His Pickle Her Jam (Cherry On Top Tales #4)

Chapter Five-Buck

Day 1 of Block Party Prepping (9 to go)

I got to the storefront early, having been given the code by Mrs. Montgomery, and was pleased to find it had been professionally cleaned after Mr. Jones had closed.

Still, if we were doing food prep, I figured another going over couldn’t hurt. I’d already scrubbed the entire kitchen area, which had been used for the prepped meals Mr. Jones had offered at his grocery.

Lucky for me, the man had left the major appliances in place, and they were all in good condition. The utilities were on, and the store had a pretty efficient central air unit that I’d set to a cool 68 degrees.

It was hot as the Devil’s asshole out there.

A gross but apt description.

A better one would be hot as Jan’s sweet, tight, soaked pussy when I’d fingered her in the coat closet at Sonny’s wedding. But if I started thinking about that, I wouldn’t get anything done today.

It wasn’t even nine yet, and I had a lot of work to do. So, as much as I’d like to spend an hour or two jerking off to the memory of Jan’s moans or the way her channel had squeezed me, well, I had other things to do.

Plus, I couldn’t risk her coming into the store to find me with my shorts around my ankles and my dick in my hand.

“Fuck,” I growled, scrubbing a hand over my face before reaching into my shorts and adjusting my rock hard cock.

“Think of something else, Buck,” I mumbled and shook my head.

The humidity was off the charts. Maybe if I accomplished enough today, I could go home and jump in the pool to cool off.

I’d been futzing around with ideas all day. Mr. Jones wasn’t swayed by my cash offer on the place, so I’d have to wow him another way. Everybody loved pickles, but there was such a huge variety to choose from.

I was definitely going to include a classic pickled Kirby cucumber recipe in my three entries. I just wasn’t sure which flavor profile I was going with.

Nine days didn’t leave me a lot of options since pickling was a process and some recipes called for weeks before the food item was edible.

I would have to be discerning. And I would have to be on point. There was no room for error. I needed this storefront.

I knew the second I saw it, but after spending the past two hours scrubbing counters, floors, and windows, and turning on switches, I believed it even more.

Jones’ Grocery was huge.

That’s what she said.

I snorted. Then stubbed my toe.

Fuck. Concentrate, Buck.

Okay, so with the right interior design, I just knew the space would be perfect for Pickled Possibilities.

If anything, it was almost too big.

That’s what she—OUCH!

I stubbed my toe again.

FML.

Giddiness had me smiling through the pain. That would teach me to work in Crocs.

Whatever.

Crocs were fucking awesome. I was secure enough in my manhood to wear them proudly.

Melanie got me these for Christmas. There were chili peppers all over them. Some sort of chef thing, and I thought they were hilarious.

But really, it was just too hot for sneakers. If I was home, I’d be barefoot. But that wasn’t sanitary inside a commercial kitchen, so I had light athletic ankle socks on with my chef Crocs.

Perfect.

Yes, I was a fucking fashion icon.

I paused, the Swiffer Wet Jet handle in my hand as I pictured my future. It had been a really long time since I felt this kind of excitement over anything.

There was only one hitch in my plans.

One beautiful, curvy, sassy as fuck hitch.

And she just pulled her tiny, slightly dented hatchback into the parking spot right next to my SUV in the store’s lot. The spots were angled side by side, and the window I was standing in front of gave me a perfect view.

I wanted to look away, but there was just no actual way for me to do that. Not with Jan swinging the driver’s side door open so carelessly close to my car.

Yeah, right.

Like that was why I was staring. I could pretend all I wanted in front of people, but the fact was, Jan was just the kind of woman who caught my eye.

She slid out of her seat, wearing another cheerful summer dress. I was sure she wore it because it was loose and light, allowing for maximum air circulation and comfort.

She probably didn’t realize her delicious curves were impossible to hide beneath the thin fabric. Every time she moved, I caught a glimpse of the swell of her breasts, the dip in her waist, the curve of her hip—Jesus fucking Christ, the woman was trying to kill me.

My cock twitched beneath my khaki shorts, and I adjusted myself. Last thing I needed was to sport a woody in front of my nemesis.

Her short hair was in one of those headbands, but her wild curls and waves couldn’t be tamed. A few had escaped the elastic and brushed against the smooth skin of her cheek as she opened the hatchback.

Goddamn.

She was beautiful.

And suddenly, I realized the little hitch in my plans might actually be a bit more complicated than that.

Oh my fuck! Did I like Jan?

I watched her struggle with a huge cardboard box for all of three seconds before my body started to move without permission.

“Let me get that,” I said, jogging to her side, hyperaware of her in a way I never had been before.

“You’re here? Oh, um, you don’t have to?—”

“I got it,” I said, brushing my fingertips across her wrist and hand as I took it from her and gave her my biggest grin.

It was the one most girls called charming, but from the narrowing of her eyes I knew I’d missed the mark.

“Thanks,” she muttered, grabbing one of the smaller boxes and following me inside.

“My pleasure,” I replied, my smile more genuine this time.

And it really was a pleasure. I opened the door and held it back, allowing her to pass first.

“You look, um, nice today, Jan,” I told her as I placed her supplies on the counter opposite where I’d already dropped some of mine.

I knew something had happened after the night we kissed. Something to make her distrust me. I didn’t know what exactly, but I was trying to be nice.

Sure, we were competitors, but that didn’t mean we were enemies.

Looking at her in her little dress with pink flowers scattered across it, I sure didn’t want to be her enemy.

“Thanks. And you, well, you got some spicy Crocs on there, Buckeroo,” she returned, smirking at me.

“Buckeroo?” I looked down at my feet and laughed.

“Don’t blame me. I didn’t give you that horrible nickname.”

“Horrible nickname?” I asked, barking a laugh.

This woman. I swear, I never met anyone like her. She always said exactly what she was thinking without consequence. But that was just Jan.

No pretense. No games. No lies.

So fucking hot.

“You know what? I’m not going to argue with you over that. Anyway, uh, my first pair of Crocs was a gift. After I tried them, I found they’re surprisingly comfortable and I have like four dozen of them now,” I explained.

“Look, I’m sorry for teasing you about your Crocs and your nickname,” she murmured, surprising me again.

A dimple played at the corner of her mouth, and I watched her bite her lip. Jan’s stunning amber eyes peeked shyly at me from beneath her thick, dark lashes, making my heart slam against my ribs.

She was so pretty, and I was fucking speechless.

Me. The guy who was told he had more game than the New York Knicks was rendered mute by a curvy little woman with big eyes and a killer smile.

“I know a lot of people don’t like them, but I get the attraction. Trust me,” she said, and slid her foot out of her sandal.

I looked down, confused for a second about what we were talking about. Then I saw the tiny label on her shoe, and I grinned, too.

“Oh shit, those are Crocs? I didn’t know they made flip flops.”

“Oh yeah. They make a lot of different shoes. And even though I really like busting your chops, my conscience wouldn’t let me leave it at that. So, yes, I also like the brand, and I’ve got more than a few pairs in my closet at home,” she confessed with an adorable shrug.

“That’s very big of you, Jan.”

I was grinning at her, watching her face flit from annoyed to amused. Damn, but I liked it when her amber eyes sparkled, and her plump lips quirked up into a teasing smile.

She was so pretty when she was happy, and it seemed teasing me made her happy.

I licked my lips, ignoring the urge to adjust my hardening dick. It seemed her teasing made me, uh, happy too.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. As of right now, you and me are on opposite sides of this thing. Sworn enemies,” she said, furrowing her eyebrows.

“I don’t know about that, Pretty Girl,” I murmured as I went to retrieve her last box.

Enemies had a way of becoming something else at the height of battle.

Unless I was way off base, there was something more than rivalry between Jan Morrow and me.

And that was something I was very interested in pursuing.