#ajhackwith

Adam closed his eyes. Clenched his jaw. And braked for the damn thing.

Fuck, he hated how badly he needed this job.

Laughter floated to him on the summer breeze.

Well. Perhaps a polite warning was worth a try. At least, once he did completely lose it, he would have the pointless defense that he had asked them nicely to stop.

Adam set one foot on the turf and leaned out of the liquor cart. “Excuse me—”

The RC car darted around the cart and ran right over the top of his pristine white tennis shoe. They’d apparently driven it through mud at some point. He was never going to get that out.

He looked over at the duo, snickering at him from several yards away. Kavinsky was nearly doubled over with laughter, delighted to have caught his attention. Lynch stared at him, eyes bright even from so far away, a half-smile on his cocky-ass face.

Adam saw Lynch move his thumb over the controller. He heard the little car race around the front of his cart.

He let off the brake.

Crunch.

It’s an odd sensation, feeling high on adrenaline and sick to your gut at the same time. Adam simultaneously wanted to undo what he’d just done and hear that definitive crunch one more time.

“The fuck?!”

Adam blinked his way back into the present to see Kavinsky throw his sunglasses onto the ground. He ripped off his baggy button-down and flung it on top of the glasses. “You are so fucked, beer boy! I’m gonna—”

But Lynch put a hand on his arm just as Kavinsky prepared to launch himself at the liquor cart.

Adam couldn’t hear anything but a low murmur. Kavinsky spluttered—a conglomeration of “Fuck that!” and “You fuckin’ better!” and “Yeah? Yeah? I don’t think so!”—but eventually gathered up his shirt and sunglasses. With one last glare Adam’s direction, Kavinsky stomped off toward the clubhouse. He didn’t miss the opportunity to flip off an elderly couple teeing up at the fourth hole.

Lynch watched him go for a few moments. Then turned toward Adam and started walking.

Adam caught his breath and got out of his cart. Every nerve ending under his skin was alight; sitting was not an option. Besides, Lynch was tall. He was tall, he had a shaved head, and a tattoo creeping out of his collar, and he always looked two seconds from spitting in your face.

Better to face that standing up.

Lynch came to a stop a couple feet from him. He stuck a hand in the back pocket of his black skinny jeans and rested the RC controller on his hip. He looked for all the world like he owned the country club, Aglionby Academy, and fuck it, all of Henrietta while he was at it. Blue eyes ran the length of Adam, no doubt taking in the sweaty patches on his staff polo. Lynch smirked when he got to the smear of mud on Adam’s shoe.

“Fuck,” was the first thing he said. He looked up, and his grin was softer than Adam was expecting. “Sorry about that.”

All the fight left Adam in a breath. Confusion reigned supreme in its wake. He shook himself. “It’s cool that you’re sorry. You gonna buy me a new pair of work shoes to go with that apology?” Be tough. Stand up. They never learn if you don’t.

Lynch lifted his chin and gave Adam an appraising stare. “You think I owe you a pair of shoes?”

“You think you don’t?” Adam crossed his arms. “You ran over my foot! I’m never gonna get these clean. And if you think for one second I’m gonna be allowed to come to work with—”

“Sure.”

Adam ran out of steam. A gurgle reminded him to close his mouth. “Uh…I don’t—?”

“Sure.” Lynch shrugged. “I’ll buy you some shoes. When you wanna go?”

Adam peered at him, certain he was missing something. “G-go?” Go…fight?

Lynch rolled his eyes, but Adam goggled to see a blush creep high over his cheekbones. “Go get shoes,” Lynch scoffed. “Unless you want me to pick ‘em out myself? I will personally find you the ugliest shit.”

“You…” Adam licked his lips, terrified he was misunderstanding. “You…want to go shopping? Together?”

Lynch made a tsking sound and glanced away at nothing. “You want shoes or not?”

“I…” Adam couldn’t afford new shoes. Not the kind they wanted you to wear at the country club anyway. But…oh geez, what if this was some kind of new…practical joke or something? He studied Lynch suspiciously. It would be just like Kavinsky to try to con someone into thinking they were safe and then pull some kind of…

Lynch’s eyes cut toward him and then away again quickly. Adam stared. The tips of his ears were pink.

Oh. My god?

Adam relaxed his stance a little, cocked his head to the side. “Um. I don’t work Thursday.”

Lynch’s shoulders tensed, but he looked at Adam directly. “Thought you couldn’t work with those shoes.” His voice was rough. Defensive.

Adam shrugged. “I have a pair that’ll get me a lecture. But as long as I promise to never wear ‘em again, they’ll let me work.”

Lynch chewed his lip. Adam felt a weird little flutter in his chest. What the fuck was this nonsense? “You don’t need to get a lecture cuz Kavinsky’s an asshole,” Lynch said finally. “What time you get off? Let’s go tonight.”

Adam wanted to smile. How weird was that? Smile, at Ronan Lynch?! Almost to remind himself who he was even talking to, Adam said, “You were the one with the controller. You’re the asshole who ran over my foot.” He reached out a hand and tapped the controller propped on Lynch’s hip. He didn’t know what possessed him, really. “You’ve even still got the damn thing.”

A slow smile played at the corner of Lynch’s mouth. That goddamn confidence was coming back into his eyes. “So maybe I’m an asshole too.”

Adam felt heat in his own face now. He turned and swung himself back into the cart. “Five. I’ll be ready in front of the club at quarter after.” He braved a look at Lynch. “Pick me up in that fancy Beamer of yours.”

Lynch backed away from the cart, tongue running over his back teeth, doing a horrible job of hiding a smile. “You’re getting more expensive already.”

Adam’s heart was going a mile a minute. “Yeah, well. I’m willing to bet Kavinsky’s gonna make you pay for his toy car, so.”