“You’re right,” I say in a whisper.
His hands find mine, pulling them up to his chest, allowing me to feel the hard muscles I had once loved to touch and trace with my fingertips. No. Not going there. “You are going to make it through this. We all are.”
I can only hope.
“Still want to come upstairs for breakfast?” I’m starting to shiver from the cool breeze, and the discomfort running through me.
“Yes, but…” he squeezes my hands a little tighter, “…please stop smoking. You don’t need it.” I don’t respond.
It wouldn’t be what he wants to hear.
We make it to the top of the stairs, and he opens the door for me. I walk in before him. Aspen is hunched over the counter smelling my roses from Hayes. “Pretty flowers, Felicity,” she chirps.
Tanner sweeps by me and plops down onto the stool against the kitchen counter. “They are nice roses, Liss.” He pulls them over and lifts them to his nose. “And they smell good, too.” Considering I’ve kept all information about Hayes on the down-low, this is getting awkward. Thankfully, I feel my phone buzzing in my back pocket.
I pull it out and walk to the other side of the room, feeling Tanner and Aspen’s eyes burn into my back as I open the text message. It’s a picture of Lady at the park with a caption that says: “This lady is such a dog.” I laugh, thinking what a cheeseball Hayes is when another text pops up.
Hayes: Thank you for last night. Been thinking about you all morning. And those lips…
I touch my fingertips to my mouth, relishing the moment I hoped would never end last night. Just the thought of it makes me feel alone in this room like no one is looking at me, worrying about me, or judging me.
Felicity: Well, I spent my morning realizing I’m falling for a creep. ;)
“Liss, want coffee?” Tanner’s voice startles me out of my tunnel vision of Hayes’s texts. I turn to see him eyeballing me. I know he sees the smile on my face and the phone in my hand as he holds a mug out for me. “Here, milk and sugar. The way you like it.”
“Yeah, thanks. I only have time for a quick breakfast. I have a double shift today—” Shit. Aspen. I just fired her. I don’t want to rehash last night’s conversation, and I’ve been pleasantly surprised by her attitude today, considering how our little talk ended last night. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m over it,” she says. “I actually have an interview this afternoon.”
“Oh?” I exclaim. “Where?” And that’s the sound of relief. If she finds something this quickly, it will make everything so much easier.
“Just a place down the street.” She shrugs and turns to the fridge, putting the milk away. I’m not going to entertain this with a come on, tell me. Because I know until I actually tell her about Hayes, about the mystery man, I shouldn’t be pressing her for information.
* * *
All of the guys in the kitchen were great about me returning to work. Unlike a bunch of catty girls, they each gave me a hug and moved on with it. It was appreciated. We hashed out the night’s specials and time ticked away. Before I knew it, I had twelve orders to fill. The perfectionist in me came out, and I was focused, so focused I forgot about everything else. I didn’t realize how much I missed being here.
“Felicity, a customer is asking for the chef,” Grant yells into the kitchen. “Looks like you’ve got a fan.” I remove my gloves and hang my apron up on the hook. It’s always a little awkward when a customer wants to talk to me. It’s usually to ask for the recipe or find out where I went to cooking school, whether or not it was abroad. And it’s almost always older men who are entertaining a client or a woman. It’s like complimenting the chef is a way for them to impress others. I find it funny.
As I push through the swinging kitchen doors, I find Grant standing at the computer, fixing someone’s bill. “Table fifteen,” he says, looking over his shoulder at me.
I can only see the back of a man’s head, and that it’s a table for one. People don’t usually dine here alone. Approaching the table, I see Hayes with an arched brow and a coy little smirk. “This lobster mac and cheese is pretty freaking amazing.” He leans toward me and in a whisper says, “You didn’t tell me you put lobster in it.”
A surge of warmth flushes through my cheeks. A compliment has never sounded so nice. He’s wearing a sport coat, and his button-down shirt is open at the collar. It’s pretty adorable, and I wish I were sitting across from him, rather then draped in a baggy, white chef’s uniform. “Where’s your date?”
He groans and scoffs. “Working.” He takes a bite of his food, his eyes close and his dimples deepen. “She’s totally missing out.”
“I am.” I look around; making sure Grant isn’t watching us, seeing as I can’t wipe this giddy grin off my face. It’s not the way I typically look at our patrons.
“How late do you work?” he asks.
Looking down at my watch, I’m shocked to see it’s already nine. “We close up at ten, but I won’t be out of here until eleven.”
He looks up in thought, his lips twisting to the side. “Hmm. Care for a nightcap at O’Rourke’s? On the corner of Thayer and Meeting Street?”
“Felicity,” Grant swoops in behind me and rests his hand on my shoulder. “Everything okay with your meal, Sir?” A chill runs through me. I don’t do this. I keep my personal life separate from work. And I certainly don’t flirt with the customers.
Hayes sees the look in my eyes. He clears his throat and gently dabs his lips with a napkin. “I’m with The Providence Journal, and I just wanted to meet the famous chef behind this extraordinary food.” He places the napkin back down over his lap and clasps his hands together over the table. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about this restaurant, and I must say, it was all true.” He reaches out to shake Grant’s hand, which is all it takes for Grant to treat Hayes like a rare diamond in a pawnshop.
I mouth, “Yes,” before I turn to let Hayes schmooze Grant even more. Clearly, this will end up being several minutes of bullshitter’s delight.
* * *
I got out a bit after eleven and didn’t think twice about the direction I was heading in. I want to see him. That’s all that’s on my mind right now. While I’m usually wiped out and ready to pass out when I leave, tonight, I’m wide-awake and eager to keep the night going. Even though I grew up right outside of Providence, I haven’t spent a lot of time on the East Side. It’s a University area, and I went to school in New York. Plus, my house—the one that just burned down, I remember yet again—was about twenty minutes from here, and Sur Le Feu is in downtown Providence. So, the only time I ever had a reason to come to this particular area, was to visit Aspen, and we’ve never gone to O’Rourke’s. And now I can see why. It’s an underground dive bar. The tiny little sign hanging over the door makes it look like the place is purposely hidden.
I walk down the steps into what looks like an old tavern. A bunch of balding men with round bellies are seated at the bar…at twenty-five, I might just be the youngest one in here. It’s kind of refreshing compared to the typical college crowd. Guys aren’t screaming, and girls aren’t falling all over themselves. I’m kind of done with that scene. I have been for a while.
I scan the bar, taking it all in and looking for Hayes. But before I have the opportunity to look in every direction, an arm loops around me. He pulls me against his hip. “Come over here.” He leads me to the end of the bar and two empty seats.
“Who’s this pretty little lady?” one of the guys at the bar hollers over to Hayes.
“Guys, this is Felicity.” The whole row of men look over and salute me.
I hear, “Nice to meet ya, hon,” from several voices in unison. They all give me a quick once over before their eyes drift back to a TV showing a replay of a Cops episode.
“Do you know all of them?” I giggle softly.
“They’re all on the police force. I used to work with most of them.” Which brings back the question of why he isn’t work
ing with them now. He now knows about my recent tragedy, so I feel like it’s fair that I know about his past demons, too. Some of them, anyway. But it’s been a long day, and I’m not going to push it. Not yet.
“Honey, before the night’s over,” one of the men shouts over to me, “will you convince this fella to come back to work?”
I shoot a questioning look over to Hayes, now even more curious for some insight.
“Beer or wine?” he asks, pointedly changing the subject once again.
“Why aren’t you going back to work?” I ask back.
“Why do you have to be so beautiful?” he asks.
Something strikes me suddenly, a detail I’d been too busy to think about when it happened. “Wait—how did you know where I work?” While we’re playing this ring around the rosy bullshit game, it literally just sprung into my head that I never gave him the name of the restaurant I work at. I don’t even know how he knew I was a chef, and now I really want to know what else he knows about me. Maybe he’s using his detective skills to get info on me. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“I searched your name online and came across your resume,” he says with a quick wink. “Impressive.” And I feel like an idiot. Gotta love social media.
“But…” I tilt my head to the side, “how did you know my last name?”
“There are like two Felicity’s in Providence-you and a nun. So I did eenie-meenie-miney-moe.”
I close my eyes and laugh softly to myself. “So you looked me up?” I ask, resting my elbows on the bar and my chin in my hands. I may have batted my eyelashes too. “Smart idea, Detective. I could be a creep too.”
“Nah, that’s my job. But yeah, these days, you sort of have to know who you’re getting involved with.” With his fingers pinched around the neck of his beer, he takes a long swig, his dimples caving in—it looks like he’s trying to avoid a smile. “Ya never know.”
* * *
Five beers and a hundred more unanswered questions later, my mind is a bit hazy. Hayes’s cheeks are rosy and I’m getting the sense we’re both getting a cab out of here, which sucks because the side roads of this city and parking tickets are like bees to honey.
“It’s about closing time. Ready to go?” he asks.
I take my coat off the back of the chair and pull it on. “I suppose,” I sigh. Hayes tells the bartender to add the beers to his tab, and he helps me out of my seat, escorting me outside and up the steps. “I live just up the street,” he says. “How far is your place? You staying with a friend or something?”
“Yeah, a friend. It’s about a block from our special little coffee shop.”
He takes my hand, weaving his fingers through mine, making me feel claimed. Cared about. Comforted. After a minute of walking in the direction of Aspen’s apartment, he says, “I’m going to walk you home if you don’t mind.”
Home? It’s not my home. It’s just temporary.
I hate temporary.
The clouds from this morning are hovering even lower, and considering that rain is still looming, I’m thinking it’s not the best night for a half-mile walk. “I can just call a cab.”
He looks up into the dark sky. “You scared of a little rain?”
“Me? No. I was worried you’d have to walk all the way home, soaking wet.” Which I think I’d like to see.
The raindrops start one by one, giving us the false impression of a light drizzle. Called it. But by the time we reach Rasta Man Coffee, it’s a downpour that drenches us both. Now I kind of feel bad. He may not have realized how far Aspen’s apartment really was from the bar, and I can’t just invite him into the apartment. That’d be weird, especially since I haven’t given Aspen any details about him.
We approach the awning in front of Aspen’s building and he’s all smiles, even laughing a little. “Great night for a walk.” I can hardly hear him over the rain, but his words don’t quite matter. I’ve been waiting to kiss him since the moment I saw him sitting alone at the restaurant tonight.
First kisses are always nerve-wracking and full of surprise, but second kisses are full of anticipation thanks to what I already know, what I’ve already had a taste of. “I really like you,” he says, loud enough to drown out the heavy rainfall.
I can’t invite him in…is that why he’s stalling? I point upstairs. “Aspen, my friend I’m crashing with, would ask you a million questions if you came up. I—”
“Oh, no. No. I wasn’t waiting for an invitation. I have a ‘seven date’ rule anyway.” I can see him fighting the urge to smile, but he’s losing that battle.
“’Seven date’ rule?” I laugh.
“Yeah, it’s dumb.” He runs a palm down the side of his face. “Because I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to make it that long.” He leans in, stealing a quick kiss. But I feel cheated. I want more.
“How do you know we’ll last seven dates?” I ask.
“Good point. I probably won’t be able to put up with you for that long.” I know he’s teasing. But ugh. Damn him and that smile.
I throw my arms around his neck and crash my lips into his. His body tightens, maybe from surprise, but it takes less than a second for him to relax. He strips me of my control, pushing me up against the brick wall, his body heavy against mine. Even with the rain sloshing between us, his hands find my cheeks. His tongue sweeps across my lips.
I’ve changed my mind.
I’ll bring him upstairs.
I don’t give a shit what Aspen does. I want him. I need him to keep making me forget.
“Come up,” I say in almost nothing but a breathless whisper.
He bites down on his bottom lip, appears to think about my offer, then shakes his head in this seductive slow motion, making this moment painfully enjoyable. “Not tonight,” he says, placing a small kiss on the tip of my nose. His hand is clutched around my waist and everything within me hurts and aches for him. “Good night, Blondie-locks.” He turns and leaves in the rain, and I watch him go.
It has been a good night. A very good night, actually.
And it all ends when I get upstairs and hear someone having his way with Aspen in her bedroom.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I SWEEP ALL OF ASPEN’S mail off of the couch. I’m annoyed now, tired and drunk. I can’t listen to this all night, especially now that Hayes has left me with my lips tingling…not to mention the other parts of my body that are tingling, too.
Hopefully the walls between our bedrooms are soundproof. I can hear way too much out here.
Stumbling into my bedroom, I grab my shorts and a t-shirt out of my bag and drag myself into the bathroom. I find towels dropped in the middle of the floor, a pile of clothes, Aspen’s thong…and a condom wrapper. The steam is still fresh on the mirror. I feel like I can almost smell what just happened in here.
The sounds of a man grunting and the bed hitting the wall are even louder in the bathroom, which gives me no hope for the spare bedroom. I shove my toothbrush in my mouth, turning the water all the way up wishing for it to drown out some of the noise, but it’s my main focus now, and I can hardly hear the water. Maybe Mom and Dad’s house wasn’t so bad after all.
The noise stops as I spit my toothpaste into the sink. I hastily pull my clothes off and slip into my pajamas. I do not want to run into one of them in the hall right now. That would make for an awkward encounter. I toss my dirty clothes over my shoulder and tiptoe back into the bedroom.
I take this period of silence as an opportunity to fall asleep, but since sleep is almost like unchartered territory for me now, I lose my chance as the thirty minutes of silence ramps back up into loud, animalistic cries. I’m not sure I understand how anyone has that much energy or stamina. I’d like to say it’s impressive, but I’d rather pound on the wall and tell them to shut the hell up.
But this isn’t my home.
* * *
I think at some point over the past three hours, I must have fallen into that half-asleep, half-awake state where
I zone out with my eyes open. I may have been there all night, actually. The sun’s glare, which looks like strobe lights against last night’s beers, are now teasing at the blinds.
I clamber out of my room with my hand plastered against the side of my face, hoping it will dull some of the throbbing. Aspen’s door is wide open and I poke my head in, but she’s not here. Next stop, the bathroom, which I find clean. Aspen doesn’t clean, not even for a guest. She’s hiding this. Did she not think I was coming back last night? Technically, I should have been home three hours earlier than I was, but still. I don’t get it.
I snag my phone off the coffee table, looking to see if I have any texts or missed calls. Nothing. I open the messaging app, furious, finding Tanner’s name blaring at me.
Holy shit. No way.
They wouldn’t have…
Why else would she have cleaned up all evidence this morning? Why else would they have been talking to each other for the past week? No. This can’t be happening. But it fucking is happening, isn’t it?
I open up Tanner’s previous messages and type a new one out.
Me: I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but I wish you and Aspen weren’t screwing around behind my back. Is this because I’m dating someone? You could at least be honest with me. This is a real asshole move.
I have no reason to think Tanner is jealous enough to do something like sleep with my friend. He hasn’t mentioned anything about us or what was once an “us.” I just don’t like the sneaking around thing. They could have just told me. I’m a big girl.
After a few minutes, I see the little blinking dots showing an incoming message. Can’t wait to hear what he has to say about this.
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