Chapter 1: The Backroom Tease
The hum of the dying neon sign outside the back office was a flat, persistent drone, a sound Matty had long stopped hearing. Inside, the air was warm and carried the ghost of a thousand spilled drinks and stale popcorn. A single desk lamp painted the room in weak, buttery light, its glow catching the dust motes dancing above the stacks of invoice papers and the deep, woody sheen of the liquor shelves.
Casey was counting the till, her fingers moving swiftly over the notes. The silence between them was a familiar thing, but tonight it felt different. Charged. She could feel his eyes on her, a physical weight between her shoulder blades.
“You’ve been biting your lip all night,” his voice cut through the quiet, smooth and low. It wasn’t a question.
She jumped, a fiver fluttering from her grasp. She bent to retrieve it, her cheeks heating. “Habit.”
“No, it’s not.” Matty pushed himself off the edge of the desk where he’d been leaning. He moved without hurry, a predator with no need to rush. The space in the back office was tight, and in two strides he was behind her, his body not quite touching hers but close enough that she felt the heat radiating from him. He smelled of clean linen and the sharp, botanical scent of gin. “Was it for me?”
Her breath hitched. She stared straight ahead at the ranked bottles of whiskey and vodka, their labels blurring. “Don’t be arrogant.”
“It’s not arrogance if it’s true.” His hands came to rest on the shelf on either side of her, caging her in. His fingers, long and capable, brushed against her sleeves. “You get flustered when I stand too close. Your pulse jumps right here.” He didn’t touch her neck, just let the words hang in the air, a phantom caress.
She was trembling, a fine, constant shake she hoped he couldn’t see. Her heart was a frantic bird against her ribs. This was Matty. Her boss. Charismatic, easy-smiling, and completely in control of every room he ever walked into. And he had her pinned against the liquor.
“I should finish up,” she whispered, the protest weak even to her own ears.
“It can wait.” His voice was a murmur right by her ear now. One of his hands left the shelf. His fingertips trailed slowly, deliberately, up the outside of her thigh, over the thin cotton of her trousers. The touch was electric, a jolt that stripped every coherent thought from her head. Her body went rigid, then pliant, a silent betrayal of every nervous no she thought she should be mustering.
“See?” he said, his lips so close she felt the vibration of his words more than heard them. “You’re not telling me to stop.”
She couldn’t. A part of her, a part she kept locked away and was deeply ashamed of, was screaming for him to continue. To see where this went. To feel what that control of his would actually feel like.
“You’re my boss,” she managed, a last, feeble attempt at a boundary.
“I’m the guy standing behind you who can’t stop thinking about what that mouth of yours would feel like.” His hand slid higher, his palm flattening against her hip, pulling her back just an inch. It was enough for her to feel the solid, unyielding line of his body. “Tell me you’ve thought about it, too.”
It was the command in his tone, the absolute expectation of an answer, that undid her. The dominance wasn’t cruel; it was a catalyst, burning away her hesitation.
Her eyes slid shut. “Yes.”
The word was a surrender, and he took it as his due. His other hand came to her waist, turning her around to face him. The lamp cast his features in sharp relief, all angles and shadows, his eyes dark and unreadable. The mischievous glint was gone, replaced by something hotter, more focused.
“Good.” He didn’t kiss her. He just looked, his gaze tracing her face, her parted lips, the frantic beat in her throat. His thumb stroked a slow, burning path along her jawline. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
He was going to kiss her. She knew it. She wanted it. The anticipation was a live wire in her stomach.
But then he smiled, a slow, devastating curve of his mouth, and took a small step back. The space between them felt suddenly vast and cold.
“Your shift ended ten minutes ago,” he said, his voice back to its normal, easy cadence, as if the last two minutes hadn’t happened. As if he hadn’t just peeled her open with a look and a touch. “Go home, Casey.”
He turned and walked back to the desk, picking up a clipboard as if she were already gone.
She stood there, leaning against the shelves for support, her body humming, confused and utterly laid bare. The spell was broken, but the charge remained. He had started something, and with that casual dismissal, he had made it painfully clear that he alone would decide when it finished.
She finally found her voice, though it was unsteady. “Is that it?”
Matty didn’t look up from his clipboard. “For tonight.” He finally glanced over, and the intensity was back in his eyes, a promise and a warning. “Unless you’d like to stay and argue about it?”
She pushed off the shelves, her legs feeling like they belonged to someone else. She grabbed her bag from the hook by the door, her movements clumsy.
As her hand touched the cold metal of the doorknob, his voice stopped her one last time.
“Casey.”
She looked back.
“Don’t bite your lip on the way out,” he said, a playful, infuriating challenge in his tone. “It’s a terrible habit.”
She fled into the cool, dark silence of the empty cinema, his low laugh following her out the door. The game, she realized with a sinking, thrilling feeling in her gut, was already underway. And she had no idea what the rules were.