Page 11 of The Toy Maker (The Pink Cherrie #1)

TEN

The door was locked but just for good measure, I tugged on it a dozen more times.

“Fuck.” Without my house keys, I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near my true love—the bed.

If my rebellious phase had taught me anything, it was that when one door closes there will always be an open window to squeeze your fucked-up ass through.

I scrambled around the building to find an open window, trying with all my willpower to keep myself from stumbling over.

The alleyway was dark and horrifying, lit up only by the flashlight on my phone.

I didn’t want to stick around any longer than I had to.

The window to the dressing rooms were shut tight, but eventually I came across one in the back that was unlocked.

The real challenge would be prying it open, so I tapped into my inner locksmith and jammed my keys under the window to lift it up. The wood cracked and groaned before giving in. Bingo.

Finally, love was an open window. I peered into the room and saw several tables filled with dismembered sex toys. In my haze, I concluded that I had stumbled upon a fuck-toy graveyard.

I carefully lifted my feet through the window and began to gracefully slide myself in. The plan included landing like a cat or a puma on my feet. Instead, I ended up losing my grip and landing flat on my ass. There’s another bruise , I thought with a wince.

Tapping into my ninja-like skills, I pushed myself off the ground and scurried around the room in search of an exit, but the world was still spinning. My only goal was to retrieve the purse, get back to the cab, and complete my quest for sleep.

My mission came to a screeching halt when the big bad wolf appeared. “What are you doing?” Jason’s voice startled me and nearly knocked me off my unicorn.

I clutched my chest, heaving for air. “You scared me.”

“Why are you here?” His eyebrows were furrowed, and he continued glancing between me and the door, confused. He was a regular knight in rusty armor.

“I need my keys,” I slurred, batting my hand around with a shrug.

Jason glanced down to my hand and met my drunken gaze. “You mean the ones in your hand?”

What a smug bastard, just assuming that I’m some sort of idio— “Oh.” The keys indeed dangled from my limp fingers. Jason smirked at my absent-mindedness, and I felt my cheeks begin to burn.

Swallowing, I struggled to find anything other than my shame to focus on.

Unfortunately, my eyes finally zeroed in on Jason’s appearance. His hair was tousled on one side as if he had just woken up from a nap; a smudge of black grease was smeared across his face and completely delicious-looking bottom lip.

“You’re wasted,” Jason observed flatly.

“That’s what my mom says, but I don’t think she is in any position to judge with that droopy husband of hers.” She never thought I lived up to my potential, if that potential was securing a man in my ‘good’ years.

“Your father?” He raised a brow.

“Psh,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes dramatically. “My dad was a stud. Unfortunately for me, I look more like my mom.”

He smiled despite hating my presence in the building, and my heart leaped.

I shook myself out of it and aimlessly stumbled around the toy graveyard. Pieces of toys were scattered across several tables. One contraption, in particular, caught my eye; I lifted the oddly assembled gadget off the table.

“That’s not finished.” Jason rushed over and grabbed the toy from my weak grip, brushing against my hand in the process.

It could have been the tequila or the fact that I had been celibate for a large portion of time, but I would testify in front of a jury that I felt fire moving up my arm. The heat practically turned my legs to mush. Or was it the tequila?

Those thoughts were cut short when Jason said, “How long are you staying?”

I cut him a glare. “As long as it takes for you to explain your doodad.” I ignored his rude way of insinuating that he wanted me out.

For a moment, I braced myself for him to laugh in my face and point me straight to the door. Instead, he glanced between me and the absurd toy like he was sizing up the lesser of two evils.

“Fine,” he conceded. “But after that, you leave.”

“Yes, sir,” I drawled, letting the words drip out with exaggerated sweetness.

He held his masterpiece up to the light. It resembled a Ferris wheel but with tongue replicas where the carts should be. “The idea is that?—”

“I’m pretty sure I understand the idea.” I rolled my eyes.

Jason set the toy on the table with a defensive shrug. “It’s a work in progress.”

I leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on my hand. “It’s a bit ridiculous,” I retorted.

His brow lifted sharply, his scoff full of disbelief and maybe just a little wounded pride. “What?”

The words tumbled out before I could bar them in, “You’re building a carnival ride of tongues, and it won’t ever replace the real deal or the suction thing everyone over eighteen has.”

“Everyone?” Crap.

I ran my fingers over the edge of his table, changing the subject. “Do you live here?” I peeped out, words still slurring.

“It’s cheaper than an apartment.” As if he couldn’t afford it . “And you just avoided my question.”

I grinned despite myself. “What question?”

Jason shook his head, exasperated but entertained. “Do you always have to act like a child?”

“I’m not the one spending my free time playing with toys.”

“You sure about that?” he challenged, and our eyes locked.

If part of the job description was being able to withstand his blue eyes cutting into my flesh, I was screwed. Being watched by an audience was one thing, but knowing he would be there too made my heart leap into my throat.

He snapped directly in front of my face, causing me to jump. “Ha,” he said with a smug grin. “You blinked.”

My eyes widened . What a child.

“You really suck,” I grumbled.

He responded without a second thought, “That’s ironic.”

I took a break from our staring contest to glance around the cluttered room. The empty bottle of liquor behind him explained some of his behavior.

I rubbed my hands over my face in frustration. “Listen, asshol?—”

“Why is there ink on the back of your hand?” he cut me off before I could even build momentum.

Damn him.

I stared at the faded writing, scrunching my brows. “It’s my address.”

“No, that’s this address.” Funny how all addresses look alike.

“Oh yeah, I guess it is. Kitty wrote it before she shoved a cock down her throat.”

Jason’s eyebrows rose to the ceiling. “She did what?”

“Don’t worry,” I yawned. “She threw it up afterward.”

He watched me wander over to a cot tucked away in the corner. Cheaper than an apartment but also less comfortable.

“You’re really trashed, aren’t you?” he mused.

“We can’t smash.” I flopped onto the bed with a huff. “You’re the boss.”

Jason sighed, “Alright, you take the bed.” Like he could call it that. “I’ll take the couch.”

There wasn’t a couch in sight, but it didn’t matter. The day had been fun, but I didn’t have time for fun. “I can’t stay. I have to make a phone call,” I mumbled.

“At two in the morning?”

No. “Maybe.”

He sighed, “As much as I would like for you to leave, it’s too late for you to be wandering around by yourself.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued before I could, “You’re drunk, and it’s late. Take the cot.”

I nodded in defeat. “Where will you sleep?”

“There are rooms back there.” He pointed beside one of the many shelves lining the wall. On the other side, I could see the start of a hallway. I wondered just how big this building actually was.

After a few minutes of me silently fumbling with the clasps on the shoes Sarah let me borrow, Jason joined the campaign to free me of them. His fingers brushed against my heel as he took off the shoes and put them on the floor.

“Thanks.” The contact sent shivers throughout my body. It’s the alcohol , I tried to assure myself . He leaned in to lift the covers over me and met my gaze; his blue eyes dazzled under the light. I paused, then said quietly, “Weren’t your eyes green before?”

“Contacts,” he said, picking up one of the pillows beside me and the spare blanket at my feet.

“Contacts now or contacts then?” I tilted my head.

He switched off the light and walked to the door. “Goodnight, Tara.”

“What?” I yelled drunkenly. “Tell me what color your eyes are.”

The sound of the door shutting was his only response.

I sank down into the covers and tried to ignore the cologne weaved into every fiber of the bed.

It smelled warm, like cinnamon, and was strong, almost overpowering, but it faded as I settled in.

At the first sign of sunlight, I was going to sneak out the back window.

I only needed to stay awake for a few more hours.

Except I didn’t give the cot enough credit.