by Lory Wendy
But as we drive away, and I see him still standing at the curb and smile. If the last few months are any indication, I just might be seeing him again.
And soon.
Chapter Nineteen
I should have known better.
Nearly two weeks after spending the night with Julian, that’s the only thought on my mind. How stupid I’d been to convince myself he would keep his word and seek me out.
But he hasn’t called, hasn’t asked for me at work, or even showed up at my house. Funny how those things I thought were pushy and bossy just a month ago are the same things I crave today—especially now as I stare up toward those tinted windows, wondering if he’s up there.
Pushing through the crowd huddled around the bar, I glare at everyone standing in my damn way. It’s as if they’ve convinced themselves congregating around the bartender will get them their drinks faster. It won’t. It just makes it harder for me to get drinks back to my section, or in this case, a much-needed drink for myself.
“Hey, Chantel, can I get—” My words are cut off in my throat at the sight of Terrence lingering near the bar.
My eyes widen when my focus lands on his face. Holy shit.
“Whoa, you look—”
“He looks like he went round for round with Mike Tyson and lost,” Chantel says.
Jesus Christ. I’d never seen a black eye up close before, let alone a half-healed one, and the sight makes my eyes water.
I take a quick step forward then stop myself, schooling my sympathy.
He walks off before I can say anything anyway, and both Chantel and I stare at his retreating form.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Huh?”
“I asked if you were okay.”
“I’m fine,” I say, feeling suspicious of her kindness. “Why?”
She shakes her head. “Never mind, what can I get for you?”
“I need a shot of tequila.”
“What kind?”
“Surprise me.”
Her hand stills on the top of the bar. “Is this for a table?”
“Nope.”
“Since when do you drink on the clock?”
“Since now.” My stare is lethal, I can tell from the way she cowers away for a brief second.
“Fine.” She slams a shot down and a small aluminum bucket, nodding her head toward the back.
“I got it.” I grab both the shot glass and bucket. “I’ll be right back.”
I down my shot as soon as I’m back near the freezer and smile at the nearly empty bottle of tequila in the bucket. Two more shots later and the bottle is finished. I bend to stuff the bottle behind the ice machine, but a shadow crosses over it that stops me.
I feel him behind me before I hear his words, and I twist around violently, holding up the ice bucket between us.
“What the hell do you want?” My voice comes out loud and scared as shit. I doubt I even did a good job of hiding it.
“That’s all you have to say to me?” Terrence scowls, highlighting the yellowish bruising on his face.
“Pretty much.”
“So you’re not sorry your piece of shit man and his friends jumped me?”
“First of all, you’re lucky you’re not dead.” I cross my arms over my chest. “And second, whatever ass beating you got, you deserved. I would never send someone to do it.” Not to mention, I have a feeling Julian wouldn’t have let him see him put his hands on him either, which begs the question, “You saw who jumped you?”
“Well, no but—”
“Exactly. It’s a pretty reckless move to accuse someone when you don’t have proof, isn’t it?”
“You can play dumb if you want, but that guy’s bad news and you know it.”
“Bad news, why? Because he got drunk, made a complete fool of himself and tried to force himself on me? Oh, wait…” I tap my lips. “That was you.”
His hard glare falters. “That’s not how it happened. Don’t say it like that.”
“That’s exactly how it happened.” My shoulders slump, and I finally let my hurt show. “That wasn’t cool, man. I thought we were friends.”
“We were. We are.”
“And that’s how you do me?”
“No, not at all. Listen, that night I would not have tried you had it not been for—”
“What, me asking for it?”
His jaw goes slack and eyes wide. “Selena, no, that’s not… Please hear me out.”
I shake my head. This conversation isn’t going anywhere. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You were wrong, and your ass paid for it. You want me to feel bad, and I don’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
I leave the back with a large sigh of relief. I would never show him that kind of fear, but Terrence makes me uncomfortable as hell now. The likelihood he would try something again is slim to none; I realize this in the recesses of my mind, but still. Whatever friendship we were starting to forge is gone.
“You okay?” Chantel asks, back at the bar.
“You’re being weird today,” I say. “You’re being nice to me.”
She shrugs, offering nothing up as an explanation. Whatever, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that, right?
Leaning against the bar, I take a moment to take in what I can of the club. There are no shady corners here where I can kick back and observe everyone and everything, just dull moments, like this, where Chantel doesn’t bitch me out about being lazy on the main floor and I take in the men walking in or out and the girls on stage. With each girl prettier than the last, showcasing talents fit for other stages, they’ve all been a bit of a mystery to me.
“Listen, I know more than you realize, so if you’re not okay, you can tell me,” Chantel pushes, moving my arm out of the way to wipe down the bar. “And if Terrence is bothering you, let me know.”
I lean in closer to her to get a better look into her eyes. She leans back just as quickly, but enough for me to see her eyes. She doesn’t appear high. I hadn’t expected her to make any kind of connection between me and Terrence, but the fact she’s been paying that much attention adds to the curiosity of the night. “I’m perfectly fine, strange-pod-person-version-of-Chantel.”
She snorts and continues fixing her bar, while I return my focus back to the current dancer.
“Do you know her?” I ask, pointing to the girl on stage about a minute later.
“You mean the naked chick doing a Pirouette on stage? No, I can’t say I do.”
I sigh, slightly mesmerized but also confounded by her. “I like people watching.” I look at Chantel. She purses her lips, letting me know she’s listening. Looking back at the stage, I add, “Do you ever wonder what people’s stories are? What motivates them?” Not expecting an answer, I forge on. “Like her—she could be a model, or maybe even a real dancer somewhere. But she’s here.”
“Like the rest of us,” Chantel murmurs.
“Yeah, I know that. I just mean…” Well, I guess I don’t exactly know what I mean, or don’t know how to voice it.
“If you’re done philosophizing, those guys over there have been staring this way for a few minutes now. Care to find out what they want to drink?”
“Oh shit, right.”
“And then take a break after, you clearly need it.”
Yes, I do. Maybe after my break things will go back to normal. Chantel will go back to being a grade-A bitch, and Rocky will materialize out of nowhere telling me a special client—Julian—is asking for me upstairs.
“I think it’s money,” Chantel says, stepping up beside me at the end of the night as I wait for someone to walk me out.
“Excuse you?”
“You know, that weird moment you tried to pass off as a conversation earlier? You said you wondered what motivates people. Personally, I think it’s money.”
Not love or family or happiness? “That’s so sad.”
She shrugs, hitching her purse higher on her shoulder. “That’s my observation at least.
They say money is the root of all evil, but I think money makes the world go ‘round. And the people in our world? Be careful, they’ll sell their soul for the right price.”
“What are you—”
“It might be sad, and it might be wrong, but it’s life, and these people, this crowd?” She looks around us. “Money and greed motivate them more than just about anything else in this world. Like I said.” Her voice drops. “I know more than you realize and sometimes more than I want to know. But you have nothing to worry about.”
“Are you girls ready?” One of the bouncers emerges.
“Yeah, I’m in the left parking lot.” Chantel walks ahead of us.
I nod to let him know I’m parked there as well and follow behind them silently.
It’s the look in Chantel’s eyes, more so than the words she used, that accompanies me in my mind on the way home. She booked it out of the parking lot before I could press her about it, but truthfully, I don’t know if I would have pressed my luck and tried anyway. There’s a chance we’ve come to an understanding and silent truce, or she could be buttering me up for something else. I can’t be sure, but I make a note to pay extra attention to it from now on.
The ride home is dull and quick tonight, God doing me the solid of keeping away roadblocks and late-night construction detours.
The empty driveway gives me another small reprieve I’ll have the house to myself again. Inside is quiet—as per the usual lately, with Blaire either hiding in her room or hiding somewhere else completely. I kick my shoes off, groaning in pleasure when the balls of my feet dig into the rug, and flick the lights on.
Only to scream when I see a perfectly comfortable figure sitting on the couch.
“Julian, what are you doing here?”
Chapter Twenty
My room is freezing, but my skin against Julian’s is both hot and sweaty. Cradled into his side, I smile in contentment as my eyes drift close. This would be the best way to fall asleep if not for the distraction of his fingertips trailing up and down my spine.
“That tickles,” I murmur into his chest.
“Liar, you’re not ticklish.”
I snake my hand to his chest and prop myself up to look at him. “Are you ticklish?”
“No,” he says too quickly for it to be true.
I trail my fingers at his sides, and he squirms, giving himself away. “Seriously?” I grab at him, elated at the idea the same guy who can make people cower with just one stare, is trying to run away from my attempt to tickle him.
“Chill.” He grabs my hands and flips us over, but the smile on his face betrays any idea he might actually be angry or annoyed.
My chest rises and falls underneath him, loving every single second of this playful side. It’s such a stark contrast to ... well, everything about him.
“Do they mean anything?” I whisper, staring at his chest, feeling a lot more emboldened than last time. Or more so, feeling like I have permission to look at his tattoos now.
“It’s my name,” he answers softly, lying back on his side next to me.
No shit, I think to myself, biting down hard on my tongue to swallow the sarcastic quip.
“What does the three mean?”
“The third,” he says. “Julian Caine the third.”
“And the others?”
“The others are old.” His voice rings of the same kind of finality I’ve heard him use on other people.
I decide it’s not worth pushing the topic and drop it while also dropping a kiss on the dice on the side of his neck and cuddling back into his side.
I start dozing off again, but his movements jerk me awake.
“Watch out.” He moves to get up.
I adjust my legs higher on his hip and poke his knee with my toe. “Trying to sneak out?”
“I need to take a piss, smartass.”
“Go ahead.” I tighten my grip.
“I need my legs back first.”
“Fine then.” I huff, pout, and throw my body to the other side of the bed.
“So dramatic.”
I giggle, thankful the emptiness from the last two weeks is forgotten and my bitchiness is asleep at this time of the night.
I barely feel Julian’s absence before I hear him rustling back in through the door.
“When was this taken?”
Repositioning myself, I turn and stare at the object in his hand. It’s obvious what it is from here. Still, he hands me the picture frame before crawling next to me on the bed.
“You look different.”
I stare back at the picture of me and my parents taken six years ago—taken a lifetime ago now. “Yeah, well, I was probably a hundred pounds heavier back then.”
“I’m talking about the smile. You look… happy. I’ve never seen you smile like that.”
Running my fingers over the faces in the frame, I sigh. “I was having a rough time with these girls at school, so on that day, my mom called me out sick and she and my dad surprised me with a day trip to visit Rocky Mountain National Park. My mom always said, ‘Find a man who’ll take you somewhere pretty when you’re sad, just like your daddy.’”
“You and your mom were really close,” he states more than asks.
Nodding, I hold the frame to my chest, soaking up the memories of her pretty smile. “She was my best friend. Until I met Hope, my mom was my only friend.”
“What about your sister?”
I frown, remembering us growing up. We were typical in that there was some sibling rivalry there, but we never tried to kill each other either. Mostly, we just existed in the same space until we had no other choice than to depend on each other. “We didn’t get super close until after our parents died.”
“You were in that accident too, right?”
“Yeah, she took care of me.”
He hums. “So you guys are close now then?”
“Not lately.” Not since I met him, but something holds me back from actually saying that to him.
“I want to ask you something.” The tone of his voice changes in a way that, if I’d been standing, I would know to sit down for whatever’s coming next.
Setting the frame down on the nightstand, I sit up and pull the sheets up over my chest. “Okay?”
“I want you to tell me about the accident, and then I want you to tell me about why you worked at that club.”
“What exactly are you trying to get at?” I gulp, not wanting to get into either topic. “What do those two things have anything to do with each other?”
“You tell me.”
We face off silently, even though my heart tells me this isn’t a battle of wills I’ll win. It was only a matter of time before the accident came up. Honestly, I’m surprised he hadn’t asked before. But the reasons why I worked at Imperial are between me, Blaire, and Stretch. Well, I guess Rocky too since Blaire opened her mouth.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “And I don’t care if you think it’s none of my business, because I’m making it my business. I also want you to think about the fact I might already know.” He tilts my face to look at him. “So just tell me your side because that’s what I need to hear.”
It’s a long story, but he obviously already knows that, and the hard but expectant look on his face tells me there’s no way I’m getting out of this without a fight. The kind of fight I don’t like having with him.
I think back to where to start. Right before my parents died, Blaire was in a bad place. I was right at the cusp of graduating, so to be honest, I was in my own world and never really knew the extent of it. Not until it got bad enough that she’d started getting arrested, and even kicked out of the house for stealing money from our parents. Not wanting to tell Julian that part, and have him draw any bad conclusions about Blaire, I start with the day of the accident.
“It was the weekend of my nineteenth birthday and my parents had planned this trip for us because my mom was desperate to spend a weekend together as a family. The thing is, we
were going to go to Vegas and take a tour to the Hoover Dam and Grand Canyon. Not really Blaire’s thing.” The morning we were supposed to leave, Blaire had called our parents from jail. She’d been locked up overnight—a few towns over—for drunk and disorderly contact and possession. She would have done anything to get out of the trip. “Blaire wasn’t home,” I choose as a condensed explanation. “So, we piled up in the car to go get her because my mom didn’t want to let her back out. Unfortunately, we never made it. I woke up nearly two weeks later in the hospital. Almost instantly, I knew my parents were gone.”
‘“Damn,” he sighs.
I take a deep breath, and sit up against the headboard, needing some distance. “Yeah. I can’t explain it. But I just knew. Anyway, I was in the hospital for weeks even after I woke up. Since I’d flat-lined a couple times while I was out of it, they wanted to keep me in to monitor me for any signs of brain damage, amnesia, and stuff like that.” A lot of things were foggy at first, like what happened, what day it was. But admittedly there were some other things I just didn’t care enough to remember in addition to what I couldn’t remember. “Also, I’d broken both of my legs and my arm and the only family I had left was someone who everyone could tell wasn’t fit to actually take care of me.” Funny thing is, Blaire proved them all wrong. Even me. “When I got home, Blaire was literally a different person. For the better.” I stress the words, smiling with pride. “She took care of me. She might have done a lot of fucked up things, but when it mattered the most, she stepped up.” Hope, too. She’d been like family for years—another sister the universe chose for me. We all lost my parents, but at least we had each other.
“So, then how did the club become part of all of this?”
I take a few minutes to think about the best way to condense what can easily be a convoluted answer. There are a lot of moving parts in how I ended up working there—how we both ended up there.
“After I got better, I went back to school.” Then realizing I skipped several steps ahead of the story, I say, “Well, actually no, while I was recuperating and after I went back to school, I hadn’t been working.” I scrunch up my nose at the dishonest tilt of my last sentence. “Honestly, I’d never really worked before. I never had to. I know how spoiled I sound.”