Heartbreaker (Rascals Book 3)

by Katie McCoy

  “I’m so sorry,” Jules said, both of us still crouched on the floor, my hands still holding hers. “Let me go get the mop, and I’ll clean this up.”

  But Chase was already coming towards us with a broom and a sign that indicated people should stay away from the area. I let him pass them off to Jules, before I beelined for the back room.

  What was she doing here? Last night had been an aberration from beginning to end. From the moment she approached me at the bar, I should have handled the whole thing differently. I shouldn’t have flirted. Shouldn’t have agreed to dance. And I definitely shouldn’t have kissed her back in the alleyway.

  Because a girl like Jules—the kind of girl you met in a bar—was not part of the plan. And I didn’t have time for people or things that weren’t part of the plan.

  “You hired her?” I demanded when Emerson came into the office.

  OK, technically it was his office as manager of day-to-day operations, but since we all owned the bar, I considered it to be equally my office. Emerson always hated that. Which was part of the reason I kept doing it.

  “Are you talking about Jules?” Emerson asked, pretending to sort through the pile of paperwork on his desk, when I really knew he was just moving stuff around, trying to ignore me.

  “You need to fire her,” I told him.

  He looked up at me, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Why? Because she broke two glasses? Chase breaks that much on a regular night,” he countered.

  “Not because of that,” I argued, but realized I didn’t have a reason to fire her. Not unless I wanted to tell Emerson—and by proxy, the rest of the guys, since Emerson was a goddamn gossip—about what had happened between me and Jules the night before. And I knew that if I told them, they’d never stop giving me shit about it. And I knew exactly what they’d say.

  “Mr. Rules and Guidelines made out with a stranger?” Chase would tease.

  “Nothing wrong with a one-night stand,” Sawyer—who had never met a woman who would say no to him—would comment.

  “Glad you finally got that stick out of your ass,” Dante would add.

  It was no secret that I liked certain things certain ways. And that was especially true when it came to women and relationships. I had a particular kind of woman in mind for my long-term partner, and I pursued those women, and those relationships, with focus and intent. And I was never lacking. I did fine when it came to dating, and even though I still hadn’t met the right one, I knew exactly what I was looking for. I didn’t just hook up with random strangers—especially ones I met in bars.

  “I’m not firing her,” Emerson told me, and I couldn’t blame him.

  It had been a stupid thing to suggest, and now Emerson was looking at me as if he was trying to figure out why I’d had that reaction in the first place. Exactly what I didn’t want him doing.

  “Do you know Jules?” Emerson asked, his attention completely focused on me.

  Fuck.

  “No,” I lied.

  “Bullshit,” he countered. “You totally know her.”

  “We met last night,” I finally admitted. “It’s nothing.”

  Emerson crossed his arms over his chest, one eyebrow raised. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

  “I need a fucking drink,” I muttered, and left the office, heading back to the bar.

  Thankfully, it was Chase behind the bar, and he poured me a pint of ale before I even sat down. I didn’t want to watch her, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off of Jules. She was moving through the crowd, grabbing empties and taking orders like she had always been here. Like she was made to be here.

  I didn’t understand why I couldn’t look away.

  Sure, she was a beautiful woman. More than beautiful—stunning. And she moved with such grace, it was almost like she was dancing. She was tall and slender, with big eyes and an even bigger smile. I could argue that she wasn’t even my type—that I liked cool blondes instead of bubbly brunettes—but physically, she was absolutely my type. I could still remember how it had felt to run my palms over her petite curves, and although she was slim, her ass had been firm and round in my hands.

  And her mouth. Her mouth had tortured me from the moment she said hello. Those extremely full lips were very kissable—and now I knew from experience that they tasted just as good as they looked.

  I had to keep reminding myself that as beautiful as Jules was, as sexy as I found her, she was not the girl for me. She was working at Rascals, for fuck’s sakes. And I loved my bar, loved the work we’d all put into it, was proud of everything we’d accomplished . . . but it was still a bar. And there was a big difference between owning a bar and working in one.

  I knew I was being a snob. My friends had made that clear on numerous occasions, especially when I talked about what I wanted out of a relationship and marriage. But I had good reason to be a snob and particular about what I wanted. I’d worked hard to get to where I was in life, with a high-powered, lucrative job, and the kind of stability I’d craved although my tumultuous childhood. Ever since I was a kid, I’d imagined the life I would lead, one day. And part of that was having a woman alongside me with ambition, with the same outlook on life and success. A true partner, flying high in her chosen profession.

  Because I’d had my fill of supporting someone else, propping up someone else’s mistakes. My mom had always been kind of a mess, emotionally. It had always been just the two of us, and growing up, she’d move us around on a whim—following dreams that never really panned out, and men that definitely didn’t. She rebounded from one bad mistake to the other, and I was left to pick up the pieces. It taught me that acting on impulse was always a mistake, and that falling madly in love was an illusion. You made a plan, you stuck to it, and eventually you would reap the rewards. And so far, it had all worked out for me.

  I had a job that made sense—financial consulting—all numbers and data and things I could quantify. I’d been steadily climbing the ladder and was on track for more long-term projects, more responsibility, more seniority. I had a great apartment in a great neighborhood that I had researched extensively, which would be able to sell for a decent markup when it was time to get married and move to the suburbs. I was even doing well enough to help my mom out a bit—allowing her to gain some stability of her own. I hoped that when I found the right girl and we had kids, my mom would settle down even more, becoming an awesome grandmother, allowing her to make up for what she put us through when I was a kid.

  Needless to say, a girl like Jules, one who seemed to be all impulse and surprise, did not fit my usual profile.

  So why did I keep staring at her?

  I pulled out my phone and tried to concentrate on work. But no matter what I did, I could still sense her, no matter where she went or what she was doing. Which is why I wasn’t surprised when she appeared in front of me.

  “Sorry about earlier,” she said, leaning her elbow against the bar.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I commented, not looking up.

  Most people would have taken the hint, but she just lingered there.

  “So,” she said, the word long and drawn out. “About last night.”

  I put my phone down, curious as to what she’d say next.

  “I think we can both agree that it was a mistake,” she continued.

  It wasn’t what I thought she’d say, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that my ego was a little bit bruised. Didn’t she want a second go? Didn’t she want to finish what we had started? Because a part of me—a very particular part—was extremely eager to finish the hot makeout session we had started in the alley.

  Instead, she was saying exactly what I had just been telling myself. I should have been overjoyed.

  “I really need this job,” Jules continued, ignoring my silence. “So, if we could just start over . . .” She held out her hand. “I’m Juliet, but you can call me Jules.”

  Juliet. I liked that. It was old-fashioned and elegant. There was no way I’d call her anyth
ing but.

  “Nice to meet you, Juliet.” I shook her hand, doing my best to overlook the spark that warmed my skin as I touched her. “I’m Liam.”

  “Nice to meet you, Liam,” she said with a smile.

  She didn’t seem affected by my touch at all. My ego took another bruising, which was stupid. I didn’t want her to be affected. I didn’t want to be affected.

  And I would just have to pretend I wasn’t, until these pesky hormones subsided. Because that’s all this was—hormones. I’d probably gone too long between dates and needed to refocus my attention on my personal life. I’d been directing all my attention to work lately, and now that things were going well at the office, I could start thinking about the other goals I’d set and how to accomplish them. And Juliet—as beautiful and nice as she was—wasn’t part of that plan.

  I did my best not to look as she walked away, but I couldn’t help sneaking a peek at that great ass of hers, nicely emphasized by her tight black pants. Sure, she wasn’t my type, but she sure was nice to look at.

  But that’s all she’d ever be.

  5

  Juliet

  I liked my new job. I liked it a lot. Not only were my bosses really nice guys, who also happened to be pretty easy on the eyes, but I was making great money in tips. If things kept up, I’d be able to replace my boring black workout-focused wardrobe with something a little more fun and playful.

  Now that I was starting to get the swing of things, I could appreciate everything it took to get a bar running smoothly, and how hard Chase and Emerson worked every day. It made me want to work harder, made me want to do well at my job.

  That wasn’t anything new—I had always been a driven person, but my drive had been solely focused on dance. It was nice to be ambitious about other things for once, even if it was the ambition to be the best waitress/bartender/hostess that Rascals ever had.

  I was also feeling the drive to push myself in other ways. My previous life had been so structured and regulated. I wanted to break out of my routine in a big way—to take risks and have adventures. Getting this job was a good first step—though, one could conclude that kissing Liam had been the very first step—but I wanted to spread my wings even more.

  Like when it came to friends.

  All of my friends were ballet people, like Viktor, Paulina, and Becky. And while I loved them, I was realizing that it was really hard to be friends with ballet people, especially when your life didn’t revolve around ballet anymore. Nothing had changed for them, but a lot had changed for me. And I needed to bust out of my old comfort zone and start meeting people who weren’t obsessed with one thing 24/7.

  Or at least, obsessed with something else.

  The problem was I didn’t really know how to make friends. It had been hard enough when I was a kid, but as an adult it seemed impossible.

  I watched Alex and Kelsey, who had come into the bar earlier that night. The two of them had parked it at the bar and had been chatting nonstop ever since. I felt a twinge of jealousy, looking over at them, noting how comfortable they seemed to be with each other and how they didn’t seem to have any lulls in their conversations.

  We hit the evening break around eleven, and I found myself hovering near where Alex and Kelsey were sitting. I was pretending to clean glasses, but I was really shamelessly eavesdropping. When Kelsey waved me over, I was pretty sure she was going to tell me to stop listening in on their conversation. Instead, she asked if I wanted to join them.

  “Unless you’re busy,” she said with a kind smile. “Don’t want to keep you from work.”

  “Yeah,” Alex added. “I hear your bosses are real slave drivers.”

  “I heard that,” Emerson called from the kitchen.

  The girls ignored him, and I smiled.

  “How do you like the job?” Kelsey asked as I pulled up a stool next to them.

  “I like it a lot,” I answered honestly. “It’s completely different from anything I’ve ever done before, but I’m enjoying it.”

  Alex gave me a look of surprise. “You’ve never worked as a waitress before? I thought that was a rite of passage for everyone.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve been otherwise focused.”

  “Hayley mentioned that you were a dancer,” Kelsey said, her voice hesitant.

  “I was,” I answered, not exactly sure what else to say.

  Hayley had probably told them both my whole sad ballerina drama—at least, what she’d heard about from the gossip mill, which was probably about 40 percent accurate. It was clear that Kelsey and Alex were curious, but I was hesitant to tell them too much. No one actually wanted to hear how hard it had been for me.

  “Surprisingly, bartending isn’t that different from dancing,” I joked. “All about balance.”

  Kelsey and Alex laughed.

  “What do you guys do?” I asked, feeling a little awkward that they seemed to know this big important detail about me, but I barely knew anything about them.

  They generously filled me in. Alex was a lawyer, rising in the ranks in her firm, while Kelsey worked in PR for a fashion line and had been recently promoted. Both of them lived with their boyfriends and had met them through the bar.

  “We got stuck in an ATM vestibule.” Alex was recounting the story about how she and Emerson met. “And I don’t know what happened, but we just started making out.”

  I kept my mouth shut, but I couldn’t help thinking that Alex would probably understand exactly how I was feeling when it came to what happened with Liam in the alley.

  “What’s been the hardest part about leaving ballet behind?” Kelsey asked.

  No one had asked me that question before.

  “It’s been a lot of different things,” I said slowly. “Things I didn’t expect. Like, making friends.” I felt extremely vulnerable as I spoke, but Kelsey and Alex both nodded encouragingly. “I’ve been part of one type of world for so long, I think I’ve forgotten how to act with people who don’t live, eat, and drink ballet.”

  “That makes sense,” Alex said, before giving my shoulder a squeeze. “But stick with us. We’ll watch out for you.”

  I was touched that two people who didn’t know me from Adam were being so generous with me. It was nice.

  “Oh boy,” Kelsey let out a groan as a pair of people walked into the bar. “Not another one.”

  I glanced over to see Liam had just entered. With a date.

  My stomach felt a little queasy, which was ridiculous. I had told Liam to forget what had happened between us, and that’s exactly what he was doing. It was stupid to feel jealous.

  “Do you think he asked for her resume before asking her out?” Alex asked Kelsey, who laughed.

  I couldn’t help my curiosity. “Resume?” I asked.

  Kelsey nodded in Liam’s direction. “Our friend Liam is a bit of a control freak,” she said. “Extremely particular about the kind of women he dates. To a ridiculous degree.”

  Alex began counting off on her fingers: “She needs to have a bachelor’s degree from a top school, a master’s degree is a plus, a PhD is a double plus. She needs to have a steady job with the potential for upward mobility. She either leases or owns her own place. She doesn’t have any student loans.” Alex shrugged. “That kind of stuff.”

  My eyes had gotten wider and wider with every item Alex had ticked off the list. I didn’t fit any of Liam’s recommendations—except for not having student loans. I didn’t have student loans because I didn’t go to college—not for undergraduate or graduate studies, and certainly not to get a PhD. It would remain to be seen how steady this job would be, but I doubted there was much mobility. And I definitely didn’t lease or own my own place. I was barely affording the rent on my cramped studio as it was, and I had just started being able to afford groceries that weren’t 90 percent Cup O’ Noodle-based.

  No wonder Liam hadn’t argued with me when I told him that we should just forget what happened in the alley. He had probably already forgotten when I
saw him. Or had been doing his best to forget. Because I was not the kind of girl he was looking for.

  I should have been relieved. Because it wasn’t as if I was looking for a guy, myself. Even a guy that looked and kissed as well as Liam did. And I certainly didn’t need a guy who prized rules and guidelines over everything else. That was the kind of world I was trying to leave behind. I wanted to take risks. Have adventures.

  The girl he was with—her blonde hair perfectly styled, her black sheath dress tailored to perfection—was probably exactly the kind of woman he was looking for. She looked like she did everything on schedule. The kind of girl that was dependable. Consistent. She’d probably had the same chin-length bob since she was a kid.

  I put a hand to my head, knowing I shouldn’t really judge based on appearance. After all, I’d essentially had the same haircut since I started dancing. The bangs were my one rebellion, but I’d worn my hair long for my whole life. Never really tried anything different.

  There came that itch again. The one that wanted me to take chances. To do something foolish.

  But by the time I got off work—after watching Liam and his date from afar and trying not to—all the hair salons were closed. I still had the itch to do something, but it wasn’t as specifically focused towards my hair anymore. I wanted to try something new, but I didn’t know what.

  There were a bunch of food trucks lining the street on my walk home. I’d eaten a little at the bar, but after several hours on my feet, running back and forth, I was hungry again. And everything smelled delicious.

  It was hard to choose what I wanted, but in the end, I went with the Thai food truck—its coconut curry scent drawing me in. I ordered their sampler option, and perused the numerous pamphlets papering the side of the truck while I waited for my food.

  Cooking Lessons, one of the signs read. Learn how to make pasta!

  I’d never made pasta before. I hadn’t eaten much of it, either, thanks to my former dancer diet, but I knew enough about it to know that I liked it. And people were always saying that homemade pasta was way better than store-bought. Since I already liked the store-bought stuff, I could only imagine how incredible handmade pasta would taste.