Page 24 of The Toy Maker (The Pink Cherrie #1)

TWENTY

I woke up in the back of the shop, on a cot I had grown much too accustomed to. The room was dim, with only the faintest light creeping in from under the door. I was curled up, protecting my vital organs and what was left of my dignity while slowly regaining consciousness.

“Keep going at it like this and your stomach will need to be pumped,” Jason’s smooth voice filled the room. A faint shiver cascaded over my body at the sound.

His room was warm, unlike the rest of the shop, and the smell of cinnamon returned, clinging to the sheets wrapped around me. He was close, he had to be, but I couldn’t bring myself to fully open my eyes.

I shushed him and groaned at the sound of my own voice. He probably thought I was a loser, having seen me drunk on two occasions and tending to me both times. I had been more vulnerable with him in the last few months than I had been with anyone.

He chuckled. “I hate to break it to you, but you might have a drinking problem.”

“I don’t drink often,” I argued, but disbelief radiated off him. “I only started drinking more when I got this job.”

“Interesting,” he mused, raising a curious brow.

“Shut up,” I grumbled, burying my face deeper into the warm fabric beneath me. I could only handle so much in a day, and Jason pushed the limit as if it was his sole purpose in life.

The bed creaked under the weight of another body shifting beside me, the sound cutting through the haze of my half-asleep mind. “I would if you let me go.”

My eyes snapped open, and my stomach dropped when I realized where I was: half sprawled across his chest, my fingers twisted in the fabric of his dress shirt. I scrambled back so quickly that the sheets twisted around my legs. “How long hav?—”

Jason sighed and sat up, brushing the wrinkles from his shirt. “Almost three hours. You whined whenever I tried to leave you.”

“Oh.” My cheeks burned at the image. “Sorry.” Maybe I do have a drinking problem?

Jason left me on the bed and sat on his workbench. “It is what it is,” he said with a shrug, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He tilted his head slightly, watching as I shifted awkwardly under the sheets. “Why did you freak out?”

The complete lack of saliva in my throat made it incredibly difficult to swallow.

My chest tightened at the memory—Mom’s trembling hands holding fake lashes that didn’t belong to her, the sound of her shouting bleeding through the walls, and Dad walking out with a suitcase before Tristan even got home from school.

Jason didn’t wait for my response.

“Did your ex-boyfriend ditch you for someone else?”

“It’s none of your business.” The door muffled the music coming from outside, and I added, “You should go back to your party.” Leave me to wallow in peace.

“And miss this lovely side of you?” Sarcasm dripped off his tongue.

“Please,” I sighed, wanting this to be over with already.

He crossed his arms, leveling me with a serious look. “No.”

“Ugh,” I groaned, yanking a pillow over my head to block him out, but his cologne was stronger there. “Why are you so… so…”

“Care to finish that sentence?”

I shot him a glare from under the pillow before tossing it aside with a huff. “Fine,” I snapped, throwing the covers off and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The cool floor met my bare feet as I stood, my heart pounding faster than I’d ever admit. “If you won’t leave, then I will.”

My stomach churned with each movement, but staying meant an inevitable brain implosion. He had seen me at my lowest. He would just keep prying into my life, trying to find out what kind of woman would sign herself up to not only be a Cherry but moonlight as a toy tester as well.

Jason stood near the workbench. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, and his dark hair was slightly messy, as if he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. He watched me struggle to get onto my feet, his expression caught somewhere between concern and exasperation.

“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands like I was a spooked animal. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

I pushed myself to take a step forward, but the room began to spin.

“I don’t want you to puke everywhere,” he chastised.

“I’m fine,” I snapped in return.

Jason furrowed his eyebrows. “No, you’re stubborn and up to your ears in alcohol.”

I scoffed, even if everything was a little hazy. “I can handle it.”

“Okay, you can handle it.” He watched me as if I could fall at any moment. “But rest a little before trying to walk home.”

His concern paused my latest and greatest escape attempt. I shook my head and lowered myself back onto the bed. “Fine,” I gave in, his sudden care for me stirring up the butterflies I thought I’d drowned in rum.

Jason didn’t say anything, but the faint sound of his soft humming filled the silence as he turned back to his workbench. The rhythmic clicking of tools against metal was strangely soothing, and before I knew it, darkness pulled me into its grasp.

I fell asleep to the quiet sound of Jason’s tinkering, his presence lingering in the space between my dreams. And when the dreams came, they were tinted with shades of pink and the faint hum of the newest Pink Cherrie gadget.

I dreamt about testing it.

The second time I woke up, my head still ached as if I had slammed it against a wall. I opened my eyes to search for the smug Toy Maker, but his chair sat empty.

I groaned as I forced myself out of bed and into the showroom. Decorations lay everywhere, and faux blood poured out of the tipped-over fountain. Red puddles stained the concrete floors.

With each step, I became more uncomfortable in my shorts. I glanced down in wonder. My costume was missing, and the track shorts were backward.

As I neared the main floor, I spotted Jason and Ethan by the front door. And I got the impression they knew each other a lot better than I imagined. Their once-friendly body language morphed into a standoffish stare down.

Ethan tried to place his hand on Jason’s shoulder, but it didn’t last long. Jason shrugged it off with a quick, sharp motion. His expression was colder than I’d ever seen before. Ethan shook his head and tried to resume the conversation. And that’s when he saw me.

Jason’s jaw tightened, his piercing gaze snapping to follow Ethan’s line of sight. The weight of their aggravated glares pinned me in place, and heat rose to my cheeks.

Ethan recovered first and rushed to my side. “Are you feeling better?”

The tenderness blindsided me. “About as good as this room looks,” I remarked, glancing around at the wreckage and trying to lighten the mood.

Ethan chuckled lightly and wrapped an arm around my waist for support. His warmth was comforting, and I leaned into him without much thought, using him as a human crutch.

But as I shifted, I caught sight of Jason out of the corner of my eye.

Jason stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly against his chest, his lips pressed into a thin line. His dress shirt from earlier was stained with—what I hoped—was fake blood. The green eyes I found myself staring at all the time burned a hole in Ethan’s arm where it touched me.

Jason’s annoyed stance became a stroll towards us. He contained most of the unpleasant emotions on his face. “It’s getting late,” he said.

The snappiness in his tone echoed in my ears moments after he disappeared into his lair, leaving me to fend for myself. For a moment, I stared at the spot where he’d disappeared, my pulse quickening.

I winced at Ethan’s low whistle. “He is not a happy camper.” A soft, involuntary laugh escaped me, cutting through the awkwardness. Ethan glanced at me with a small smile. “Want help getting home?” he asked.

The thought of returning to my own bed was tempting, but I hesitated. Jason’s irritated expression lingered in my mind, tugging at something deep inside me. I shook my head, deciding against leaving.

I promised Ethan I would be fine and wobbled to the back.

The door creaked open, and I stepped inside, freezing in place at the sight in front of me. Jason stood by the bed, completely at ease, except for the look of surprise on his face as he whipped his shirt off and tossed it onto the chair nearby.

He was stripped down to his boxers, his bare chest and toned arms catching the low light in a way that made it impossible to peel my eyes away.

“Don’t you knock?” he sputtered.

I forced my eyes to focus on his upper half. “Thanks for letting me rest in here.”

“I wasn’t given much of a choice,” he scoffed.

I hesitated, his annoyed tone making me second-guess myself. “Well, thanks anyway,” I tried.

Jason nodded but maintained the same irritated expression. His green eyes were fixed on me as I bent to gather my things from beside his bed. On my way back up, my gaze betrayed me, catching the sharp V-shaped lines on his hips that disappeared under the waistband of his boxers.

I swallowed hard, my cheeks flushing as I quickly averted my eyes. “Goodnight.”

Turning toward the door, dread pooled in my stomach as I thought about the long, lonely walk back to my apartment. The thought of dodging catcallers and freezing in my shorts added an extra layer of disgust.

Jason saw the apprehension on my face. “You can stay here for the night.”

My eyes widened. The tin man does have a heart.

He added, “But if you roll onto my side, you will spend the rest of the night on the floor.” Never mind.

I sighed in response to his threat and eyeballed the bed.

“What?” he snapped.

I felt the heat of his stare on the back of my neck. Being this close to him was already overwhelming, but the idea of leaving didn’t feel any better. I knew being in his bed would lead to trouble. Although, I reasoned to myself, I had been in his bed before and nothing bad happened.

I planned to avoid him all night, but that idea was doomed from the start. My stomach churned, but not from the alcohol.

“Nothing,” I said and climbed onto the empty bed.