Six | Ollie

The room was cast in a caramel-colored glow, stemming from the only window within it. The apartment was freezing, just as it always was in the morning. It was one fault of living in a building over a hundred years old. Even on warm days, the wind coming from Lake Michigan caused the drafty windows to rattle. The brick walls were no help with keeping it warm either, as they lacked proper insulation. When the radiator kicked on, the metal vibration caused me to stir from an exceptionally deep sleep.

The sheets were just as cold as the apartment, and I seemed to lack most of them. I shivered, idly using my arm to search for the missing covers. I kept my eyes hooded with a hangover that was already searing through my head. When I came up short, I forced just one lid open. There, on the opposite end of the queen-sized bed, was the culprit.

I used my thumb and pointer finger and pressed them hard against my eyelids, letting out a pained groan. That explained why I was naked and cold. I had brought someone upstairs last night.

While staring at nothing more than a mess of brown hair and the smooth skin of her shoulder—the one peeking out of the covers I was lacking—I tried to recall the events of the night before. The first memory that hit me was laughter—her laughter mixed with my own. Jesus, I laughed my ass off last night. When was the last time I had laughed until it hurt?

I worked a full shift and was pissed there was a band playing off schedule. It meant I would not get any sleep. I was about to cuss out Mikah when I saw...

... the grocery store chick.

I rolled to my stomach and dropped my face into the pillow with another groan. Why did I do this to myself again? I always bring home the crazy ones.

Now it was time to wait for the awkward moment when she woke up, and I could see just how well those beer-goggles were working last night. If I recalled the grocery store correctly, this girl was a goddamn catastrophe. She looked bat shit crazy.

Who marinates their soup?

My head pained again. I needed Aspirin... possibly whisky.

As I slowly exited the bed, searching the dark wood floor for any sort of pants to cover myself, an unfamiliar alarm clock sounded. It made an annoying chirping noise instead of the normal iPhone tone I was familiar with. My attention shifted back to the stranger, waiting for her to stir from her state of sleep. And she did.

Her arm dropped over the side of the bed. This slight movement alone had me panicking, wondering where the hell we had shed our clothing last night. She let out the smallest groan, obviously feeling the same effects of last night's fun. Keeping the white sheets clutched to her chest as she sleepily rubbed her eyes with a free hand, she sat herself upright. As soon as groggy eyes met mine, the memories of the night before hit me. Her stunning eyes widened. The sheet dropped to be quickly recovered and pulled up to her chin. My cock twitched with the brief sight of her naked frame, recalling taking her all over the apartment and kissing every inch of skin I could find—minus the lips, of course.

Sloan.

That was the name I called out repeatedly during our marathon of sex during the night. I didn't remember falling asleep, but it had to have been just a few hours prior. There were no sounds coming from the bar beneath my feet; meaning it couldn't be ten o'clock yet. The sex had been incredible, and now I could see I was very wrong about the grocery store girl being a mess. Even with bedhead, smeared eyeliner, and a clear hangover after a night of sexual antics, Sloan was still so hot my mouth watered.

"Hey." My hand moved swiftly to hide morning wood. I was hoping she hadn't noticed me becoming harder when the sheet dropped.

Shock was still written across her face as she glanced around the room and back to me. There were a few rapid blinks. Her mouth—and fuck, that mouth was phenomenal—was partially opened, as if wanting to ask a million questions and not knowing where to begin. I was silently praying she was not too drunk to remember what had happened last night. I never brought drunk girls up here—wanting them sober for this reason. But last night was different. I had no intention of even spending over ten minutes with her, but I couldn't stop myself. We laughed, and things got so heated I had to have her.

"Um, hi," she said, being so quiet that the space between us filled with an awkward tension.

She reached for the floor again, bringing me back to the reality of the blaring chirps sounding from it. While she was turned away, this gave me the opportunity to open the bathroom door and grab a towel and wrap it around myself. It did nothing to hide the fact I was hard. I could take a piss to rid myself of it, but I knew it wouldn't make a difference. It would only make this more awkward. For now, it would be easier to blame it on morning male anatomy. Fucking a one-night stand a second time, as amazing as that sounded right now, was not an option and against my rules. We had already broken the no names rule. Experience over the last two years reminded me the last thing I needed was another clingy hookup on my hands. At least this one wasn't blonde—which was new.

"You set an alarm to sneak out?"

Sloan wrapped herself with the sheet, having finally found the off button for the annoying sound.

"No. Well, yes. Sort-of. Err..." She bit down on her lip and peered to me, this time allowing her eyes to linger on my towel before clearing her throat. "I have to work—which is in both of our favors to wrap this up quick and easy. Have you seen my dress?"

I couldn't stop my grin, seeing her blush and clumsily fumble from the bed. Apparently, she had forgotten my request to leave on the strap-up heels. They added to the fun. I could still feel the spots where they had dug into my flesh. Those heels digging into me as I gripped her legs and drove myself into her... and the way she played with herself as I did. I glanced to my chest, finding small circles of black and blue pigmentation across my skin before tucking the memory away fondly. As far as one-night stands went, this one was now at the top.

"Dear god, why did I wear these?" She began pulling the strings free and cringed as she slowly removed the shoe. Instant relief soothed her features. She exhaled deeply. "I'm going to kill Hal."

She bent over and rubbed her foot soothingly, again allowing the sheet to part slightly. My cocked ached with the view of the space between her legs. A beautiful pussy, pink and swollen from me taking her. This was not helping the taming of the morning wood.

"I'll find your dress." I excused myself from the room in a rush.

This missing dress was an excuse to stop me from doing something stupid. Fucking her again was not an option, even if I was raring to go. The rules were in place for a reason. Plus, she wasn't the only one who needed to work today. My horny ass needed to calm down.

The wood floors were like ice against my feet. It added pep to my step while I scoured the apartment for the missing garment. Where all had we screwed last night? Everywhere—which didn't help me any.

She still had it on in the kitchen. It was around her middle as I took her on the couch...

Fabric collided with my toes, stopping me from making it past the hallway. At my feet was a little black dress, scrunched against the baseboard to my right. I smiled, picking it up by a thin strap using a single finger. Now I recalled the hallway sex. That position was new and would be added to the regular lineup.

So much for getting rid of morning glory.

"Thank goodness!" Sloan reappeared from behind me and took the dress from my fingertip. She looked like Aphrodite, sinfully using my bedsheet as a dress. "I'll trade you."

The white sheet dropped from around her and the bundle of sex-scented fabric was pushed into my face. I got quite the look of her naked body beforehand, knowing no relief for my cock was in the future. Her body was fit with the best legs I had ever seen—and the way they shook as she came was heaven. But there was something about seeing her now as she quickly pulled the dress over her head that was downright killing me. I ogled the sight of her adjusting her tits to pack them back into the dress.

She wasn't one for conversation while moving past me to the living room. She bent over to pick up various items that had fallen from the pockets of the dress before losing it completely. My brows heightened with each bend, taking in the free show. The last stop would be the kitchen where my clothes and her underwear remained. It took a few kicks of my clothes before her foot found what she was looking for. With her tight body curving to retrieve the panties, my head cocked to follow her movement. I again drank in the sight of that pink slit peaking beneath the short black material.

Fuck, she's hot.

"You're being a perv."

My eyes snapped to hers. With a wicked grin, I agreed. "You didn't seem to mind that last night."

Her eyes may have rolled, but I saw the smile she tried to hide from me. She had just as much fun last night as I did. A sense of pride filled me now that I knew the cranky-ass girl I had found in the bar would leave satisfied.

She pulled her underwear back on and put the lost items safely back into the pockets of the dress. The shoes were retrieved and held by their straps before she strode towards the door that would lead her back down the stairwell and into the restaurant—the only way out. After witnessing the way she cringed with each step, I couldn't even blame her for not wanting to wear the shoes, but walking barefoot in downtown Chicago was a terrible idea.

"Do you want me to call you a cab?"

Her head shook, unbolting my door. "I uh, ordered an Uber through the app."

This was always the weird part—the goodbye after a night of wild sex with a stranger. What the hell are you supposed to say? Thanks for the fuck? It's been fun? It was not as if I would ever see her again. I continued to watch her escape, still holding my towel that had failed in hiding my erection.

"Oh, wait!" She slapped her forehead with her palm. "I forgot something!"

She practically limped her way back to the kitchen. I didn't recall her bringing anything else. Honestly, I wasn't paying much attention to what I stripped from her. Shit was flying off of both of us, and it wasn't exactly an opportune time to take inventory. My confusion piqued when she opened both sides of my refrigerator.

What the hell is she doing? I was certain nothing she had brought with her had found its way into there.

She scanned the shelves briefly before reaching for something near the back. "Aha."

When the doors of the appliance closed, she was holding a dark brown bottle—one I knew instantly was the condiment she had tried to steal from me at the grocery store. All I could do was shake my head as she painfully walked back to the apartment door and opened it. I was watching a petty theft in action and couldn't even bring myself to stop her.

"Good seeing you, toothpick guy." She saluted me with the same hand that was currently holding my Worcestershire sauce before disappearing into the stairwell.

Still shaking my head, I laughed and put my hands on my towel-covered hips. "Touché, crazy."

>>

"You know," Mikah's annoying voice followed me as I made a beeline to the kitchen of Mulligan's, "you really don't get to be late for work when you live above the damn place."

Ten minutes late because I'd opted for a shower versus showing up smelling like sweat and sex. I ignored Mikah and pushed through the brass-covered swinging door behind the bar to enter my own territory. The space came to life with each light switch I selected, illuminating the kitchen with newly installed fluorescent lights—a change that was hard to get used to after cooking in the room my entire life. The Aspirin hadn't kicked in yet, and it caused me to grimace with the light reflecting off every stainless surface. As I did every morning, I inspected the counters and floors to make sure the staff had cleaned to my liking before I started preheating ovens.

Mikah had fucked up the poultry order—not a surprise—and sitting on the counter was the invoice for double the amount of chicken thighs. I could not understand how one simple task could be messed up so easily every damn week. After retrieving a tray of the chicken from the cooler, I stared at it, knowing the special today was going to have to be chicken. Of course, chicken was my special yesterday, which just added to my agitation with the man hovering in the doorway. Mikah knew better than to come any further into this room. And yet, he did.

"Did you hear me?"

Oh, I heard you.

"Need I remind you—you are not my boss?" I refused to look at the man who was purposely placing himself in my way. I moved around him. Mikah, being unfamiliar with how a kitchen operates, didn't understand that I was a pro at dodging people in my path. "The surname on this building is a shared one, Mikah. I own just as much as you do."

Which is a complete crock of shit, I wanted to add, but bit my tongue. Meanwhile, I ignored Mikah staring me down as I began pulling ingredients.

Chicken. I scoured the shelves, thinking of a dish to serve. Yesterday was heavy—a mushroom-stuffed chicken breast over pasta. My first thought is a blackened chicken salad. I pull my favorite Cajun seasoning from the ingredient closet. I knocked over a fresh bottle of Worcestershire, bringing me right back to thoughts of the woman who had just left my apartment. She had made the soup with the soy sauce, like I'd recommended, and said it still needed salt. Doubtful. I stuffed the Cajan seasoning back into the cabinet and moved to the first refrigerator to retrieve a half-used bottle of Worcestershire. The sound of the door swishing back and forth informed me that my brother had left the room and I could prep in peace.

What else was in her cart that day?

My mind wandered through ingredient options, trying to recall our first encounter. I retrieved a lemon, knowing I would need it to tame the amount of sodium she seemed so keen on drowning her food in. Extra-virgin olive oil, garlic powder, pepper, and fresh parsley for some color. I took my time, slowly adding each ingredient and thinking through how the flavors would complement one another. It was a simple marinade that didn't take long to blend. When it was well mixed, I dipped the tip of a spoon into the blender for a taste.

The result was pleasantly savory.

I leaned into the counter, staring at my one-night stand's marinade. It made me laugh. She impressed me—no easy feat. It was too salty for chicken noodle soup because of the broth. However, it could be tamed with brown sugar. A creamier soup, such as potato, wouldn't need the broth. I was determined to keep that savory flavor. I would figure out how to dress it up later; I needed to get the chicken marinating in time for a dinner rush.

"Mikah!" I called out.

No answer. No surprise, I was now being ignored. I left the kitchen to reenter the bar. Mikah was replenishing glasses and bottles of alcohol. Using a blue chalk pen, I wrote potato soup as the day's special and capped it, tossing it to the bar to get my brother's attention. Mikah didn't flinch.

"I thought we were going to talk about these live bands. We never agreed to it. How many more do you have scheduled?"

Mikah shrugged without losing focus on his task. "Bands bring in money. The bar needs money."

"It's a restaurant with a bar!" I heated. "And has been for fifty years. People come here to eat. Not to witness a dinner show of screeching dudes wearing women's pants. If you are continuously going to go behind my back to schedule them, have them start later. The younger crowd will be too drunk to notice how terrible they are."

Mikah's anger was written all over his face. Without a word, he began slamming more bottles to the shelves. I knew I had hit Mikah's soft spot for music and did it purposely. I didn't have control over my menu; so why should he have full control over the bar—a bar he never wanted in the first place?

This was the only way we could run the business together anymore. Pissing matches. It was a constant battle of arguments, eye rolls, and slamming doors. Every single decision we made was accomplished in this manner, but there was no other way to speak to each other. Outside of these four walls, we did not speak. Whoever said you had to love family was a liar, because I wasn't sure I held any love for my younger brother anymore. Working with Mikah was torture—one I deserved, but so did he. Even though our sister, Kit, owned her own third of this business, she was smart enough to keep away from it.

Knowing that going fully behind the bar was going to piss Mikah off, I swung the partition up and allowed the wood to slam back down. The warmth from Mikah's glare burned on my skin as I retrieved a mixed drink toothpick and placed it between my lips. It was already obvious that it was going to be a long day.

"Those cost money, you know?"

The corner of my lip rose. "Good thing your shit bands are bringing in money then."

Before Mikah could retort, a banging noise from the main door of the restaurant caught both of our attention. I peered to my watch. We didn't open for another hour. The banging continued, so hard that the glass sounded like it would bust through at any moment.

"Open it, asshole! Where is she?" A female's voice firmly echoed through the door. More strikes ensued.

I shared a confused look with my brother, hesitating to open the door. Chicago is filled with crazy people, and although our business was here, Mikah and I were more accustomed to small town life. When the banging only intensified, I pushed myself up over the bar top, spun my ass around, and dropped my feet to the other side of the bar. I figured I better open it, or I'd be purchasing a new door tomorrow.

"I'll kill you!"

I unlocked and swung the door open, finding a petite blonde ready to beat my ass to next Tuesday as she took purposeful steps forward and fisted the material of my dress shirt. She was small, but mighty.

"What the fuck?" I attempted to back up until I hit the coat rack behind me, almost toppling me over with it.

"Where is she? Her bed was still made, and she's not home! I left her with you!"

My eyes widened, now remembering this girl from last night. The sexy blue dress she was wearing was long gone and had been replaced with scrubs in a hideous shade of green. They reminded me of pea soup. Her curly hair was now pinned to the top of her head, but last night's makeup was still crusted to the corners of her eyes. This was the chick who left Sloan for her own hookup with a stranger.

"Where is she?" She yanked the material of my shirt again. "I will stab your dick with one of your goddamn toothpicks if you don't tell me!"

I held my hands up, as if showing her with empty palms Sloan wasn't here. Her feistiness had me trying to hold back a laugh. "She left over an hour ago. Said something about having to work."