Vince: Book Two of the Perfectly Independent Series

by Amanda Shelley

  I hold my hand out expectantly but don’t bother to grace him with any words. He’s resistant at first, but when I glance to the nearest bouncer, he can see I’m not budging.

  Grumbling something I don’t quite catch, he whips out his wallet and pulls his ID from the front pocket. “Here.”

  I don’t even bother to look at it precisely. I just want to show him who’s boss around here. I could truly give two fucks about his name or anything other than his date of birth. Once I see it, I shove the card back in his direction then turn to make the drinks he has ordered.

  As soon as I’m finished, I look Vincent directly in the eye. “Hope you have a great birthday, Vincent.”

  Vincent brings a finger to the bridge of his nose and ducks his head for a moment, as if he wants to say something. Then he dips closer so I can hear. “It’s Vince. No one calls me Vincent unless my family thinks I’m in trouble.”

  Oh, he’s trouble all right.

  I’m sure I’m smirking when “Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we,” rolls off my lips.

  This earns me a gorgeous grin. The DMV photo captured nothing compared to this man in person.

  “I can’t say that I do,” Vince says as he holds my gaze a moment longer than necessary.

  His rude friend interrupts as he grabs two shots and the pitcher of beer. “Dude, are we drinking, or what?”

  Vince rolls his eyes and sighs. “Yeah, man. I’ll grab the pitcher if you want to take a third shot with you back to our table.”

  Wanting to make sure I haven’t been a total bitch this evening, I soften my tone and add, “Seriously, Vince. Happy Birthday!”

  In return, I get a beautiful chuckle and a smile that could melt my panties. “Thanks. Have a great evening, Sydney.”

  With that, he turns and walks back to his friends. Of course, I notice the view from the back is nearly as good as the front.

  Damn, he can fill out a pair of jeans.

  I don’t get to appreciate the view for long because my next customer steps up to the bar and places a big order. I absentmindedly go through the process of making their drinks and then ones for the steady line that typically picks up at this time of night on the weekend.

  Vince doesn’t come back to the bar for the rest of the evening. When his table needs a refill, one of his friends comes up with the pitcher instead. I know this because I can’t keep my eyes from drifting in his direction throughout the evening.

  One thing’s for sure, Vince is not a typical twenty-one-year-old out for the night on the town. He and his friends are relaxed and in a steady flow of conversation. They don’t head out to the dance floor and other than his friend hitting on me, they pretty much keep to themselves. They must be good friends because often I’ll hear laughter from their direction when the music slows.

  When a patron has to get my attention by waving a hand in front of my face, I scold myself.

  I’m not even sure why I’m paying attention to Vince. I’m on a man diet. I’ve had my share of assholes, and I’ve sworn to take a break. I force myself to look away and not turn back in their direction while I serve the next rush of people.

  When I slip up and glance in that direction again—he’s gone.

  Glancing around the bar, I see two of the guys from their table on the dance floor. But he and the tall guy he was sitting next to are nowhere to be found. Maybe they’re in the bathroom? I busy myself by cleaning and restocking my area. I wait on a few more customers, but for some reason, my eyes scan the room. After a while, I accept the fact that they’ve gone home.

  The rest of the night seems to go slower than a sloth at the DMV. We have a steady stream of customers, but the clock barely moves. By the time we announce last call, I’m eager to get out of here. I quickly go through my closing duties and have never been more thankful when Asher, our head bouncer, asks if I’m ready to walk out with him. Eagerly, I accept. Thank God, this night is over.

  As I’m walking across campus to my last class of the day, I’m craving Swedish Fish. I pop into the convenience store on campus and grab a small bag to snack on during my next class. The line’s much longer than I expect, so by the time I’m done, I’m forced to powerwalk to be on time for my next class.

  Just as I reach the door of the building, a man’s hand darts in front of me to reach for the handle. Absentmindedly, I mutter a thanks and wait for him to pull it open. But his hand doesn’t move. I glance up to make eye contact with the moron who’s holding me up, and I’m startled to find Vince’s hazel eyes staring back at me. Though this time, instead of looking at his tousled brown hair, it’s covered in a baseball cap, and he’s wearing dark-rimmed glasses. He still looks handsome as ever, but I wouldn’t necessarily recognize him like I did at the bar Friday night.

  “I knew I recognized you,” I mutter more to myself than to him.

  “It appears you do.” Vince slowly smirks as he opens the door. “What class are you heading to?” he asks with genuine interest.

  “Financial management.”

  Vince’s eyes widen, and his jaw drops. “How have we not met before?”

  I shrug. Because what can I say?

  When we get to our destination, he opens the door once again for me. “Thank you,” I say sheepishly as I make my way into the lecture hall. There are close to one hundred people in this class, as it’s only offered spring semester. But I still can’t get over the fact we’re just now meeting.

  Instead of making our departure awkward, I cut right and take a seat in my typical area of the lecture hall. When I turn to take off my backpack, I’m surprised to find Vince following me down the aisle.

  He raises his hand in innocence. “I’m not a stalker or anything. But it felt like our conversation wasn’t quite over, and I didn’t want to make things awkward, either.”

  “It’s no problem at all,” I assure him as I take my seat. “There’s plenty of room.” I gesture to the few vacancies around me.

  Vince doesn’t say anything but takes his time to plop himself in the seat next to me and gather the things he’ll need for taking notes. By the time we’re both settled, neither one of us get the chance to say anything because the professor walks up to the podium to begin class.

  Of course, there’s no way not to notice Vince sitting next to me. He flips up the built-in table and makes himself comfortable. His large frame takes up the space, and his legs stretch out and cross naturally in front of him.

  But that’s not what captures my attention and never lets go. No—that would be his musky cologne that almost has the effect of catnip to a kitten. Even though I’d never act upon it, I feel my nerve endings zing with hypersensitivity to his closeness. With each and every move he makes, electric currents zip through my body. Like a magnetic force I can’t seem to grab control of, the electric pulses involuntarily roll up and down my spine and rumble into my belly.

  When the person to my right drops her pen on the floor, I’m brought back to reality.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  I don’t react to guys like this.

  I’m not some dumb teenager experiencing her first crush.

  But as I rack my brain trying to figure out what makes this man different from the others, I come up empty-handed. I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to anyone.

  Maybe I’m just being hormonal?

  It has been awhile since my date with ‘Fucking Brad,’ but I quickly squash that thought like a bug on the windshield.

  That’s no excuse.

  I refuse to let that douche-canoe have the power to shape my future. He was just another bad experience in a long line of horrible dates. I don’t have the time or the patience to put forth the effort it takes to be in a lasting relationship. I’m perfectly fine on my own and don’t need a guy to make me happy.

  Besides—that’s what I’ve paid good money on my trusty vibrator for.

  Smirking at the thought, I’m interrupted by the movement from the people around me. They’re shoving t
heir notebooks into their backpacks and exiting the lecture hall.

  Holy shit. Did I daydream through this entire class?

  When I look to Vince, he’s packed but looking at me expectantly. “You okay?”

  Shaking the rest of the cobwebs from my brain, I rush out, “Yeah. Sure. Sorry—got lost thinking about something the professor was saying.”

  Vince’s lips tip at the end, almost as if he’s holding back a smile. “Really? What’s that?”

  Not wanting to completely lie, I spit out, “It’s not that big of a deal. I was just thinking about the assigned reading from last night and how applicable it would be to real life.”

  Vince’s eyebrows lift past the rim of his glasses, but he doesn’t say anything.

  Needing to fill the awkward silence, I quickly change the subject. “Are you done with classes for the day? Or do you have another one after this?”

  Vince stands and lets the person I didn’t know was waiting on my other side, pass by us. “I’m done for the day, you?”

  “I’ve been going since nine and thankfully, this is my last class,” I reply, following Vince out of the hall.

  Vince glances at his watch. “It’s nearly five. Just how many classes are you taking?”

  “Oh, just eighteen credits. I’ve loaded Tuesdays and Thursdays so I can sleep in after working my late shifts. I only have one class on Mondays and Wednesdays—so that’s a win in my book.”

  God. Sydney. Shut up. Why are you telling him your whole life’s story?

  Not knowing what to do, I look anywhere but at Vince. When I finally allow myself to meet his eyes, I’m relieved to find he isn’t looking at me as if I’ve just over-shared. No, he’s nodding in agreement. “Working at a bar must mean late nights; that’s a smart plan.”

  Huh. Not what I expected.

  “I must be a glutton for punishment because with back-to-back classes and only time to go home, grab some dinner, and change, I keep going until we close.” I shrug as if it’s just a fact of my life, trying like hell to stop making things awkward.

  Vince lets out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s a packed day. I thought I had long days—but my days end by five—even when I have to work.”

  Wow—being off by five. That must be nice. “You work on campus?”

  Vince holds the door as we exit the building. “Yeah. I got an internship in the university’s marketing department my sophomore year, and I’ve been working part-time ever since.”

  “Wow, that’s great. I started as a waitress, but bartending makes more.”

  Vince nods in agreement. “I can see how it would, even in a college town.”

  I sigh heavily as I admit, “I don’t have to work as many hours to make ends meet now. When I do get the extra hours, I can put it aside and save it for a rainy day.”

  “That’s great,” he says as we get to the bottom of the steps outside the building. “Which way are you heading?”

  Pointing in the direction of my apartment, I thumb over my shoulder. “This way, you?”

  Smiling, Vince shakes his head. “Seriously—I have no idea how we’ve made it this long without running into one another. Mind if I walk with you?”

  Instantly, I recall his address being near mine—but a few blocks further. He must live in one of the houses up the road, so I nod in agreement. “Sounds good.”

  We turn and walk casually across campus. Neither of us say anything for a few moments—but thankfully, nothing is awkward either.

  Eventually, Vince breaks the silence, “So… you’re taking financial management. I take it you’re a business major?”

  “Marketing, actually. I want to be in public relations with an emphasis on developing the brand or products. What about you?” I ask, keeping the conversation safe. After the way my thoughts drifted in class, I certainly don’t need to make things difficult.

  “I’m double-majoring in marketing and international business,” he tells me as we wait for a car to pass before crossing the street. “If all goes to plan, I’ll be done next spring.”

  “Same here. Wait… Have you been at CRU the whole time?” It’s really odd this is the first time we’ve met if he’s been here all three years. CRU isn’t that big of a campus. But maybe he’s a transfer.

  “Yeah.” He shrugs. “I started as a freshman. My family has a house here in town, so I’ve never lived in the dorms.”

  “Wow. That must’ve been nice. I couldn’t wait to get out of the dorms. Thankfully, I met my roommates Abby and Chloe and only lived in one freshman year. Do you live with your parents?”

  Something dark flickers across Vince’s features, and I suddenly feel as if I’ve asked the wrong question. His jovial expression is gone as he shakes his head and practically whispers, “No. I don’t live with my parents,” on an exhale.

  Crap. What do I say now? Clearly he’s in a bad place with his parents, and I need to change the subject before I put my foot in my mouth further. Think. Think… Got it. I pop off the first question that comes to mind that he seemed to be okay with talking about. “So… what is it you do for the university? You mentioned your internship led into a job on campus?”

  “I help market and recruit potential students. It’s really grunt work, like getting mailings set up. I put a lot of labels on mailers and send out pamphlets. But sometimes I get to design and create a campaign we want to run. It’s not much, but it pays well—so I’m not complaining.”

  “That’s great work experience, too!” I thought about trying to do something in my field, but I just can’t give up the money I make now.

  “I hear ya. You gotta do—what you gotta do. We’ll have plenty of time to work in our fields later, but you’ve gotta get that degree first before anyone will hire you.”

  When we get to the entrance of my apartment complex, I contemplate walking further because I don’t want my time with Vince to end. But knowing I have limited time until my shift at the bar, I stick with honesty. “Well…” I point to the complex on our right. “This is me. It was great talking with you, Vince. I’ll see you around.”

  “Sounds good. Save me a seat for next class. Maybe we can do this again,” Vince offers, and my mind races into a tailspin.

  Thousands of thoughts flicker through my brain, starting with—he wants to see me again—to—I’m so screwed if I have another day like today. I can’t make rhyme or reason of them as they flow like a strobe light through my brain.

  Somehow, among all my internal ramblings, I manage a coherent reply, “Sure, sounds good.”

  I’m rewarded with a beautiful smile that renders me speechless. “Until then…” he trails off then turns and keeps walking down the street, while I’m left to admire his backside. Thankfully, he doesn’t look back—because I’m rooted in place.

  Fuck. I am so screwed.

  4

  Vince

  Until then… really? Man, I’ve got zero game.

  I’m still thinking about that ridiculous comment hours later, after I’ve gotten Julia through her nighttime routine and read her a bedtime story. I’m sitting at the kitchen table, trying to study, but all I can think of is the fiery redhead from this afternoon.

  Not that I have time to date as I’m typically helping Van and Julia. Van picked up an evening shift to cover for someone calling in sick. This is a typical Tuesday for us. Not that I’m complaining.

  I will do anything to help Van not become a teenage statistic. Dad drilled it into both of our heads that less than two percent of teen moms graduate from college before age thirty. Mom and Dad were planning to help Van through school, but after their accident, I became hellbent on ensuring she graduates from college on time. Besides—Julia’s one of the best kids in the world—so it’s no hardship spending time with her.

  Van hates not being here for bedtime—but occasionally when someone needs a shift covered, she knows I’m here to help. For the most part, she can handle everything on her own, but one of us has to be home with Jules for bedtime. Tha
t’s non-negotiable. So, when I can lighten her load, I always try.

  Van goes above and beyond to be there for Julia. She’s at the diner by six every morning and arranges her class and work schedule to be done before the on-campus daycare closes. She’s a freaking rockstar, and I couldn’t be prouder of her if I tried. It’s a crazy life, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love my mornings with Julia before dropping her off at daycare on my way to work or class by eight.

  When I’ve realized I’ve read the same paragraph for the third time, I know it’s time to give up on studying for the night. It’s already after nine, and Van should be home any minute. I clear my things from the kitchen table and stash them in my room before checking on Julia one last time. Usually she’ll chatter a million miles a minute, but the second her head hits the pillow, we barely get through a couple pages of a bedtime story, and she’s out like a light.

  When I peek into her room, I notice she’s already got one leg out and a hand is draped over her head. She’s out for the count, and I doubt we’ll hear from her before morning. Now that she’s growing out of the toddler stage, waking up in the middle of the night is rare.

  Not that I typically get up with her, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t taken my turn, to let Vanessa get some sleep before her early shifts. I swear, it takes a village to raise a kid. I have no idea how Van would do this entirely on her own. I know she’s more than capable, but why should she need to be? That’s what I’m here for.

  Just as I settle onto the couch and pull up NCIS from the DVR, I hear the garage door open. I pause because I know she’ll watch it with me if I let her take a quick shower and change first. Thank God, she’s not a shower lingerer. I know we’ll be watching the show within twenty minutes or so.

  Standing to greet her I stretch my arms almost to the ceiling, as she walks into the living room. “Hey, how was work?”

  Vanessa shrugs as she tosses her purse on the table next to her favorite over-sized chair. “The usual. Hopefully, Tara will be better by tomorrow. She’s called in a few days now—apparently, she’s finally able to eat solid food again. I spoke with her on the phone and from what she says, I’m more than happy she stays away until this sickness is long gone. No, thank you—We certainly don’t need the flu in our house.”