Текст книги "When We Met"

Автор книги: Christina Lee

Соавторы: Molly McAdams,A. L. Jackson,Tiffany King
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

“Did you text me?” I pulled my phone from my apron pocket. “Crap, it’s dead. I forgot to charge it after I talked to Dalton earlier. What did you need?” I asked as I plugged the phone in behind the bar. I definitely needed a charged phone.

“All I know is Collin told me you have to watch SportsCenter tonight.”

“What time?”

She pulled her phone from her apron to check the time. “Oh hell, like now,” she said, grabbing one of the remotes to change the channel on the TV that was closest to us.

“Hey,” a middle-aged guy nursing his third beer tried to gripe, but he was in over his head at the moment.

“Shush,” Amanda said, glaring at him.

Any other time, I would have chastised her for being rude to a customer, but my eyes were glued to the TV, where the announcer had just said Dalton’s name. I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. Dalton was once again sporting a painted face, but this time it was nothing but the letter C on his cheek.

A giggle bubbled up through me. I was certain that C was for me. Dalton had found a way to make sure I was there. Beer Belly Dude muttered under his breath that Dalton was turning into a pansy, which earned him another glare from Amanda.

We turned up the volume so we could hear the interview.

“Dalton, I have to ask. What does the C stand for?”

“All I can tell you is that it’s meant for someone very special to me.” With his answer, Dalton looked directly into the camera and held up his hand in the shape of the letter C.

The interview was short. Less than sixty seconds, but it was all I needed. With tears in my eyes, I grabbed my phone, which luckily by now was partially recharged, and sent him a message even though I knew with the game starting he wouldn’t get it for a while. I just hoped he used a password for his phone, because the message was definitely for his eyes only, making it pretty clear what my plans were for him when he returned.

* * *

Three days later, the team returned home conference champions, just like Dalton promised. There was a buzz throughout Gruby’s since everyone knew the team would be showing up tonight to celebrate. I bounced around the restaurant, feeling carefree and light as a feather. Dalton and I had talked a lot over the last few days and had grown even closer. He and his dad were still on the outs, but I could tell Dalton felt better after finally confronting him. He still had the big national championship tournament coming up and the team had earned a number-one seed, so expectations were at an all-time high. Somehow I knew Dalton could handle it. It was who he was. With or without the pressure from his father, Dalton was a leader. Only he knew what direction he was going to take with basketball, but he vowed it would be fun again.

I was busy dropping an order ticket off in the kitchen when I heard the whole restaurant explode into cheers. Hurrying out through the swinging door, anxious to see him, I didn’t see the obstacle in front of me until it nearly knocked me on my ass. A large warm pair of hands gripped my shoulders, steadying me on my feet. Lifting my eyes, I found Dalton peering down at me, making my heart race.

“Dalton,” I breathed, trying to give the appearance that I was perfectly calm. “How’s it going?” I knew the question sounded stupid the moment I’d asked it.

“Uh, good.”

Of course it was good. I thumped myself on the head before Dalton grabbed my hands. “Sorry. That was a dumb question. Congratulations. I’m so proud of you.” My words were heartfelt. I wanted him to know that his dad might be a douche, but there were some of us who truly appreciated what he did.

“Thanks, babe.” He reached down to stroke my cheek. “What time do you get off?”

“Why?” I teased him playfully, but seeing him for the first time in several days, I was thinking the same thing.

“Because the only person I want to celebrate with is right here. And the kind of celebrating I have in mind is best done without an audience.”

“Let them look.” I threw my arms around him as he lifted me up and planted a deep kiss on my lips. Loud cheers and catcalls erupted through the sports bar. We would never learn. “We seem to have a thing for making out in very public places,” I whispered, blushing as the staff whooped with delight.

He pulled back slightly. “They’re just jealous. Hey, did you catch my interview?”

“What are you talking about?”

He looked momentarily confused until I winked at him. “Always busting my balls.” He chuckled. “So, I’m thinking a statement like that surely earned me some serious brownie points.”

“Oh, you think so, huh? It really wasn’t all that big. I mean, you’re the one who said, ‘Go big or go home.’” I planted a small kiss on his chin even though we were still being watched.

“Damn. You like making me earn it. Okay, you know I don’t back down. I’ll have to think of something else. You never did say, though. When does your shift end?”

“A few hours.”

“Hell with that. I’m ready to cash in now.” He lifted me into the air again. I couldn’t help squealing with delight.

“You’re the best girlfriend a guy could ask for,” Dalton murmured before kissing me again.

My heart beat a happy dance. Dalton might be the star basketball player, but as far as I was concerned, I was the one who had gotten a slam dunk.

beneath your layers
Christina Lee

chapter one

Chloe

I flipped the sign on the door to CLOSED and breathed a sigh of relief.

A bunch of college freshman had just stormed in last minute, trying on everything in creation, and then walked right out having purchased nothing. And now I was left to clean up their mess. I began by straightening the rows of cotton shirts on the front table and then I’d head back to tackle the dressing rooms.

A tap on the glass door startled me. I turned to see Blake-freaking-Davis standing outside, and my shoulders immediately stiffened. Perfectly square jaw, flawless body, and gorgeous caramel eyes. I dipped my head, focusing my attention on the shirt I was folding so he wouldn’t catch my exaggerated eye roll.

He usually walked around with a cocky grin and no-cares-in-the-world attitude—except when he was sharing the same air space as me. Tonight his teeth were clenched and he appeared to be biting the inside of his cheek to keep his pained expression neutral.

The feeling is mutual, baby.

I grabbed the keys off the counter and sized up his flannel shirt, frayed cutoffs, and black work boots as I swung open the door. He must’ve just gotten off his shift.

“Jaclyn’s not here,” I said briskly. Jaclyn was Blake’s aunt and the owner of the shop.

“I figured,” he said, twirling his keys in his hand. “I’m a few minutes early.”

“Early for what?” I bit out. “It’s closing time.”

“She asked me to meet her here about some project.” Blake did odd jobs for Jaclyn from time to time, so that information didn’t surprise me. But usually it was on the weekend when he was free from his construction job.

“Oh . . .” I stepped back to allow him entrance. “You can wait for her.”

“No, you know what?” he said, edging away from the door. “Since I have extra time I’ll swing by Common Grounds to grab a coffee. Be right back.”

I knew Common Grounds well, since I made it my daily mission to consume as much of their iced hazelnut coffee as possible.

I was just about to push the door shut when he twisted back to look at me. “Do you, uh . . . want something?”

My jaw dropped open. First, because this was the most he’d spoken to me in like ever. Usually we just ignored each other. And second, because he was actually being considerate. “No, I’m good.”

Once he was gone, I worked faster on the vintage tees table so that I could leave more quickly. The less time I had to spend with Blake, the better.

Smoothing out a Beatles T-shirt, I folded back both sleeves before creasing the sides in the exact way my grandmother had taught me years ago. I was raised in her home after my mother had become pregnant with me and left her fashion career behind.

I’d practically memorized all of my mother’s portfolios, and the looks she’d created for the models in those shoots had been timeless. When the craze was low-riding pants, she’d put them in men’s high-waist trousers—and pulled it off. I planned on following in her footsteps. It was what was expected of me.

Luckily we shared the same passion for style. If we didn’t, I’d feel way more pressure from her than I already did to pick up where she’d left off.

I loved working at Threads and was thrilled that my professor approved it as internship credit. I needed the cash; plus it helped me keep my finger on the pulse of the industry. And Threads offered a little of everything I loved—new styles mixed with trends that stood the test of time.

Those freshmen who’d blown through here earlier didn’t appreciate vintage for what it was—they thought it was just a fad. But sporting a sixties Chanel skirt and handbag was like creating fresh art in my book. Thankfully my mother and I wore the same size. She had retained her closet full of originals from back in her heyday as a wardrobe stylist in New York.

I’d never met my father, but given the hushed conversations over the past several years between the strong and independent women in my life, I thought that he was a deadbeat. My mother didn’t feel men were a necessity, and I couldn’t agree more. They were fun to make out with and hook up with. Come to think of it, I hadn’t even experienced that hookup part in more than a year, but I could live with that. I was way too busy anyway.

Plus my mother would’ve gotten on my case about having a boyfriend before I finished my degree. She liked to stick her nose in every facet of my life in order to keep me on the right path. Which was sometimes her path. But I only had to suffer through it for another year of school before I moved to New York City to stretch my own wings.

I couldn’t stand to leave the front tables disheveled. So I finished that task before I sorted through cash register receipts one last time. Soon I’d be walking back to the campus housing I shared with my three roommates to study for a merchandising test. One of the girls would have a boyfriend over—they usually did—even though the same time last year, we all had been unattached. Now I was like the third wheel, depending on who was home. But I was cool with that. Between classes and work I didn’t have time for extracurricular activities.

I heard a key turn in the lock and Jaclyn breezed through the door. “Hi, hon. Did Blake show up yet?”

“He’s around the corner getting coffee,” I said, heading toward the fitting room. “I didn’t realize you were coming back tonight.”

“Last-minute idea,” she said.

I began picking up discarded pieces of clothing off the floor and placing them on hangers.

“Chloe, I e-mailed Professor Jenkins with an idea for your final project today,” Jaclyn said, handing me the last two hangers off the rack. “She was completely on board.”

“What is it?” I gulped.

Jaclyn was the coolest boss, but she was also very demanding.

I hung the dresses on a nearby display and then we both headed toward the counter.

From beneath the register, I pulled out the fresh pack of Post-its with a stilettos watermark that I’d just purchased, so I could be ready for her. I was a meticulous list maker; it was the only way I knew how to keep organized.

“You know how we have that Made in the Arbor street sale coming up next month?” she said.

The event happened every spring and drew in huge crowds not only from this part of town but also from the surrounding counties. I rummaged around for my new packet of red ballpoint pens. I could tell this was going to be important.

“Of course. I just printed off more fliers.” Which reminded me. I pulled out another list and crossed off print fliers with a black Sharpie. So satisfying.

“I have an idea I’ve been considering for a long time,” Jaclyn said, tapping her finger to her chin. “I own a space around the corner on Liberty Street.”

“You do?”

She nodded. “I haven’t done anything with it yet and I’ve decided this event is the perfect opportunity.”

Pen poised on my new sticky pad, I said, “I’m listening.”

“I want to create a pop-up shop.”

My lips parted and my heart rate accelerated. Music to my anal-retentive ears.

Before I could form coherent words, Jaclyn continued. “I want you to build the set for the sale and open the shop as if it were your own that day.”

I felt a cross between excitement and utter fear of failure. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” she said, looking me in the eye. “I trust you, Chloe. You’re independent, hardworking, and in a short year you’ll be knee deep in your own career somewhere. I have complete faith in you.”

“I appreciate that.” My head felt all spinny from the compliments. My mother would love hearing about this bit of news as well. Maybe it’d keep her lip zipped for a while. She was constantly asking if I’d gotten in touch with her old contacts from the business.

“So . . . what did you mean by building the set?” I asked Jaclyn. “Like go buy shelves and set them up?”

“Not exactly,” she said, looking over the receipts I’d bundled together. “That’s why I invited Blake here.”

My stomach clenched. It was so infuriating that I could never think straight whenever I heard that name. I tried not to sound too panicked. “Because . . . Blake . . . ?”

“Opening a new space costs money and I’m still deciding if Liberty Street would be a good location for a store. So I’ve asked Blake to help you out.” She paused to look at me. I kept my expression neutral. “He used to be a theater and design major here at the university. Now he works construction during the day. He’ll be able to get wood at cost from the lumberyard and then he’ll consult with you on how to build it. Sound reasonable to you?”

“Yes,” I said, swallowing back my disdain. “Of course.”

I didn’t mention that I’d heard the rumors about Blake—that he couldn’t hack his classes, so he dropped out of college. The girls in the Art and Design Building had certainly talked about it enough, with the way they had been constantly drooling over him when he was around.

After Blake fell off the radar, a part of me wanted to ask Jaclyn what had happened to him, why he quit school, but I knew it wasn’t my place. She’d be hard-pressed to tell me anything about her nephew, I was sure.

“I expect you to be very involved in the building side of the project, as well as the design. You’re very creative and I know the space will look amazing,” she said, and then her eyes scaled down to my black pumps. “But you’ll probably also have to stain and sand wood.”

“Got it.” I followed her gaze as she took in my outfit. I had on my favorite pair of Manolos that I scored for a sweet price off eBay.

“Do you own a pair of sneakers, Miss Fashionista?” Jaclyn appreciated my fashion sense and wore some expensive pieces of her own.

I shook my head as she reached behind the counter and pulled out a box. “Size eight, right?”

She opened the carton that contained a brand-new pair of pink Converse Chucks, like the ones we had arranged in our front window display. Pink was definitely my favorite color, but I still wasn’t keen on the idea of wearing them—they were sneakers after all, and I didn’t do sneakers.

She handed the box over. “These are on me. You’ll need them.”

I fingered the laces, suddenly feeling out of character. “Thanks.”

Working in close quarters with somebody who irritated the hell out of me and wearing casual clothes? Brilliant.

“You’ll be graded on creativity, organization, and overall visual presentation.”

I nodded, jotting those points down. I wondered just how in the heck I was going to pull this off with someone like Blake, who didn’t seem to put much stake in a career or grades. He had the potential to ruin this project for me.

“You two will probably work well together,” Jaclyn said, obviously never noticing how much we tried ignoring one another. “Maybe even become friends. He could probably use one right about now.”

My eyebrows shot up and when I looked at her she was lost in deep thought.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing, honey,” she said, sighing. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

She walked toward the back room, leaving me reeling.

“And don’t worry, I’ll speak to your mother about all of this, too.” Jaclyn and my mother had attended the university together, though I wouldn’t call them friends. “Since she’s on the Chamber of Commerce Committee.”

chapter two

Blake

I rolled my neck side to side, waiting for my turn in line at Common Grounds. My muscles were definitely feeling it today from pounding nails into a frame. Physically, construction was one of the hardest jobs I’d ever had and probably one of the most underappreciated. Hell, we were building people’s homes. Their foundations. Their dreams.

Aunt Jaclyn asked me to give her a hand at the store every now and then and I always did, mostly because of Mom. Aunt Jaclyn knew I needed the money and that I’d never take a handout from her or anyone else. I’d taken the year off school so I could work, to help with the mounting rehab bills. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat in order to keep Mom sober.

Besides, Aunt Jaclyn had always been good to me, and this project seemed pretty important to her. I’d have to fit time in after work in the evenings, but that didn’t bother me—it would give me something else to focus on.

I stepped up to the counter. “Iced hazelnut, please.”

The barista was someone I’d hooked up with briefly last year and she smiled coyly at me now.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Good, thanks.”

I hadn’t gotten laid in a few weeks, but honestly, I had more important things on my mind. When I reached for my coffee, her fingers slipped over mine and her eyes told me she’d be up for more of the same if I were willing. But I pulled away before giving her the wrong impression. Caring for my mom was enough female interaction for right now.

I walked back to my aunt’s shop, hoping her pretentious employee, Chloe Brighton, had already left for the night. She was cute with that wavy blond hair—a little on the short side for me—and her huge blue eyes. But she didn’t dress like a regular chick her age, in jeans and T-shirts. She was always in a skirt or a dress with stilettos, like she should have been born in a different era or something. The heels always made her shapely legs stand out and that was hot, I’d give her that. But her attitude still ruined it for me.

The only time I’d seen Chloe look totally relaxed and comfortable in her own skin was this one day a few months back when she walked past the construction site of the new housing complex on First Street. Her cheeks were rosy and her mouth was lifted in a half grin—as if there was something happy she’d been thinking about just then. I’d never even seen her expression that peaceful and open, even at the design building at the university.

She had on this tight straight skirt that went to her knees and I could see the outline of her perfectly round ass. Her blouse was fitted and the buttons at the top undone enough that I could just make out the outline of her tits. Hot damn. She looked like some 1940s pinup model.

But the guys quickly got out of hand with their shouts and whistles. She glowered at them and when they began yelling shit about being uptight and needing a good fuck, I came to her defense. Instead of seeming grateful, she glared at me like I was some kind of trailer trash.

Screw her, man.

Since then I’d done a good job of ignoring her anytime she was at my aunt’s shop. Not that it’d been difficult—she’d gone on snubbing me as well.

I spotted Chloe through the front window and groaned. She still hadn’t left for the evening.

As I pulled open the door, Chloe regarded me like I was the nasty dirt beneath her fingernails. She looked at my drink and then her eyes darted to a similar empty cup and straw on the counter. “Is that . . . an iced hazelnut?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

“That’s exactly what I order. I take it with cream and sugar.”

“Same,” I said. We stared at each other like two creatures from different planets who’d found middle ground. As minimal as it was.

“Blake, honey,” Aunt Jaclyn said, emerging from the back room. “Thanks so much for helping out on this project.”

“Not a problem.” I wondered why Chloe continued standing there. Didn’t she have somewhere else to be? Like maybe out with her snooty fashion friends?

“So, we have the street sale coming up and Chloe needs a final project for her internship,” she said. My head snapped up to gape at Chloe. She was biting her lip, looking all panicky. No way. “I figured you guys could team up. You’d be helping both of us out.”

Neither of us spoke as we each tried looking elsewhere. Me—at the wall; her at those damned sticky pads she was always carrying around.

“Let’s walk down and check out the space,” Aunt Jaclyn said, grabbing her keys from the counter. “Then I’ll leave you two alone to discuss your plan of action.”

My shoulders slumped as I followed Aunt Jaclyn to the door. Then I reluctantly turned to hold it open for Chloe. Eyes cast down, her shoulder brushed against my chest as she passed by and I could smell her strawberry shampoo or lip gloss or something.

On the first step of the stoop, her heel caught on a nail and she stumbled. Before she went sailing, my instincts kicked in, and I hooked my arm around her waist to keep her standing. As soon as our eyes met, she bristled against me. I should have just let her fall on her damned face.

“I . . . um,” she said. God, this chick did not know how to show gratitude. This was the second time I’d helped her and she couldn’t even say thank you.

My biceps was right below her ample chest and I let go of her like she’d been on fire. “Maybe you should wear more practical shoes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You wouldn’t know fashion if it smacked you over the head.”

I shrugged. “At least I can keep myself upright.”

She kept going as her cheeks tinged pink. I’d shut her up. Good.

She turned suddenly and headed back toward the door. Over her shoulder she said, “Wait, Jaclyn, I forgot my notepad.”

My aunt stopped one storefront down to wait for us and I smirked as I held the door open for Chloe again. Her and those ridiculous sticky pads. You’d have to be blind to miss the lists she always left everywhere around the store.

She glared at me. “What?”

“Nothing.” Her cheeks darkened further and I had to admit that I liked pushing her buttons.

“You making fun of me?” Her eyes narrowed. “At least I know how to take notes.”

Ouch, what a bitch.

“I don’t need notes,” I spat out. “I can remember everything in my head.”

She strode over the threshold into the store. “That explains a lot.”

We walked the rest of the way in silence. Aunt Jaclyn opened the new space and we stepped inside. It was a bit of a mess with boxes, old fixtures, and paint swatches strewn about. We’d need to clear it out before we could build or decorate much of anything.

“All yours.” Aunt Jaclyn dangled the keys in front of Chloe. “I’m heading out. You’re welcome to any props I have in the back room of either shop.”

After she left, the room grew so quiet you could hear the voices coming from the deli next door. We stood speechless side by side, staring at the clutter in front of us.

“So, what are your ideas?” I said, trying to move us along so I didn’t have to spend one more minute with a person I didn’t care for.

“Considering I just got the info five minutes before you walked back through the door,” she said, opening her notes to a fresh page, “I’m still formulating it in my head.”

“You want my two cents?” I asked, shoving my hands into the back pockets of my jeans.

“No,” she said too quickly. And then she turned to me, grinding her teeth. “I mean, sure.”

“Obviously we need to clear this mess first. I can bring a workhorse, tools, a circular saw, and the lumber,” I said, moving through the space around a couple of boxes. “You just need to tell me what your vision is so I can get to work.”

“Makes sense, I suppose,” she said, clutching that pad of paper like it was her lifeline. Probably was, seeing how uptight she was.

“So, what does your schedule look like the next few days?” I asked.

“Classes,” she said, her fingers already sketching something on the page. “And homework. Obviously.”

Another dig. I’d choose the higher road and ignore that little comment. “So, when’s the next time you can meet?”

“Tomorrow night, same time?” she asked as she shifted her eyes grudgingly toward mine. And then bit down on that damned lip.

“I can’t tomorrow. I have . . . a thing.” No fucking way was I going to share that I had a family session with my mom. “The night after next works for me.”

She gave a swift nod and said, “See you then.”

I turned on my heel and strode out the door.