by Rachel Jonas
The door chimes again, ending our conversation. Dusty glances over my shoulder and then goes back to scooping mashed potatoes into a to-go container.
I tighten my apron and start toward the door to greet the customers who entered, but I stop dead in my tracks when I finally look up and see who said customers are.
My first instinct is to ball both fists at my sides, and my next is to swing them when West flashes that wicked grin at me.
How on Earth did he know where to find me?
The group of twenty-plus make their way toward the booths lined along the window, but not West. His steps are steady and brimming with confidence when he strides over to me, stopping only when there’s a foot of space between us. Naturally, my body goes rigid being so close to the enemy.
Among the many things I take note of within the first few seconds of laying eyes on him is his hair. The unruly, loose curls are tame tonight, wet and darker than normal. The wifebeater beneath his white tee is visible, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders. A scent permeates from him and I hate that I enjoy it so much. It’s clean and crisp, not at all overpowering.
West’s height gives him an advantage and he uses it, staring down on me like he loves to do. And like always, I can barely breathe in his presence, doing my best not to show any sign of weakness.
“You have to go.” The words are biting, and every bit as scathing as I intend for them to be. “Two of our servers called in sick, so we’re understaffed. There’s no way we can wait on all of you.”
His head cocks to the side and his eyes dim. “And here I was, thinking you’d be honored to serve me, Southside.” The tip of his tongue slides between his lips, wetting them, and my attention goes there before meeting his gaze again.
“Sounds like you’ve confused me with one of your groupies.”
After speaking, I nod toward the handful who followed the team in tonight. The train of sickeningly feminine perfection that filed through the door with them.
They’re all from the dance squad, I imagine, but the only three I recognize are Joss, Ariana, and Heidi. Parker’s fall turned out to be worse than anyone thought. The sprained ankle she sustained would keep her on the sidelines at least a few weeks.
Whoops. My bad.
On cue, bubbly laughter flutters from their pink, glossed lips and I prop both hands on my hips.
The motion grabs West’s attention and his gaze slithers down my body, inch by inch. Realizing he’s checking me out, I swallow hard, feeling an unexpected degree of tension explode between us. It swirls in the air like a hot, thick fog.
It isn’t lost on me that he’s hot as sin, but it’s easy to overlook when he’s calling for his minions to make my life a living hell.
Suddenly coming to himself again, his gaze flashes toward mine.
“I think we’ll stick around,” he declares. “And I expect you to be on your best behavior, Southside. Wouldn’t want anybody to cause a scene, now would we?”
Chapter 12
BLUE
“Blue-Jay?”
My eyes fall shut when Uncle Dusty approaches from behind.
Well, there goes keeping West out of my business. Didn’t exactly want him to know the diner belongs to a relative. In fact, the less this dick knows about me, the better. An enemy should never know your vulnerabilities, the chinks in your armor.
In my case, those vulnerable spots are my family.
“This one of your new friends, sweetheart?” Dusty steps closer, wiping his hands on the towel draped over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir. Name’s West.”
Hearing him answer for me, I shoot him a look. One I wish could kill his ass in real life. We’re nothing even remotely close to friends.
“Nice of you to stop by, Son. What brings you kids in tonight?”
Son? What type of upside-down dimension am I living in right now?
“Cypress Prep played South Cypress tonight,” West answers, doing his best to charm the pants off my uncle. “We just stopped in for a bite to eat.”
“Ah, Friday night football. Good memories.” Nostalgia marks my uncle’s gruff voice. “Hope you didn’t put too bad a whoopin’ on our boys, though?”
The two laugh together, and I throw up in my mouth.
“Only enough to pull out a win, sir,” West answers, being all sweet. “It was a close game, but we turned things around in the last quarter.”
“Good for you. And no offense but, as nice a kid as you seem to be, I’m still hoping we can give you boys hell this season.”
Another fake laugh from West has me wanting to sprint out into oncoming traffic.
“May the best team win,” he answers with a grin.
“Absolutely,” Dusty agrees, peering around West to glance at the rest of the team. “I see you brought a few friends with you.”
Continuing with the good guy act, West chuckles. “Yeah, a few. I hope it’s okay that we stopped in. Blue just explained you guys are short staffed tonight. We wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
Dusty shoots West an incredulous look and waves off the concern. “Nah, my niece here will take good care of you. Ain’t that right, Blue-Jay?” He nudges me forward playfully, but I’m standing awkwardly and lose my footing. Stumbling very ungracefully, I nearly face-plant right in the center of West’s chest.
Blazing heat radiates from his palms when he catches me by my waist, sending a wave of warmth right through the fabric of my uniform. His hands slip lower, toward my hips, but I quickly reestablish the necessary distance between us.
My stare tangles with his and I smooth both hands down the powder-blue monstrosity Uncle Dusty insists all the waitresses wear.
“We’ll get you boys fed in no time. Sound good?” he promises.
“Yes, sir,” West replies, sounding a bit less focused than before.
Dusty leaves us and, ugh! Talk about a punch to the gut! He just practically ate from the palm of my nemesis.
There’s more of that weird energy reverberating between West and me, potent enough that it recharges my frustration.
“Just … go sit,” I hiss, realizing this is about to happen whether I like it or not. I move to brush past him, but halt when his fingers encircle my arm.
Peering up, the deep crease at the center of his brow makes it clear he didn’t appreciate my sharp tone. In fact, it seems to have refueled his rage.
“Don’t provoke me, Southside,” he growls. “You haven’t seen me off my leash yet.” The freakishly deep tone of his voice radiates down to my bones.
I have his undivided attention and take full advantage of it by leaning into him. His gaze slips down to my lips when they part to speak.
“Careful, KingMidas,” I warn. “In the wrong hands, a leash can quickly become a noose.”
I feel his eyes glued to me when I leave him behind, slipping the notepad from my pocket.
“Can I start everyone off with drinks?” I ask, approaching the first booth.
In my peripheral, I am more than aware of West when he eases into a seat at the table with Dane and Sterling. Mostly, I ignore him and write down the order that’s spoken, before moving on to the next table.
It isn’t until I get to his that I’m unable to pretend he doesn’t exist.
I don’t fight the scowl that overtakes my expression. “Drinks?” I ask flatly.
The brothers keep it simple with sodas, but not West. KingDick decides to be difficult.
“I’ll take a float. Half root beer, half ginger ale.”
I roll my eyes but keep my thoughts to myself. Instead, I head to the drink fountain and get started. I fill the order by table and then make the deliveries, but when I get to West’s, I make it extra special. Just for him.
Glancing around to make sure there aren’t any witnesses, I suck my finger and then use it to stir his float. He’ll never know, but it makes me feel a whole lot better about having to put up with him tonight.
As much as I want to smile setting the glass d
own in front of him, I refrain, knowing he’ll sense something is up if I let it slip. Dane and Sterling actually thank me when I hand them theirs. The polite reaction earns both swift rebuke from West, in the form of a sharp, daggerlike look.
Only now does he glance down at the tall glass I placed on the table, and then he peers up at me.
“You did something to it, didn’t you?” His voice is low and steady, but suspicious.
Pretending this is all an overreaction on his part, I prop the tray against my hip and feign innocence.
“What are you talking about? I made it just like you said to.”
His stare is hard and unrelenting, but I don’t fold. Not even when he stands and steps so close his solid chest and torso press against my shoulder.
“Make … another one,” he demands quietly. “And this time, I’ll watch.”
For some reason, I’m insulted. Despite being one-hundred-percent guilty.
“Paranoid much?” I ask with a grin.
“Don’t fuck with me, Blue.”
His quick response comes as a shock. “Just Blue?” I ask. “Not Southside?”
I’ve never gotten so deep under his skin before, and I have to say, I like it here.
“Tell you what,” I lean in to say. “If you want a different drink so bad, walk your arrogant ass behind the counter and make it yourself.”
“Daaaamn!” Is Sterling’s helpful interjection. Meanwhile, Dane chokes out a laugh when his drink goes down the wrong way.
I’m probably lucky no one heard but his brothers. I don’t gather West is the type to tolerate being put on the spot.
Hellfire fills his eyes and it gets to me. I mean, really gets to me. I feel bold and untouchable, which, historically speaking, can be quite the deadly combination.
“Get your ass to the bathroom,” he growls.
I stand tall, holding his gaze. “No.”
“What’d I just tell you about provoking me?”
We stare one another down and, feeling defiant, I lock both arms across my chest. “And if I don’t?”
The rims of his nostrils flare with anger. “If you don’t, it’s possible this place could burn down overnight, and no one would even bat an eye. That kind of thing happens all the time.”
His gaze flickers toward mine and there’s darkness within it.
“It’d be such a shame,” he teases. “Your uncle being such a nice guy and all.”
The threat lingers between us before he storms toward the back of the diner. I hesitate a moment, volleying a look between his brothers.
Dane glances up when I don’t move right away.
“Might want to do what you’re told,” he says, warning me with his eyes. “West isn’t known to bluff.”
An image flashes in my head. One of my uncle’s diner going up in a roaring blaze. Not to mention, his small one-bedroom where he lives above. A disaster like that would ruin him if it didn’t kill him, which is precisely the reason I wanted to keep West at arm’s length. The less he knows, the less he can hurt me, the less he can hurt the people I love.
I feel Dane and Sterling’s gazes on my back as I stomp toward the bathroom to join their evil triplet.
I burst through the door of the men’s room to find West pacing, steam practically rolling off him now. My heart races double-time, and only quickens when he snatches me all the way inside, and then turns the main lock.
He has me trapped. In so many ways.
Just above the door, a speaker cranks out an oldie I’ve always loved—‘Time of the Season’ by the Zombies. It echoes loudly in the small space and I have a feeling I’ll never hear it the same again after tonight.
“What do you want?” I ask as boldly as I can.
A cold, jarring look snaps toward me. “You still don’t get it do you?”
The question sets my nerves on edge.
“Of course, I don’t get it!” I yell. “That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time! Every chance you get, you’re in my face, giving me shit, but you still don’t have the balls to say what I’ve done to deserve it.”
There goes that stupid tremble in my voice again. The one I’m sure West has mistaken for weakness, instead of what it really is.
Rage.
Frustration.
“All you need to know is I own you. So, when I say jump, your only response is how fucking high,” he roars, coming toward me with quick steps.
Startled, I back toward the green-tiled wall until there’s nowhere else I can go. But he doesn’t stop. He comes closer, until we’re breathing each other’s air, and I’m suddenly at a loss for words.
“Now, talk back again,” he warns. “When I’m done with you, you’ll wish your ass had stayed in line.”
I struggle to look into his eyes, but force myself. I’m not his pet, or one of his mindless followers.
“You think you’re hot shit because you have these assholes falling at your feet? Because you rule Cypress Prep with an iron fist? Well, newsflash, I’ve lived with a bastard just like you my whole damn life, West. One who thinks the louder he barks and the more shit he breaks when he rages out the more of a man he is. And, just so you know, I’m not scared of his ass either,” I snap. “So, whatever you think I’ve done to you, you can either man up and say what you need to say, or get the hell over it,” I declare. “But pushing me around? Having your groupies do your dirty work? Threatening to burn this place down? … Bitch moves, West. All of them.”
I just struck a nerve. The vein throbbing in his forehead tells me so.
“So, what’s it gonna be?” I ask. “Are you ready to tell me what I’ve done to piss you off? Or should we just continue with the games because you’re weak?”
The steady glare that’s trained on me is impossible to escape. He is impossible to escape.
“Weak?” he groans, challenging me with his tone. “That’s what you think of me?”
The deep rasp causes me to freeze. Even when there’s suddenly no gap between his body and mine, I don’t move.
Massive hands press into my hips when he grabs me rough, but I say nothing, show no sign of being affected by his touch at all. Especially not the sick, twisted part of me that doesn’t hate it entirely.
I even stay quiet when his sadistic power-play becomes something more.
Something I didn’t see coming.
The dark centers of his eyes turn even more sinister as a smirk takes over his expression. A smirk that touches his hot, fleshy lips … just before they’re on mine, moving against them.
Heat is coming from everywhere, burning me up, making me perspire a little. I manage to keep my hands hanging limp at my sides, but it isn’t easy. They’re twitching with lust, aching to touch every inch of the beast I hate more than words can ever express.
And he smells so damn good, freshly showered after dominating on the football field. No, I wasn’t there to witness for myself, but I know he’d have it no other way.
I breathe him in deep and it’s my undoing, the reason I’m not lucid enough to protest when his tongue pushes between my lips. A taste of mint lingers in his mouth and I’m keenly aware that this is something I shouldn’t know about him. It’s wrong on so many levels, but there’s no use fighting. It’s a lost cause. I’m a lost cause.
Feverish sucking and tugging on my lips has my head hazy, until I barely know who I am anymore. He’s stolen all traces of flavor from my gloss and still isn’t finished with me. A dangerous feeling builds in the pit of my stomach—the realization that I want more of this.
More from the wolf who’s made it crystal clear he intends to do more than just blow my house down.
He wants to level my entire world.
A slow, deep push of his hips toward mine reveals something else. He’s rock hard and isn’t bothering to hide it, isn’t ashamed that I now know for sure there’s more than one kind of tension steeping between us. It’s there, it’s real, and in a flash … he takes it all away.
Everything.
With my chest heaving against his, neither of us rushes to move, which is telling in and of itself. But then, just like that, he flips the switch again, appearing to have felt nothing. The moment I realize he’s reverting back to his d-bag default setting, I snap back to reality, too, straightening my uniform when he backs off.
He’s still West—my tormentor, my worst nightmare.
Brushing the back of my hand over my hot, damp lips, my eyes fall closed. Even with everything he’s done and said fresh in my head, I still let this happen. It seems like as hard as I try not to become my mother, I’m more like the woman every day. I’d watched my dad walk all over her for years. And now, I’d just allowed West to do the exact same.
He steps back further, and I won’t even look at him. I hate myself enough already.
“You were right; one of us is weak,” he rasps. “But are you still sure it’s me?”
The lock on the door twists and my head is clear enough to understand exactly what just happened—the transfer of power. By allowing him to handle me this way, I’ve unwittingly made it clear that, even with all he’s done, I’m drawn to him.
He pulls the door open and then I’m alone.
If his goal was to make me see I ought to have hurled that particular insult into a mirror, right at myself, mission accomplished.
West
“That’s red-light number three you just ran,” Sterling points out, bracing a hand against the dashboard.
His words barely register, though, because … what the actual fuck just happened?
My intentions were clear-cut. I had one goal in mind—to teach Southside a lesson. But now, I’m sweating bullets, hoping she didn’t get the wrong idea, didn’t misunderstand me touching her like that.