Terri Osburn - Up to the Challenge

Loose-fitting jeans rode low on his hips, reminding Sid of the cover model on one of the romance novels she kept hidden in her closet. Except Lucas looked better than the model. If he planned to wear those things every day, the next six weeks would be hell on her libido. The white polo shirt didn’t help either. A hint of chest hair teased at the collar, while tight sleeves showed off tan, well-defined arms.

When did a workaholic find time to build that kind of muscle?

Golden-brown hair framed a face that would make a Greek god jealous. Sid didn’t have to see the eyes to know specks of green and brown danced in their hazel depths. Those eyes had stolen her teenage heart long before the body caught up to its true potential.

Maybe we’ll get lucky.

Those words had played through her brain all freaking night. Combined with the memory of his fingers softly twirling her hair, it’s a wonder she’d gotten any sleep at all. Experience had proven that Lucas Dempsey would never be interested in a woman like Sid. His past girlfriends, at least the ones Sid knew, including Beth, shared a demure quality.

Sid was about as demure as Anchor was big.

“How’s Tom?” she asked.

“Good,” he said, turning over the menu. “Mom says he’s driving the nurses crazy.”

“Anybody else here yet?” She dropped her keys behind the bar.

He didn’t look up. “Flynn’s out back approving the fish. Last I checked, Chip was chopping vegetables.”

The tap tap tap of knife hitting cutting board confirmed his words. Sid poured herself a soda and waited to see if her new coworker would put down the menu and actually talk to her. He’d ignored her long enough. If they were going to work together, that stopped now.

“Pretty sure the menu hasn’t changed in five years.” Leaving her glass on the bar, she started lowering the chairs.

“So I see.” He finally glanced her way. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

Sid looked down. “What’s wrong with this?”

He tucked the menu under his arm. “Your shirt says ‘Mechanics Do It With Lube.’”

His shirt should have said Captain Obvious . “Yeah. So?”

“So you’re dealing with customers and that shirt is inappropriate. This is a family restaurant.”

Sid slammed a chair onto all fours and crossed the space between them, stopping just under Lucas’s nose. “Let me make this clear. I’ll wear whatever the fuck I want to wear, and not you or anyone else is going to tell me I can’t. I’ve worked in here for years and your dad has never had a problem with my wardrobe.” She eyed him up and down. “At least I’m not dressed like a pansy.”

He took a seat. “While I’m in charge of this business, I’ll decide what is and is not appropriate. And there will be no dropping of F-bombs in front of the customers.”

If he kept this up, she would have no problem pretending not to have feelings for him.

“You may be used to calling the shots in your other life, the boring one, but I’ve told you once, you’re not in charge of me. We both know you need me. If I walk out of here right now, not only are you screwed, but your mother will snatch a knot in your ass as soon as she hears. So I suggest you take your appropriate speech and shove it.”

Satisfied she’d made her point, Sid did a one-eighty and headed back to the chairs. Inappropriate. She’d show him inappropriate.

“A little old for this rebel teen act, don’t you think?”

She froze, chair in midair. The man wanted to die. That was the only logical explanation. With great effort, she returned the chair gently to the table, then casually strolled back to the bar. Jaw locked, she climbed onto a stool, leaving an empty seat between them. For his safety.

“You’ve got some alpha thing going on. I get it. If playing captain gets you through the day, that’s fine. If you need to do the man act to make up for shortcomings in other areas, go for it. But I’ve spent my entire life dealing with guys like you. And I can give just as good as I get.” She leaned forward, dropping a hand onto his knee. The hazel eyes darkened, but he didn’t move. Sid ignored the shot of heat that raced up her arm. “We’ve got six weeks. You want to make this a pissing contest, give it your best shot.”

He leaned so close, she could feel his breath on her lips. “Move your hand a little higher, and you’ll know there are no shortcomings here.”

Sid jerked back, the heat from his body still imprinted on her hand. Her heart beat double time, and she feared he’d see how tempted she was.

“You wish, pretty boy.” Desperate for distance, she all but ran to the farthest tables and started dropping chairs two at a time. How did he manage to piss her off and still make her want to jump his bones? Jerk.

The noise of tables scraping the floor mixed with the blood raging in her head meant Sid didn’t hear Lucas come up behind her until he whispered against her ear. “You just lost round one. I’ll expect more of a fight in round two.”

Sid suppressed the urge to swing a chair in his direction. Arrogant jackass. He wanted a fight, he’d damn well get one. On her terms. By the time he’d lowered two chairs from the next table over, she had a plan.

Keeping her voice casual, she said, “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”

Four legs hit hardwood. “What did you have in mind?”

“Tips.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a grin that made her toes curl. “I could show you some moves, but I never mix money and sex.”

“How about you stop thinking with your dick for a minute.” That wiped the grin off his face. “Fifty dollars says I can earn more tips than you can. You up to the challenge?”

He leaned on the chair and rubbed his chin. “Fifty dollars and all I have to do is make more tips than you? That’s too easy.”

“A hundred.” She could take him and earn an extra hundred for the garage fund.

“What kind of a man would take a hundred dollars from a lady?”

“You see any ladies around here, twinkletoes?”

He nodded. “Good point. Okay, I’m in. Joe and Beth will be here by six. We cut off tips at five thirty and start counting.” He headed toward the kitchen. “Then you can pay up.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To grab one of the big pickle jars. I’m going to need it to store all my tips.”

As he disappeared into the kitchen, Sid dropped another chair and mumbled, “Not if I shove that jar up your nose.”

Lucas prided himself on being in shape. He ran three to five miles every day. Took the stairs at work. Ate his vegetables and took his vitamins. But he’d never been as tired as he was by three o’clock that afternoon.

No wonder his dad had a heart attack. Running this bar for a day had Lucas ready to cry uncle. By the end of the week, he’d be in traction.

Sid hadn’t even broken a sweat and she’d been covering a third of the floor. Much more ground than the small space behind the bar. Lucas didn’t know what it was about the woman that made him say the stupid shit he had that morning. Some men might make a habit of inviting women to check out their package, but Lucas wasn’t one of them.

Still, he couldn’t say he regretted it. Not after seeing her reaction. Sid just begged to be teased, and heaven help him, Lucas enjoyed sparring with her. Maybe the next six weeks wouldn’t be as awful as he’d first thought.

He figured she chose the station along the windows, which stayed full throughout the day thanks to a view of the water, to increase her earning potential. But traffic wasn’t the key to this contest. Courtesy and charisma, two qualities Sid clearly lacked, would win him an easy victory.