Early admission, p.1
Early Admission, page 1
Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2023 Alex Winters
ISBN: 978-0-3695-0919-2
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: CA Clauson
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
EARLY ADMISSION
Campus Crush, 1
Alex Winters
Copyright © 2023
Chapter One
Sammy
“I already gave you yesterday off, Trixie.”
Sammy Peterson held the cell phone at arm’s length, tempted to throw it across the restaurant rather than negotiate with her perpetually late employee. Too bad there was a lone guest in the dining room at that very moment or she might have let Trixie know what she really thought of her—or her repeated schedule requests.
“Yeah, but I asked for both days off, Sammy.”
She struggled to keep her cool, knowing the dinner rush was approaching and desperate not to work it herself for the second night in a row. “Wow, Trixie, that’s great. And I didn’t actually give you both days off, so … you’re scheduled to work tonight. Period. End of story. And you’re late, to boot.”
“I’m late cuz I ain’t comin’ in tonight, Sammy. I done told you that twice already.” Trixie sounded as stupid as she was. Okay, maybe not stupid since she managed to get a few days off every week but … dull. Correction—she sounded as dull as she was.
Sammy seethed. Trixie knew how shorthanded she’d been lately, and it affected her not one bit. “Trixie, I’ll give you two choices. Come in tonight and keep your job, or call off your shift and lose it. Up to you, entirely.”
Trixie sounded like this wasn’t entirely her fault. Completely, utterly, absolutely not her fault. “That’s not fair, Miss Sammy. I’ve been a good employee to you.”
Sammy managed to count to five—ten was a big, fat stretch—before responding through clenched teeth. “Yes, Trixie, fair enough. You’ve been a thoroughly adequate employee on the days you actually, you know, show up for your scheduled shift. Late, usually, but sure, okay … fine. You got me on that one!”
In the dead space that followed her mic drop, Sammy heard the young customer by the window snicker quietly. It was just past 7:00, the sky grown dark outside the big picture window in front of him, turning it into a mirror as he sat, nibbling contentedly on his small bag of cheap potato chips.
Sour cream and onion, if she recalled correctly.
“There you go then,” Trixie said in her annoying country drawl, the kind she always played up when she was trying to get something she really wanted. “You can’t just fire me cuz I didn’t show up this one time.”
“I’m not firing you, Trixie. Despite being dumb enough to hire you, I’m too smart for that, at least. Fact is, this is your fifth call out this month, and as you’ll recall from all that paperwork you signed your first shift, that’s grounds for dismissal. So, in essence, you’re actually firing yourself.”
In the mirrored window, Sammy saw the young stranger give a curious little nod, his face wearing a vaguely “good for you” expression as he reached for his medium sized soda.
Grape soda, if she recalled correctly.
He was wearing a faded white t-shirt, short sleeved, the arm in question long and lean and toned as it lifted the plain white cup with the green and yellow “Sammy’s Subs” logo on the side. Not that Sammy was noticing or anything.
“Is that … is that even possible?”
“I didn’t think it was, Trixie. Then I met you.”
The line went dead, Trixie not sure if that was a question or an answer. Sammy struggled to ignore the cute customer and the way he was grinning again. She turned and leaned her back on the sales counter, finding his weathered ball cap and those long, slender fingers on his soda cup distracting as she struggled to find a worker for the late night shift.
Spring Valley, Tennessee was a small college town, surrounding Sycamore State University. As such, businesses there kept odd hours. Like Sammy’s, for instance. Dinner time was usually quiet and slow but as the night wore on and the college kids started leaving the night clubs, hot spots, and frat parties all up and down State Street, well … things really picked up. Sammy wasn’t up to another all nighter, that was for sure.
“Then again, Trixie,” she said, finding the Employee Rights & Benefits poster hanging on the kitchen wall across from her far less distracting than the sexy stranger sitting by the window, with his toned arms and long fingers and stupid ball cap and slyly grinning face. “You can avoid all this by, you know, simply showing up for your shift. Remember? The one you’ve been scheduled for all week?”
Trixie’s voice went duller than usual. “Can’t do it, Sammy. Sorry.”
Sammy clenched her eyes shut and counted to ten—okay, at least eight—before hissing, “Fine, Trixie, I’ll make you a deal. Show up tonight and I’ll forget all those write-ups in your employee file. We’ll wipe the slate clean and just start fresh and—”
“Honey, I would but I’m all the way up in Gatlinburg. I told you that last week when I asked for the days off, now… I’m sorry but I’m three hours away and couldn’t make it even if I tried.”
“God forbid you try, Trixie!”
Sammy hung up the phone, slamming it down so hard on the sales counter beside her that she was surprised it wasn’t cracked when she finally got the courage to pick it back up and check. The sudden absence of Trixie’s annoying, needy twang allowed Sammy to hear her own breathing, not to mention the 80s music that blared constantly in the cozy little retro-themed sub shop that bore her name.
“Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” sounded particularly ironic at the moment as Sammy reached for the well-worn “Help Wanted” sign that was never far from reach these days.
“Yeah, right, Cindy,” Sammy murmured, drifting from behind the safety of the sub counter to put it back in the front window one more time.
Chapter Two
Milo
“Does it come with room and board?”
Milo Caldwell nodded at the sign in the woman’s hand, bearing the familiar black background with “HELP WANTED” printed in red block letters across the front. She glanced over at him, the sign extended toward the very window where he’d been sitting for the better part of an hour.
She wore a green ball cap, a dirty blonde ponytail pulled through the back, soft hazel eyes searching his curiously. “Beg pardon?”
He cracked a soft smile, struggling not to admire the way her small breasts pressed almost angrily against the faded yellow t-shirt she wore, the one with the puffy green letters spelling out “Sammy’s Subs” across her chest. “The job. Does it come with someplace to stay?”
She considered him more carefully this time, narrowing those eyes above a curious smile. “Why … would you ask that?”
Milo glanced out at the curbside in front of the sub shop, the back of his beat-up Jeep loaded down with moving boxes and hastily stuffed trash bags. “Isn’t it obvious?”
She shook her head quietly, ponytail wishing across her smooth shoulders. “No, I mean … who expects a job in this day and age to come with a place to stay?”
He swallowed audibly, painfully aware that his desperation was showing—and powerless to prevent it. “I don’t expect it, I just … need it?”
There was a small ledge just inside the window and the woman sank onto it, crossing one long, shapely leg over the other as she glanced at the remains of his six-inch sub combo. There wasn’t much left but, then again, he had been nursing it for the better part of an hour, wondering where in the actual hell he was going to lay his head down for the night.
“Why, though?”
“Why do I need a place to stay?”
Sexy Sub Woman gave him a playful glare, the kind she’d worn while firing her clearly negligent employee over the phone only moments earlier. “Listen, if you keep answering a question with a question each time I ask one, then…”
“Then … what?” he asked, if only to watch her sexy little nostrils flare.
“Then you’ll never find out if this job comes with the spare room overhead.”
Milo couldn’t help but sit up straight. “You have a spare room overhead?”
Sexy Sub Woman seemed to deflate gently. “Yes, I do, and obviously I need help, but no one’s ever needed a place to stay before.”
“Listen, if it helps, I’ve never needed a place to stay before.”
“Why do you now?” she pressed, leaning gently back as if all the air had just gone out from her sails.
“Do you want the long answer? Or some BS story I could tell you just to get the job?”
Their eyes met briefly in the neon glow of the 80s inspired sub shop, the same glow that had invited him inside when he’d first pulled onto State Street. “The long answer, obviously.”
He nodded. “I got accepted to Sycamore State for the fall semester,” he began slowly.
“Congrats,” she chirped, giving him a sly little golf clap that accented her small, pert breasts. Not that he was noticing, or anything.
; “Thanks. I was planning on staying at home until then—”
“Where’s home?”
“Piedmont, Georgia.”
“Why’d you leave?”
Her expression bordered on sarcastic, with vague notes of world weary curiosity. He chuckled. “I’m … I’m trying to tell you here.”
She smiled at last, full lips curving up toward those soft, sexy eyes. “Sorry, bad habit. Proceed.”
“I didn’t get to go to school right away, like most of my friends did.” Milo paused, half-expecting her to interrupt. Instead she just sat there, lean and sexy in the soft neon glow from above. “My Dad passed my senior year and my Mom lost it. Just … couldn’t get out of bed, started drinking, stopped working, stopped functioning, basically. I had to deal with all the paperwork, sort out the insurance, pay the mortgage off so she could keep a roof over her head, all that good stuff. So I put college on hold to get her back on her feet, takes a while. Fast forward to three years later and she meets some new guy, sweeps her off her feet, she doesn’t see he’s a big fat dickwad toward her son, who basically put his life on hold to…”
Milo was digressing. He knew it. Felt his cheeks getting flushed, his nostrils flaring, much the same way Sexy Sub Lady’s had when she was firing that clown of an employee over the phone. “Sorry. Anyway, I couldn’t stick around that house anymore and figured I’d just check into my dorm room early, get to know the campus over the next few weeks, buy my books, hit up a few bars, find an off campus job and be all set by the time classes started next month. Turns out…”
“They didn’t let you in?” Sexy Sub Lady finished for him.
“No, can you believe that?”
Her quasi-disgusted expression made it perfectly clear that yes, actually, she very well could. “Uh, yeah. I mean, summer session is still going on. There are probably kids in your assigned dorm room who won’t be finished with the semester until at least next week, then they have to clean it out, sanitize everything, change the locks, whatever. Didn’t you have, like, a check-in date or whatnot somewhere?”
Milo pointed out the big picture window behind her, gesturing vaguely at his worldly belongings thrown hastily into his backseat. “Somewhere in that mess, sure.”
She nodded, then shook her head. They sat like that for a few moments as she sized him up. He felt exposed, seen, and sexier than he had in months. She stood, then, those endless legs right in front of him, sleek and sexy in her clingy khaki work shorts. There was an “Open” sign in the door and, before clicking the lock shut, she turned it over to the “Closed” side.
Flicking light switches as she went, the store grew dark, switch by flicking switch. She was almost back to the counter where she’d stood while firing the ex-employee when she turned back to him, nodding. “Come on,” she said, waving a hand and distracting him from ogling her firm, round backside. “Get your stuff and I’ll show you to your room.”
“My … stuff’s … out … there?” He pointed at the Jeep, hardly believing his good fortune.
She favored him with a slow, smooth smile, warming in him places that had yet to be, uh, defrosted, in months. Almost a whole year, truth be told. “Not that stuff, Silly. Your sub stuff. Throw it away and then I’ll show you upstairs.”
Chapter Three
Sammy
“Sorry it’s a little messy…”
Faded Ball Cap Guy stood in the foyer of the loft apartment, all long and lean and gawky and at least seven times sexier than he’d looked sitting down, hunched over his Value Sub Combo. So sexy Sammy was starting to regret her decision to hire him.
She was still on the wooden landing, pulling off the spare key to the loft so he’d have one after she left that night. That is, if she left that night. Scenarios kept racing through her mind, borne of one too many episodes of Crime Scene Files before bed at night. What if Faded Ball Cap Guy was a serial killer and she, an innocent sub shop owner, his latest victim? What if he somehow guessed the safe combo in the middle of the night and absconded with the day’s receipts before she opened the next day?
She blinked her eyes open to find him standing in the small entryway, smiling curiously—and expectantly. “I… I’m sorry? Did you say something?”
He chuckled, soft and low and dry, a sound like an idling car engine that, excuse the pun, really got her own engines revving, so to speak. “I said … you’re really big on themes, huh?” With a wave of his long, masculine hand, Faded Ball Cap Guy gestured toward the walls of the upstairs apartment, festooned with faded movie posters, each one gorier—and goofier—than the next. Motocross Murders 4. Carnage at Cheerleader Camp 3. Hijinx at Horror High 8. They featured all the best cheesy, 80s artwork that warmed her heart, scantily clad beauties in awkward poses, skulking murderers in ski masks and goggles, big hunting knives gleaming in the moonlight, neon and black lights and Corvettes racing.
“There’s a used movie store just down the street,” she explained, drifting gently inside, but leaving the door open just in case. “The owner lets me know when there’s a new movie poster to pick up.”
There was a small counter separating the even smaller kitchenette from the living room, such as it was. Faded Ball Cap Guy leaned against it proprietarily, like maybe he owned the place instead of her. “Aren’t you a little young for 80s movies?”
“Obviously,” she huffed, still lingering near the doorway warily. “But my dad and I used to watch them growing up. It was the only time he wasn’t yelling at me, or bossing me around, or lecturing me, just … laying there, tossing popcorn at me during the scary parts, both of us giggling like actual family members and not just coworkers. I miss that part of my life. Looking at these sometimes cheers me up.”
He was grinning back at her beneath his stupid sexy ball cap, as if waiting for more. She blushed and stammered, “I… I don’t know why I just told you that.”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
She shrugged, wishing dull, selfish Trixie would have just shown up for her shift in the first place, thus avoiding all the new angsty, sexy, dramatic fantasies she was building around this stupid college boy with the long, sexy fingers and taut, toned arms and those brooding shadows beneath his faded ball cap. “In a way, I guess. I just… I’m not in the habit of telling new employees my family history, you know?”
“I started it, I suppose. I’m not in the habit of telling new … uh, bosses … my sordid family history, either.”
“So we’re even then?” Sammy hated the uncertain tone in her voice. The trepidation. The uncertainty. She was the boss, dammit. She’d been one for a good six or seven years and she wasn’t in the habit of backtracking just because some new kid started making subs for her.
Then again, the night had a strange, exotic feel to it already. It wasn’t just the hint of autumn in the air, summer gently coming to a close and the tiny college town lulled by the handoff from summer semester to fall. It wasn’t just the kiss off from Trixie, which shouldn’t have shocked, let alone hurt her, but still stung, regardless. It wasn’t even the fact that she’d closed early, for the first time since that big power outage last spring.
It was the fact that, if she admitted it to herself anyway, she’d hired this handsome young stranger because he excited her, in more ways than one. And he shouldn’t have. She’d long ago built up a protective wall to keep her heart safe from frisky college brats like this one, with their smooth, toned bodies and ripe, full lips and eyes full of mischief and potential. But with one frisky glance from beneath that brooding ball cap, he’d crumbled it completely, brick by careful brick, until she stood before him, vulnerable and almost as desperate for male attention as he was for a roof over his head.
“I’m Milo, by the way,” he said with that same, knowing smile, as if he could read her mind and was enjoying her flustered inner monologue, to say nothing of the butterflies having a field day in her belly. “For the paperwork, I mean.”
