My Hot Enemy – Southern Heat Read Online Natasha L. Black

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic Tags Authors: Natasha L. Black Advertisement

Advertisement

Hey bud, where are you? his text read. Are you stopping again before you get to Murdock?

Don’t know yet, I responded. Still an AK. Will let you know once I’m in Texas.

It only took a moment before he responded.

Roger that. Just be safe.

I sent him a thumbs-up emoji and put the phone back on the cradle attached to the dashboard. Scrolling through until I found my streaming music app, I clicked it and set the station back to the tunes of Ronnie James Dio. Another thing I hadn’t been allowed to do in my own house if I wanted to keep the peace with Sarah: metal music of any kind.

Cranking the volume, I put the car in gear and took back to the road, heading southwest and onward to a new, and hopefully much less stressful life.

2

MELANIE

For me, turning thirty was supposed to be something I enjoyed. I knew this flew in the face of popular culture and was wildly out of line for a single woman, especially in small-town Texas, but it was true. I looked forward to finally kicking off the shackles of my twenties and being recognized as a real, honest-to-God, true adult.

Most of my friends were petrified of it. Losing their youth was the primary worry, even above sagging tits or wrinkles. Just the fact that they no longer could say they were in their twenties was enough to send shivers down their spines.

But for me, turning thirty was a joyful thing to look forward to. I could be free of the restrictions of my twenties and some of the heartbreak, failure and general frustration that came with it, looking forward to the adulthood and seniority that came with being a bit older. It was refreshing.

It also meant I had finally inherited the title of owner and the deed to the grocery store my great-grandfather had opened and my family had run for generations.

Brewer’s Grocery was our family legacy, and as one of the founding families of Murdock, Texas, our roots were the roots of the city itself. Back when Austin was still just a speck on the map and San Antonio still had a third of its people speaking German, my grandparents of the multiple great variety were settling in this area and calling it their own. By the time my great-grandfather founded Brewer’s Grocery, our family had been known for running markets, and of course, selling beer.

But times had changed and running a local grocery store wasn’t as easy anymore. Not with superstores springing up on the edge of town and pulling away not just the customers but the workforce too. It was tough to compete, and in order to keep your head above water, you needed gimmicks and sales and a strong connection to the community.

Two out of three wasn’t bad.

A connection to the community was there, no problem. With me at the helm, we had developed a number of strategies to keep things moving. Unfortunately for us, however, the gimmick portion was failing. We didn’t have a draw. The store was old and in need of repairs, and a good paint job probably would go a long way. We were directly located in the center of town, which was nice, but in the last couple of years, it felt like the town was expanding and leaving its main streets behind.

I had ideas, though. I was brimming with ideas. I just needed people to listen. That was always my problem.

As a kid, my first job was janitorial duties. I swept and mopped and did the dirty work of cleaning the restrooms at fourteen while my friends were either still at home doing nothing or running paper routes. Then I graduated to gathering carts and bagging groceries. Then stocking. Then running registers. Finally, I moved into management, and no one said boo. I had earned my way there, and I was under the thumb of a stern grocery manager who had no issue telling my parents I was an idiot.

For that matter, she would tell anyone they were an idiot, to their faces, in front of their mamas. Mrs. Bashears was a fearless woman. I learned a lot from her.

When she retired, I got the job of manager. I ran the store doing everything from ordering to inventory, running registers on busy days and setting the budget. Sometimes I showed up before dawn and went home as the sun rose the next day, and during Thanksgiving, I was at the store until we closed at dusk and right back at it as soon as dawn came on Black Friday.

I did it all, and I did it with a smile. Because one day, it would all be mine.

It was my connection with my family. Both my parents had died when I was sixteen, victims of a terrible car accident that had prompted the city of Murdock to finally put up a light at the corner of Patterson and Main.

Advertisement