No it’s not!” Bryan snorted.  “He just got a shipment of shirts yesterday!  I guarantee you he has some
mediums.”

“I just want to
get through this evening, then I can wear one of my shirts that fits for my
next shift!  Hey, at least he let me keep my job!”

For the rest of
the evening, Mike Schmidt found reason after reason to be out front with his
employees; this was an unusual occurrence, and Brooke quickly realized it was
all about her tight tee shirt.  The knowledge made her even more uncomfortable,
but she did her best to ignore him.

After three
hours of ogling by her manager and customers alike, Brooke was ready to leave. 
And after three hours of standing, she was aching – literally – to get home and
put some heat on her leg.  She walked out of the mall to her car, limping even
more heavily.  Rain had begun falling sometime during her shift at the hot dog
stand, and Brooke hurried as much as she could to avoid getting completely
soaked by the cold downpour.

When she reached
her car, she quickly slid behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition. 
She turned the key.  Nothing happened.  Not the sluggish sound of the engine
turning over, not even that annoying clicking sound cars sometimes made when
they refused to start.  Nothing at all happened when she turned the key. 
Brooke leaned her head on the steering wheel.  She just wanted to go home, take
a warm bath and go to bed.

Chapter
11

Brooke started
when she heard a loud rapping at the window next to her head.  She turned to
see the leering face of Mike Schmidt.  He gestured for her to roll the window
down.  Brooke cranked the window down a couple of inches.

“Car trouble,
Brooke?” he asked.

“Um, I think
it’s the battery,” she answered.

“I can give you
a lift.”

“No, I’m good.”

Mike looked
pointedly around the parking lot.  The few cars left belonged to other mall
employees and those were quickly driving toward the exit of the parking lot.  He
looked back at Brooke.

“What?” he asked
mockingly.  “You gonna sleep in your car?”

“Nooo,” Brooke
said, dragging the word out thoughtfully.  She pulled her cell phone out and
flipped it open.  “I was just going to…oh.”

“Dead, huh?” 
Mike laughed.  “Come on, girlie.  You don’t trust old Mikey to give you a ride
home?”

Brooke
hesitated.  She had no way to call anyone, even if she had someone to call. 
Travis Cooper flashed in her mind for just a split second, but no; even if she
wanted to, she couldn’t call him with a dead cell phone.  Brooke’s leg was
aching so badly, exacerbated by the cold and rain, and she just wanted to go
home.  Slowly, she climbed out of her car.  Mike grinned broadly and Brooke
followed him to the little two-seater he drove.

In the close
confines of the car, Brooke was nearly overwhelmed with the smell of Mike
Schmidt’s cologne; she wondered if he’d put some more on after seeing her stuck
in the parking lot.  She sat as close as she could to her door, trying to put
some distance between her and her manager.  Mike started the car and the tires
squealed as he sped out of the parking lot.

Brooke began
trying to give Mike directions to her house, realizing as she did that he’d
know where she lived then.  It was unavoidable, however, so she continued
telling him which way to go.  At several intervals, Mike tried cajoling Brooke
into going to a club with him.

“Just a drink
between friends,” he said.  “Come on, what’s the harm, Brookie?”

“I don’t drink,
Mr. Schmidt, but thank you.”

“Why so formal? 
You can call me Mikey.”  He wiggled his eyebrows and leered some more, saying,
“Or
Big
Mike, if ya know what I mean.”

Eww.
 
Brooke wondered how badly she’d be hurt if she were to leap from the car now. 
If she weren’t already injured, she might seriously consider it, just to get
away from ‘Big Mike’.

“Okay, um,
Mike,” she said hesitantly.  “Again, thank you for your invitation, but no, I
don’t drink.”

“Come on,
girlie,” he persisted.  “Just one drink’s not gonna hurtcha!”

“Mike, I’m sorry,
but I’m really exhausted, and I just want to go home.”

They were only
about two miles from Brooke’s house.  She had her hand on the door, ready to
jump out as soon as he stopped in her driveway.  Instead of continuing on to
her house, however, he slowed to a stop on the side of the road.  He turned
partially in his seat and looked at Brooke, his expression hard and
calculating.  He placed a meaty hand on her leg.

“So this is the
thanks I get for letting you keep your job?” he asked.  “And for bringing you
home out of the kindness of my heart?”

“I don’t think
it’s your
heart
you’re interested in right now!” Brooke snapped.  “Get
your hand off m –
ah
!”

Mike had
suddenly squeezed Brooke’s thigh hard, his thumb digging into her already
tender flesh.  Tears sprang to her eyes as she tried unsuccessfully to pry his
fingers from her leg.

“Please stop!”
she begged.  “Please!”

He laughed and
Brooke’s vision flashed red and black, a combination of pain and sudden anger. 
In the close space of the little car, Brooke swung her left arm as hard as she
could, the back of her fist catching Mike across the bridge of his nose.  His
grip loosened and Brooke threw open the door.  Slipping and sliding along the
muddy shoulder of the road, she ran as fast as she could, ignoring the pain in
her leg, ignoring the cold and the deluge falling from the sky.  Behind her,
she heard the little car’s engine race and headlights lit up the night around
her.

Brooke slipped
and fell, her hands stinging as gravel tore into her palms.  She threw up a
hand as if to ward off the oncoming car.  Suddenly the Karmann Ghia fishtailed
and skidded to a halt; a pair of headlights – much higher headlights – blinded
Brooke as she scrambled to get up.

“Brooke!” a
voice shouted.

Brooke
instinctively stumbled toward the voice.  A pair of hard arms enveloped her,
lifting her and carrying her.  She felt a solid wall of muscle beneath her
head, and heard the reassuring beat of a strong heart.  She was deposited
gently inside a warm vehicle.  Pushing her wet hair from her face, she watched
as Travis Cooper stalked toward the little car, which was stuck in the mud on
the side of the road.

In the
headlights from Travis’ big Hummer, Brooke could actually see the moment when
Mike Schmidt realized he was in serious trouble.  His face was pale behind the
windshield and his eyes widened comically.  He scrabbled at the door to lock
it, but wasn’t fast enough; Travis Cooper jerked open the door and yanked  Mike
out of the car by the front of his shirt.  Travis’ fist plowed into Mike’s
face; Mike crumpled to the ground and slumped sideways into the mud.  Brooke
could see Travis pointing his finger and speaking in what she could only
surmise was a threatening manner.  Schmidt cowered at the larger man’s feet. 
After a moment, during which Brooke saw Travis shake himself as if shaking off
his anger, he turned and strode back to the Hummer.  He climbed behind the
wheel and slammed the door.

Without a word,
Travis put the Hummer in gear.  He made a U-turn in the road and drove the
short distance to his house.  As soon as he put the Hummer in park, Brooke was
out the door, limping as quickly as she could to her own house.  Travis was
right behind her, his booted foot preventing her from slamming the door; it
bounced back against the wall.

“Brooke, where
have you been?” Travis demanded angrily.  “I’ve been trying to reach you for
hours!  And what were you doing with that creep?”

“I was at
work
!”
Brooke snapped.

“I called the
bakery, Brooke!  Nobody answered!  I
drove
to the bakery and the sign
said they close at five!”

“Yeah, and then
I went to the mall and got my old job back!”

“Why didn’t you
answer your phone?”  His voice was still hard, angry.

Brooke sank down
onto the sofa, heedless of her wet, muddy clothes.  She unconsciously rubbed
her aching thigh.  Looking at the pathetic picture she made, all the anger left
Travis.  He lowered his voice.

“Brooke,
sweetheart, why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“I don’t know if
you’ve noticed, but my phone is about a million years old,” Brooke said
tiredly.  Eyes closed, head resting on one hand, the other hand continued to
rub her leg.  “It doesn’t hold a charge very well anymore.  It died.  And I had
no idea you’d be looking for me, Travis.  I am not your problem, remember?”

“So the creep in
the Karmann Ghia was…?” he prompted, ignoring her statement.

“My boss from
Hot Diggity’s.  Mike Schmidt.  Yeah, it’s been a banner evening.”  She gave a
little shuddering sigh.  “Let’s see, first I groveled to get him to let me keep
my glamorous, minimum wage job at the food court.  Then he generously let me
buy a too-small tee shirt to wear at work tonight.  After being on my feet for
several hours, and being ogled all night by Mike and pretty much all the male
customers, I discovered my car wouldn’t start.  Mike just happened by and
offered me a ride.  I had no way to reach anyone, and no one to call anyway.” 
She took a deep breath.  “Against my better judgment, I accepted a ride from
him.”

“What happened,
Brooke?” Travis asked.  He’d edged close enough to sit next to her on the sofa,
and now he gently rubbed her back.  “Why did you jump out of that car?”

Another big
sigh.  “All the way home, he kept trying to get me to go have a drink with
him,” she answered.  “When he finally got that I really meant no, he got
angry.  He – he squeezed my leg.  I begged him to stop, but…he wouldn’t.  Just
squeezed tighter, digging his thumb in like he knew exactly where it would hurt
most.  When he stopped the car, I knew I had to get out.  I just jumped out and
ran.  And that’s when you came along.”