“Oh.” Clay looked to the neat pile of money and coins he had stacked in front of him. “’Bout ninety. Eighty-eight and some change. I guess that’d make it near a hundred if you include my tip.”
Melody turned to look at Judy hopefully, but her shoulders slumped when Judy winced and said, “I had the Wednesday church group tonight.”
“No, it’s good,” Melody said, recovering easily as she handed Clay his jacket. “Thanks. The power nap worked. I feel better.”
Clay grabbed her hand when she leaned over him, picking up her money and putting it in her apron. He studied Melody’s angelic face, seeing dark circles under her eyes. She was still beautiful enough to haunt his dreams every night since she’d first bought him that piece of pie, but there was no question the hard work was wearing on her. He wanted to toss her over his shoulder and tie her to the bed until she stopped fighting and got some much-needed sleep.
But if there was one thing Clay understood, it was the need to fight.
“Can I help ya?” he asked softly. “I’m a good mopper, highly qualified. I mop the Cellar all the time, and those floors are pretty damn repulsive. This place ain’t nothing for me.”
Melody shook her head. “Ah no, Hal wouldn’t—”
“Sure he would,” Judy interjected. “If he’s feeling inspired to work for free, Hal ain’t one to complain ’bout that. After I had Stella, Jerry’d drive out here every night with the baby and do all my prep work while I sat in the back and fed her.”
Clay grinned triumphantly and tossed his jacket into the booth. He pulled off his UFC baseball cap and put it on backward, letting her know he was ready to work. He squeezed Melody’s hand, seeing her cheeks were flushed pink and a smile quirked at the corner of her full, pink lips.
He stood up, deliberately crowding into her personal space because being near her felt like breathing fresh air after a lifetime of choking on dust. Her head only came to his shoulder, and it left him feeling powerful and masculine in a way he found addictive. He let go of her hand only to cup her face. He gave in to the indulgence, letting his thumb sweep across Melody’s cheek. He savored her smooth skin, wondering if all of her was just as silky.
His entire body tightened because he was officially obsessed with Melody Dylan, who was exotic and unique to him. All the women he spent time with were built like Jules—with strong, condensed, muscular bodies honed from years of martial arts training. The groupies were slender and fit too, thinking hard bodies were essential to gaining attention, and perhaps they were for other fighters, but not for Clay.
He liked Melody’s softness and cherished the gentle curves instead of hard angles. Clay wanted to drown in her, to spend a lifetime learning her with his mouth and hands. He didn’t just want to fuck her; he wanted to actually love her with his body in a way that had never occurred to him before Thanksgiving. It was more than her lush figure and beautiful smile. It was her soul that called out to him. Being around her felt like coming home. He could smile around her. He could laugh and feel normal in a way he never anticipated with anyone, even Wyatt and Jules, who were practically family.
When his hand slid to the back of her neck on instinct, Melody’s eyes drifted closed. It’d be so easy to kiss her, to find out if that heart-shaped mouth really tasted as sweet as it looked. After days of jerking off in the shower to her image, he felt out of his mind enough to give in to the temptation.
Melody turned her cheek away before he could, not fighting his hold on her neck but opening her eyes to stare past his shoulder. Disappointment flashed brilliant green behind her black-rimmed glasses, forcing Clay to turn and look.
Judy stood there, eyes wide as she watched the two of them. Behind her, Hal was leaning out of the door to the kitchen, making his interest blatantly obvious. Clay actually moaned out loud, his cock aching with frustration as he glared at the two of them.
“This town does need a movie theater,” he grumbled under his breath as he turned back to Melody.
“That ain’t a lie,” Melody agreed, placing a palm on his chest and pushing him away with a look of pain that told him she was hurting as badly as he was from the forced separation. “If you’re dying to mop, then be my guest.”
He was dying to do something else entirely, but mopping was his only outlet for the tension. Clay mopped the hell out of Hal’s Diner, putting real elbow grease into getting the floors cleaned. Once the front was clean, Clay walked into the kitchen, still frustrated. He tackled the kitchen, finding those floors more appealing because of the thin coating of grease from the day’s cooking. Maybe if he could get the kitchen clean, he could start thinking clearly again.