Текст книги "Lies Unspoken "
Автор книги: Lisa DeJong
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
PANS CRASH TOGETHER IN THE KITCHEN, waking me from a deep slumber. I open one eye just enough to read the time on the alarm clock. 7:00. There has to be a roommate ordinance against this.
Folding one side of the pillow over my head, I try to fall back to sleep. It works, for a few short minutes, until I hear metal clanking in the kitchen again. This is not going to work, I think to myself. After getting only a few hours of sleep the night before, I was looking forward to sleeping in before I have to begin my job hunt . . . and apartment hunt.
When the rustling continues, I throw my covers off and roll out of bed. My bare feet pad against the cool hardwood floors as I make my way into the living room. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I focus in on a shirtless Blake standing in front of the stove with his strong back to me. His body is sculpted. Wide shoulders. Waist tapering in at just the right angle . . . there’s probably not a pinch of fat on the guy.
I quietly walk up behind him, tapping my finger on his shoulder. “We need to talk.”
He spins around, his arm brushing against mine. His hair is mussed—a look he wears well . . . too well, as much as I hate to admit it.
“I only made enough eggs for me.” He smirks, and two stupid dimples form. He’s cute—stupidly so.
“I’m a cereal kind of girl,” I say, crossing my arms.
His smile widens. “Fruit Loops or Captain Crunch? I’m guessing you like the ones with the cute little cartoon characters on the front of the box.”
“Wheaties. I prefer to stare at a sexy athlete while eating my breakfast.” I stop, moving my hands to my hips. “Look, can we make a rule? No loud noises until at least nine. Some of us need our beauty sleep.”
His brow lifts. “Now that you mention it, your eyes are a little dark and puffy. It’s nothing a little make-up won’t fix.”
“You’re an asshole!”
He laughs, nibbling on a piece of egg at the end of his spatula. “That’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”
“Are you done? Because I’d really like to crawl back into my nice warm bed.”
He looks back to the stove. “Yep, breakfast is served.”
“Good. I’m going back to bed.”
I start to walk away, but his voice stops me. “Hey, Lila?” He says my name with extra emphasis on the second syllable—in a way I haven’t heard it before. I turn around, taking in his dark, hooded eyes. “If you’re going to walk around looking like that every morning, I might be okay with this roommate thing.”
Looking down, I’m suddenly reminded that all I have on is a sleep shirt that reads: “I don’t hate morning people. Mornings have nothing to do with it.” It barely covers my ass, and the wide neck falls off my shoulder. It’s certainly not something I’d want to be caught in by him.
“Definitely an asshole,” I groan as I hurry to my room and slam the door shut behind me.
I hear him laughing through the wall, which just irritates me more. This is so not going to work. Either he’s going to push me to the point of wanting to return to Nebraska, or I’m going to kill him.
After a couple additional hours of restful sleep, I wake to a mostly quiet apartment. This is how it should be every morning, I think to myself. A band of light shines through the space between the mini blind and windowsill. My first full day in Chicago, and the sun is shining, which has to be a good sign.
The first thing I need to do, before I go job hunting or anything else, is call Mom. The short text from yesterday won’t hold her off for long. I grab my phone from where I left it on the other side of the bed and press HOME in my contact list. No matter where I go or what I do, it will always be home.
After just one ring, she answers, “Hey, how’s my city girl?”
“I’m good. How are things back home?”
She sighs. “Is it bad to admit that I miss you already? I didn’t have anyone to drink my coffee with this morning.”
I smile sadly. Mom and I have had breakfast together every morning since my relationship with Derek ended. A lot of internal crap was sorted out during those mornings; it’s how I ended up here.
“I miss you too.”
“What are your plans today?”
“I need to finish unpacking, and then I’m going to see if I can find a job,” I reply, resting my head against the mahogany headboard.
“Any idea where you’re going to look?”
I stare up at the plain white ceiling like it might hold an answer . . . it doesn’t. “I think I’m just going to walk around the area and see what there is.”
“You’ll find something. They’d be stupid not to hire you.”
“Spoken like a true mom,” I say, rolling my eyes.
She chuckles. I love when she does that, because it’s so contagious even when I try my hardest not to catch it. “Yes, but it’s true. You’re smart like your momma. So how’s the apartment and everything?”
“The apartment is small but really nice. The bedroom is very Mallory, but I love it.” I pause, trying to decide what else to tell her about my current living situation. Blake is something I hadn’t figured into the equation. “And I have a roommate.”
“What? Who?”
“Mallory’s brother. I didn’t realize anyone else lived here until he came through the door last night. Seriously, I thought I was going to die at the hands of a crazed lunatic my first night in Chicago.” Just thinking about it makes me shiver.
“At least you’ll have somebody to watch out for you. Is he anything like Mallory?” she asks. Mom met Mallory a few times during my college days. She’s so close to perfect, she makes me look like the devil’s spawn.
“Not exactly.”
“Is he nice?”
“Umm,” I answer, smacking my lips. ‘Blake’ and ‘nice’ have a slim chance of ever being used in the same sentence from what I’ve seen so far.
“Oh boy, well, maybe you’ll find a job today, and you can move into your own place soon, then you won’t have to worry about it,” she says in her matter-of-fact mom voice. I love her and that voice. She’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember. Anything I need, she’s there for me.
“I should probably go if I’m going to make a dent in my job hunt today.”
“Okay, call me tonight and let me know how it went.”
“I will.” And if I don’t, she’ll call. It’s a guarantee.
“Be safe. I love you.”
“Love you, too, Mom.”
I hang up the phone feeling calmer, but also missing home. Somehow, I need to find that here. I need to meet people and make Chicago home.
AS I STEP OUTSIDE IN THE light of day, I realize this neighborhood looks much like I pictured it last night. Blocks of tall brick buildings as far as the eye can see, but they’re dressed up by the colorful leaves on the trees that line the narrow street. Fall in Chicago isn’t that different from my hometown.
I start walking down the sidewalk, hoping there’s a business district tucked in here somewhere with a few restaurants or coffee shops. I’m not going to be picky, especially if it allows me to avoid the public transportation system, or even better yet, get far away from Blake.
The air is cool and crisp against my skin, forcing me to pull my black pea coat closed tighter. The street is pretty quiet, but then again, it’s Friday afternoon and people are probably working.
I head north, seeing more businesses come into view. There’s nothing big and flashy about it. It kind of reminds me of the downtown in my hometown: quaint shops, wrought iron benches lining the sidewalks, and shoppers gazing inside store windows.
I decide to start on one side and work my way to the other. When I don’t see any HELP WANTED signs, I leave my nervousness and reservations behind and start going inside to ask, hoping for a little luck.
The first three places quickly turn me away. The next, a coffee shop, hands me an application, but says they’ll keep it on file because they don’t have any open positions at the moment. Next, I go into a flower shop and craft boutique without any success.
There’s one place I skipped: a bar with a rough-looking exterior—faded sign, beer lights only half lit. Feeling deflated, I take a deep breath and pull open the door. The first thing that hits me is the smell of stale beer.
I walk up to the wooden bar, feeling completely out of place. This isn’t a yuppie hang out. There are no suits or classy dresses; it’s T-shirts and tattoos.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I look up to see the bartender eyeing me up and down, the corner of his lips turning up. He’s a little older—maybe forty—and his black T-shirt is pulled tight against his muscled chest.
“Actually, I was wondering if you’re hiring,” I say, squeezing in between two bar stools.
He laughs. “You want to work here?”
I swallow, glancing around to see most sets of eyes on me. “Yes.”
He licks his lower lip, seeming to contemplate something. Just being here makes me nervous, but I’m not in the position to be picky. I watch as he walks to the other end of the bar and opens a drawer, shuffling through a stack of papers. When he comes back, he slides a single piece of paper in my direction. “Fill this out.”
In front of me is the shortest job application I’ve ever laid my eyes on. It asks for my name, address, what position I’m applying for, and if I’ve ever been convicted of a felony.
Hesitantly, I fill in all the information and slide it back to him.
“When can you start?”
My eyes widen. “What about the interview?”
He grins. “Sweetheart, around here, this is your interview.”
Shit. Do I really want to do this? Then I remember my depleting bank account. Sometimes, life doesn’t give us a choice.
“I can start right away.”
Please don’t make me regret this.
Actually, no, I’m already regretting this.
“I had a waitress quit a couple nights ago. Couldn’t handle the pressure apparently. Come in tonight, around seven. And,” he starts, reaching under the bar, “this is your uniform.”
I lift the tiny black tank top, which reads: Charlie’s Bar and Billiards across the front in white print. It’s cut low; I’ll be lucky if it covers my chest, and that shouldn’t be hard to do.
“Is there a problem? You’re a size small, right?” he asks.
“Umm . . . do I just wear jeans with this or black pants?”
He leans forward on the bar. Usually, I like it when people smile, but his scares the crap out of me. “Jean shorts or skirt. The shorter the better.”
“But it’s cold outside,” I reply.
“Wear pants and change when you get here. Besides, with you serving drinks at night, it’s going to get awfully warm in here.”
I think I threw up a little in my mouth. This probably won’t last more than one day, but I need to try. This is all I got.
“Okay.” I nod, rolling up the shirt and tucking it into my oversized bag. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Can’t wait,” he remarks, tucking a toothpick between his teeth.
As I’m walking out, two guys walk in, their glassy eyes raking over my body as if they’ve never seen a woman before. If it’s this bad when I’m fully clothed, I’m in for a shit storm tonight.
When I finally get back to the apartment, Blake is sitting on the couch with his hand wrapped around a beer bottle.
“I was hoping you’d moved out,” he says, bringing the brown bottle to his lips.
Rolling my eyes, I say, “You’re not going to get that lucky. Not that I imagine you ever do.”
“Don’t worry about me.” His eyes follow me the whole way to my bedroom, and the only way to rid myself of him is to slam the door. If I have to deal with rowdy bar patrons tonight, I need sleep. Lots of it.
When I wake up, it’s quarter to six. Just enough time to get dressed and grab a quick bite to eat before work. I skip taking a shower, deciding I’ll probably need one when I get home. There’s no way I’m going to fall asleep smelling like stale liquor.
Thumbing through my drawer, I find a black bra that provides full coverage and throw it on under my new tank top. I didn’t plan on wearing any shorts or skirts this time of year so those won’t be here until the rest of my stuff arrives next week. I search Mallory’s drawer, pulling out a pair of short, black linen shorts.
When I’m dressed, I assess myself in the full-length mirror. It’s worse than I thought; the tank showcases the top of my cleavage no matter how much I try to hide it. I wear more than this on the beach most of the time.
I take a few extra minutes to braid my long red hair, letting it fall over one shoulder, and then apply a thin layer of makeup. Not too much but enough so I look like I care.
Blake steps out of his room just as I’m walking out of mine.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks through gritted teeth.
I cross my arms over my chest, looking down at my bare legs. “Getting ready for work.”
He comes closer, standing in the center of the living area. He’s changed from earlier, wearing a red and blue plaid shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans that hug his muscular thighs. And as much as I hate to admit it, he looks good.
“Your top,” he says, pointing his finger toward my chest.
I shift on my feet. “That’s where I’m working. Don’t worry . . . I don’t usually walk around town like this.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” His voice is louder as he rubs the back of his neck.
“Nope,” I say, continuing on to the kitchen.
As I open cupboard doors, I feel him behind me. “You moved all the way to Chicago to work at Charlie’s?”
“No.” I pull out a box of crispy rice cereal.
He groans. “Have you been in there?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to work there?”
I turn, practically running into his chest. He smells fresh, with a blend of spice and wood . . . I love that smell. “No, I don’t want to work there, but it’s all I can find right now.”
He shakes his head. “You won’t last more than one night. I’m tempted to bet on it right here, right now.”
“You don’t know me,” I say, passing by him to open the fridge. No milk. Great. I push it closed and reach my hand in the box, shoving a mouthful of dry cereal in my mouth.
“Sure I do,” he says, lifting himself up to sit on the counter. “You’re a friend of my sister’s, which means you’d probably qualify for nun-hood. You probably grew up in a perfect little house with flowerbeds under each of the fucking windows, and you probably see this city as an adventure. Tonight is going to be anything but an adventure. I’ll guarantee that.”
I stand in front of him, careful not to touch his knees. “You don’t know shit.”
He grins. I’d like to slap it off his face. “Mallory would never say that.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” he asks, his expression more serious this time.
“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“How do you plan on getting home tonight?”
I shrug. “It’s only a couple blocks away. I’ll walk.”
He groans, running his fingers through his blond hair. “Those creeps would be more than happy to help you home, I’m sure. What time are you off?”
“No idea.”
“That’s fucking great,” he says, sliding off the counter and disappearing inside his room. I don’t understand why he even cares, but I’m not going to let him get to me.
BEFORE LEAVING FOR WORK, I pull on a pair of oversized black sweatpants and wrap my black coat tightly around me. I head out the door, making sure to lock it behind me. I heard Blake leave a few minutes ago while I was shut inside my bedroom. It’s probably better that way since all he’s good at is getting under my skin.
It’s only six-thirty when I step outside but it’s already pitch black. Feeling uneasy with very little light along the street, I walk quickly, anxious to get to work. I never thought I’d say that about Charlie’s.
When I reach the front of the bar, I take a few deep, cleansing breaths. I really don’t want to be here, but I need to be. Life’s circumstances don’t always allow us to make our own choices.
“You going in?” a husky male voice says from behind me. I look back to see a bald guy with neck tattoos standing a foot or so behind me. I hadn’t realized it, but I’m standing right in front of the door, blocking the path of anyone who wants to go in or come out.
“Sorry,” I say, pulling the door open.
I hold it, letting him pass before following him inside. My stomach rolls when I get a look inside. It’s much more crowded than before. Pulling my coat even tighter, I make my way to the bar, noticing the guy who hired me pouring drinks.
His brows pull in when he sees me. “You come in to tell me you quit?”
“No,” I answer, flattening my hands on the bar. “But can you tell me where I can change?”
He nods toward the back where a wooden restroom sign hangs. “When you’re done, I’ll tell you what I need you to do tonight.”
“Thanks. By the way, what’s your name?”
“It’s written across your chest, sweetheart.” He smiles, and all I can do is walk away before I change my mind and leave out the same door I walked through less than a minute ago.
As I make my way to the back, I notice that three-quarters of the people in here are men. Some are younger, around my age, and the crowd is a better mix than it was before. Maybe you don’t need a tattoo and a rap sheet to hang out in this place after all.
I change quickly, not wanting to be in the rundown bathroom any longer than necessary. It looks like it hasn’t been decently cleaned in months—the walls are covered in words I could never say around my mother.
I tug the bottom of my shorts as I make my way back out to the lion’s den. This time, the stares I get are hungrier. Eyes don’t stop on my face—they travel down, taking in my bare legs. I hate being the center of attention, especially this kind. Sex sells, but I’ve never wanted to be in the business.
Charlie nods his approval when he sees me. “Looking good. Next time, I’d prefer heels, though.”
“I’ll remember that,” I reply, staring down at my chucks. “What do you need me to do?”
His eyes scan the bar until he finds who he’s looking for, waving them over. “Dana has been with me a long time. She’ll show you the ropes.”
A perky, big-breasted blonde comes up beside me. “Yeah, Charlie?”
He points to me. “This is Lila. I want you to show her how it’s done out there, and then let her take a few tables on her own.”
Her eyes scan over me before she sticks her hand out. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I say, wrapping my hand around hers.
She lets go of me, gesturing to the sea of tables. “Follow me.”
I stay close, tugging the hem of my shorts down one more time along the way. The thought of talking to any of the people in here makes my palms sweaty. This isn’t my scene; in fact, I rarely drink.
“Our job is to take orders and read them off to Charlie. He makes them, and we serve. If you do a good job, on a night like tonight, you can go home with a couple hundred dollars. The key is to smile, and it doesn’t hurt to flirt a little, too.”
I quicken my pace to catch up with her. Even in four-inch heels, the girl could beat me in a foot race. “I’m not very good at flirting.”
She stops, glancing over her shoulder at me. “It won’t take much. You’re freaking gorgeous.”
I shyly tuck a piece of loose hair behind my ear. “If you’re trying to boost my confidence, nothing you can say is going to make this any easier.”
“Fine, just watch,” she says, visibly rolling her eyes.
I watch her work, staying far enough back to let her do her thing but close enough that I can hear every word. She’s good at this, letting all the little comments and innuendos go in one ear and out the other. And when one guy tries to pull her down on his lap, she brushes his hand away and saunters off like it’s nothing.
When we make it back up to the bar, she rubs her temples, blowing air from her full red lips. “Ugh, I don’t want to go back to that table. I don’t mind flirting, but I hate when they fucking touch me. Who does that?”
“What are you going to do?”
She gives me a sideways look. “I’m going to take his drink back to the table, but I’ll be careful not to stand next to him. The rest of the group isn’t that bad.”
I nod, deciding it’s exactly what I would do in her situation.
Charlie comes up, leaning in to hear the order Dana just took. He begins pouring liquor into glasses and quickly places them on her tray.
“Time to get this over with,” she says as she picks up the tray and makes her way through the crowd. She does exactly what she said she was going to do, setting the jerk’s drink down from the other end of the table.
“Anything else I can get you?” she asks, a fake smile stretching across her face.
“Aren’t you going to come sit?” the jerk asks. He sticks out his lower lip, and instead of making him more alluring, it disgusts me. Overweight, stomach pulling at his faded Budweiser T-shirt, he’s definitely not a prize.
“No, I have more orders to take, but I’ll be back after a while to check on you.” She winks and motions for me to follow her.
“Maybe you should take his next drink and pour it over his head. The guy’s an idiot,” I whisper as we walk away.
“Charlie would lose his shit. If things get too bad, he’ll kick them out.”
I follow behind her for a couple hours. She does a great job of putting on her game face when she’s in front of the customers, but I can tell some of them are getting to her.
“Ready to take a couple tables?” she asks after reading Charlie the latest round of drinks.
I’m not, but I probably never will be. “Sure,” I answer, swallowing down my inhibitions.
“Okay.” She smiles, scanning the room. “There are two tables in the corner by the door. One of the guys who just walked in can’t keep his eyes off you, by the way.”
While taking a calming breath, I slowly count to three. 1 . . . you can do this. 2 . . . quit thinking so much. 3 . . . just be yourself. I grab a small pad of paper from the counter and spin around. I’m a few steps out before I spot the nightmare that sits in my section. Blake is with another guy and two women. With exception to him, the group is laughing and having a good time. His eyes are glued to me.
Not ready to face him, I walk up to my other table first. It seems safe—a group of middle-aged guys each sporting a wedding band. How bad can it be?
“Hey, how are you guys tonight?” I ask, forcing a smile.
“I think it just got a whole lot better.” One winks, his eyes roaming down to my chest.
“Happy to hear that.” The furniture store was a breeze compared to this. “So what can I get you?”
“Bud Light.”
“Captain Coke, please.”
“Make that two Buds.”
The only guy yet to order is the one who can’t seem to keep his eyes focused on my face. “And you?”
He doesn’t answer right away, probably enjoying how uncomfortable he’s making me. “Why don’t you come over here to take my order?”
I panic, remembering what Dana taught me about staying away from the creepers. He hasn’t touched me, though, so I move to the other end of the table, careful to stay a couple feet from him.
He scoots his chair over, coming a bit too close. “I’d like an Old Fashioned, and if you’re available later,” he starts, running the back of his finger up my thigh, “I’ll show you what else I like.”
I step out of his reach, feeling tears prick my eyes. I should say something, but I can’t. This isn’t me.
“Don’t fucking touch her.” I know that voice. I’ve heard that tone. Blake angles his body in front of mine. “Did I make myself clear?”
The guy sitting in front of Blake is larger, but Blake’s got more muscle.
“Loud and clear,” the guy says, turning back around in his chair.
“Good, now apologize.”
The guy spins back around. “Fuck off, asshole. Any girl who walks around like that is asking for it.”
My chest heaves up and down as I take a step back. Blake grips the front of the guy’s blue T-shirt, pulling him up until their faces are only inches apart. “Apologize or you’ll find out just how much of an asshole I can be.”
“Blake,” I interrupt, sliding up behind him. “It’s fine. I can take care of myself.”
He doesn’t look back. Nothing. His voice softens as he addresses me. “It’s okay, Nebraska, I got this one.”
I step back, knowing this is a losing battle. It’s obvious Blake doesn’t listen to anyone.
“Now, apologize you little fucker,” Blake spits, tightening his fingers around the blue cotton.
The guy raises his arms in surrender. “Dude, chill. I’ll behave, okay?” He looks around Blake to where I stand. “I’m sorry.”
Blake lets go of his T-shirt, sending the asshole back into his chair with a thump.
I nervously rub my fingers together, waiting for Blake. He turns slowly, a look of concern etched on his face. It’s different than the arrogant way he usually looks at me. “You okay?” he asks.
I nod, closing my eyes to try and calm my nerves. “I can take care of myself.”
He scoffs. “This isn’t the place for you. I know you need a job, but I think you should look for a new one.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” I start walking off toward the bar, but he grips my arm, pulling me back.
“Trust me on this one,” he says, his mouth so close to my ear I can feel his warm breath. What that and his woodsy scent do to me . . .
Get a grip, Lila.
I shake my arm free, facing him. “I know you think I have this perfect little life. That I’m some goody two shoes who moved to Chicago for an adventure. But you’re wrong, Blake. I’ve been through my share of shit, and this bar is nothing compared to it. Now if you don’t mind, I need to get back to work.”
Without another word, I walk off to give Charlie my order. He puts it together quickly while I drum my fingers against the bar.
“How’s it going?” Dana asks.
“Well, I went to my first table and met my first jerk. I guess some people think it’s okay to grope a girl just because she has short shorts on.”
She puffs air, sending her bangs flying up. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“I have to be,” I reply, honestly. “I need the money.”
She nods. “I know the feeling. It’s the only reason I stay.”
“What’s your story?”
“I moved here for a guy right out of high school. Things went well for a while, then he traded me in for someone else. I’m not ready to move back home and admit failure so I stay, and without a college degree, this is all I can manage.”
“That sucks.” I rest my elbows on the bar and look up to the clock. It’s just past midnight. Hopefully my shift doesn’t last too much longer.
“I almost have enough saved up to pay for my first year of school. I’m not staying forever.”
“What do you want to go to school for?”
She shrugs. “I want to be a nurse.”
“That sounds better than this.” I wink, watching Charlie deliver my drinks to the bar. “Hey, how do you get home after work?” I ask.
She stares at me curiously. “I drive.”
“Would you mind giving me a ride? I only live a few blocks from here, but after everything tonight, I don’t feel safe walking.”
The thought of the guy in the blue T-shirt following me makes my stomach churn. It would be a while before anyone noticed I was even missing. I hate that I even think that way, but I watch way too much true crime TV.
“No problem,” she says, picking up my tray to show me how to balance it. “Just watch out for anyone stepping in front of you.”
I take it from her hands and carefully make my way through the packed bar. I go around to the opposite side of the table where I stood before, and set the drinks down one by one. To my surprise, the jerk in the blue shirt doesn’t even look up at me. “Anything else I can get you guys?”
“We’re good,” two say in unison.
I turn my attention to Blake’s table, noticing the way his eyes burn into me. The guy he’s with has longer dark hair and piercings along his lip and eyebrow. He’s wearing a dark gray hard rock band T-shirt that showcases the tattoos up and down his arm.
And the women they’re with are pretty . . . beautiful actually. Both model thin, one with a short, trendy blonde bob and the other sporting dark, naturally wavy hair—the kind you see in shampoo commercials.
“Sorry it took me so long to get over here. What can I get you guys to drink?”
“I’ll take a Cosmo,” the woman with longer hair replies.
“Vodka and cranberry, please,” the other adds.
I focus my attention on Blake, but he doesn’t say anything, not at first. “What time do you get off?” he asks, zero amusement in his voice.
“I don’t know,” I reply, tapping my pen against my notepad.
“Ask.” The way he says it makes it sound more like a command than a request. He’s irritating, but this isn’t like home where I can tell him to screw off and slam my door.
“What can I get you to drink?” I ask, changing the subject. Everyone at the table is looking between us like we’re two tennis players in the middle of a long volley.
The other guy clears his throat. “I’ll take a shot of whiskey.”
My eyes lock in on Blake again. He’s annoyed, that much is obvious, and I’m starting to feel the same way. “Would you like something to drink, Blake?”
“Water,” he says simply, eyes narrowing in on me.
I walk away without replying, quickly making my way back to the bar. When I’m close enough to grip the top of the bar, I pull myself up against it. It’s my shore after a long swim. The finish line after a marathon. It’s just too bad I have to go and do it all over again.
Just when I’m starting to settle down, two strong arms cage me in. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. “What time do you get off work, Lila?” Blake. Why does he care so much? Up until yesterday, he was just another guy.
I lean forward until my chest meets the bar. He’s too close . . . way too close. “I’m getting a ride home. You’re off the hook, okay?”
He steps closer, his chest pressing to my back. “Who?”
He makes it hard to breathe. Hard to think. “Dana, the other waitress.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
“In that case, I’ll take a shot of whiskey.” His warm breath tickles my ear, sending a trail of shivers down my back. I want to scream for him to leave me alone, but my body is thinking something entirely different.
I nod, tightening my grip on the bar.
“Good. And, Lila, don’t think I didn’t notice how your body reacted to me just now.” The tip of his nose brushes my ear before he walks away, leaving me flustered. I want to hate him, but my body is drawn to him like a magnet.
“Who the hell is that?” Dana asks, startling me.
“My new roommate.”
“I give it one month,” she says. I glance over, taking in her oversized smile.
“One month for what?” I ask, signaling for Charlie.
“Before you sleep with him.”
She couldn’t be more wrong. Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t imagined what his skin would feel like against mine a time or two. “Whatever.”
