by Layla Frost
My stomach fell as I tried to imagine what could be worse than the scene I knew he was capable of making. Licking my desert-dry lips, I asked the question I didn’t want to know. “What will there be?”
“Nothing,” he stated, a firm finality in the single word.
With that, he left the room.
Left me.
*******
“I’m not feeling well.” Leaning against the doorframe, I was practically panting. “Sorry, hi. I’m not feeling well.”
It’d taken me a million and ten minutes just to make my way through the crowded club toward the back offices. It was more like five, but it felt much longer.
“What happened tonight?” Charlie asked, tearing his attention from the papers on his desk.
The hairs at the back of my neck stood up, and I knew there was someone behind me.
My eyes darted from the clock on the wall back to Charlie. “Long story. I can tell you tomorrow. But I really don’t feel well.”
“Nothing happened,” a cocky voice said from the doorway.
Hank.
He was the head bouncer, which was funny because his head was massively self-inflated. It was also jammed up his own ass.
My teeth clenched with my desire to argue, but I was on a time crunch.
“This true?” Charlie asked me.
I opened my mouth to agree, but Hank spoke over me. “Some of the girls need thicker skin if they wanna survive in this world. Bunch of special snowflake princesses.”
“Hank,” Charlie warned before raising his brow at me.
“It’s true,” I said, deceptively saccharine. “Hank would know since his ears are so big, he could probably hear everything.”
“The hell did you just say?” Hank asked, a pissed warning in his tone.
One I ignored. “I mean, he probably felt a kinship with those guys since they were mad they didn’t have a chance with us and he’s been striking out with Coco.”
Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Eden—”
“Maybe he can also relate to their, uhh,” I put my hand up, my thumb and forefinger close together, “little problem.”
“Turn around and say that to my face, and I’ll show you I’m not lacking.”
I turned and gave him a dazzling smile. “No one’s referring to your ego.”
“You bitch—”
“I’m not touching you. Not physically hurting you. Maybe you should get thicker skin, snowflake.”
“Eden, go home, and we’ll talk later.” Charlie skewered Hank with a look. “You, stay.”
Shoulders back and head held high, I turned toward the door that was mostly blocked by Hank’s impressive frame. He didn’t move as I approached. I could’ve squeezed through the small space he’d left at his side, but I wasn’t letting him win. I met his gaze, the malice and hostility in them clear as he sneered down at me, waiting for me to ask him to move.
I didn’t.
Moving quick, I jerked my head and shoulders forward like I was about to attack.
And he flinched, moving enough for me to walk through the doorway without shrinking myself.
In all I’d said, it was his flinch that’d haunt him.
Which was why, despite the fact I’d missed Damien’s deadline and had likely just thrown my job out the window, I was grinning as I changed and packed my bag.
When I was done, I found one of the more professional bouncers and asked him to walk me to my car. As soon as I stepped outside, I scanned the parking lot, but I knew.
Damien was gone.
I shivered, though it wasn’t because of the bone-deep cold that swirled around me. It was the adrenaline crash and disappointment that left me shaking.
Driving home, I tried to convince myself it was for the best. All of it. If I was fired, it’d make leaving easier. With Damien, there was a crazy chemistry between us—a pull we both felt—but we couldn’t seem to get it together. We frustrated and infuriated each other.
Hurt each other.
Our dysfunctional pendulum kept swinging.
With as many thoughts as I had running through my head, I still wouldn’t allow myself to think about what he’d done to me that afternoon. Or more specifically, my reaction to it.
It would be like holding a mirror up to a locked away part of my soul, and I wasn’t ready to see that reflection.
Exhausted and wrung raw, I curled into bed that night.
Sleep was elusive.
But the feeling of isolation was suffocating.
Chapter Fifteen
* * *
Saint’s Horns
Damien
“Why?”
Eden’s gaze shot up from the notebook in her lap. Her lips were parted, and her narrowed eyes guarded. “What?”
I tapped one of the papers she had spread on my desk. “Why was there such a marked trend toward a pragmatic approach to politics? What influenced that change?”
There was a flash of surprise—relief, maybe—in her wide eyes that she quickly concealed by looking down to jot a note in the paper’s margin.
Eden had cancelled the independent studies meeting we’d had scheduled for the beginning of that week, which hadn’t been a surprise. She’d still come to class, though for all intents and purposes, she’d been absent. Pulled into herself, she hadn’t seemed to be listening. I’d have called on her to answer questions, but I hadn’t wanted to put her on the spot if she’d been as lost in her head as she’d appeared.
I’d written lengthy feedback on work, treating her as though she were any other student when she was not.
She’d yet to mention the change, though I hadn’t expected her to.
Just as I hadn’t anticipated her keeping our Friday meeting. Thankfully, I’d waited because she’d shown right on time.
She hadn’t looked nervous when she’d knocked on the door. Her expression, tone, and words were all professionally cold.
Wrong.
It wasn’t until we’d dug into her research that her sky-blue eyes had glowed with life. Her graceful movements and passion had increased as I’d challenged her research ideas.
We talked for a few more minutes before her eyes landed on the clock and her shoulders tightened.
“I have to get to class,” she said, not glancing at me as she stiffly packed her bag. When I leaned back, her progress halted, as did her breathing.
I didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
Silent seconds ticked by before her shoulders lowered infinitesimally, and she resumed packing. She finished and stood, meeting my eyes with her guarded ones.
Giving her a short nod, I reached for a stack of papers I didn’t need. “See you in class on Monday, Miss Wilder.”
“Thanks,” she muttered on her way out.
I put my hands behind my head and stared unseeing at the open doorway.
Eden was so fucking beautiful, it hurt. It hurt to see the brilliance of her smile, and it killed to be deprived of it. Listening to her talk, hearing her passion and intellect, was a slow foreplay more powerful than the dances she performed. It was tormenting.
Switching her studies to Ceaders would be the best thing for both of us. She’d thrive in whatever field she focused on, and Ceaders was an ass, but she was strong enough to put him in his place if he got out of line.
My eyes moved from the empty doorway to my computer. It’d take one email to separate myself from the forbidden fruit that was Eden. From my depraved angel who tempted me with a glimpse of heaven on the trip to hell.
But a sinner had to want to be a saint.
And I sure as hell didn’t. I wanted to take the apple. Devour it. Let the juices cover me before going back for more.
I wanted to break my angel’s halo and use the pieces to make her horns.
*******
Eden
I was supposed to be heading to work.
I’d been lucky enough to keep my job after my tiff with Hank. He’d been written up, but I’d skated by with a warning because I’
d been right—the bouncers should’ve stepped in.
People didn’t come to Sinners because of the stellar security team. They were replaceable, an expense not a moneymaker. If someone was making the dancers uncomfortable, we didn’t need to thicken our skin. We needed security to do their damn jobs—to have our backs and keep us feeling safe enough to continue working there.
And at Hank’s order, the bouncers had all dropped the ball.
I hadn’t been sure what to expect when I went back after the blowout, but Hank had been silent. That didn’t mean I thought everything was okay, though. Not wanting to be there longer than necessary, I’d done my makeup and hair at home.
Then I’d gotten into my car and started driving.
Except I wasn’t heading to work.
Instead, I found myself going to Damien.
He’d finally given me what I wanted. All week, he’d treated me like he did everyone else. There’d been no mention of the ultimatum. No scene. The fallout had been exactly what he’d promised.
Nothing.
I got the same man everyone else did—the passionate professional.
When I’d gone for our meeting that afternoon, I’d braced, expecting the real him to peek out. I’d waited for some hint of danger, playful banter, or even a crude comment to goad a reaction from me.
But, just as he’d promised—no, threatened—there’d been nothing.
One of the knots in my messy life had been untangled.
I should’ve been ecstatic.
I won.
Not just the battle, but the war. I was the victor.
Triumph wasn’t what’d filled me, though. Only… disappointment.
It was like closing a door only to find I missed the view.
I wasn’t sure what I hoped to accomplish with my impulsive decision. Every practiced greeting and explanation sounded stupid and forced. For all I knew, I was about to make a fool of myself. But just driving there made me feel better than I had all week. There was a lightness in my chest and effervescence in my veins.
Because for the first time in almost a week, I was alive. Thrumming and anxious, shaking off the haze to feel the rush.
And that was worth the risk.
Pulling into his driveway, my heart went into overdrive when I saw his car.
It’s now or never.
Killing the engine, I grabbed my keys and practically jogged up the walkway, still not sure what words were going to spew from my mouth but positive I needed to say them. Filled with nervous energy, I bounced on the balls of my feet as I knocked on the door.
It swung open a moment later, and Damien stood in the doorway, wearing a pair of classic Adidas track pants and a gray tee that stretched across his broad chest.
“Eden,” he whispered, his thick brows raised.
There was a noise behind him, drawing our attention.
A gorgeous brunette strutted toward us, her eyes on the two bottles she held. “Hey, Damey, red wine or a beer?” She looked up and halted, an endearing deer-in-the-lights expression on her face. “Oops. Thought it was the food.”
Desperately clutching to any shred of dignity I had left, I leaned over and looked at the front of the house, though there were no numbers there. I forced out an unconvincing laugh. “Sorry, wrong house.”
Damien was looking back at her, and for once my body didn’t freeze in fight or flight.
It responded with flight all the way.
I turned and ran, hauling ass to my car.
“Eden, wait!” I heard him thunder, but I didn’t listen.
I threw myself in the car, miraculously getting the key in the ignition on the first try as I said a prayer to the jalopy gods that the piece of shit would start.
The gods were feeling generous. The engine roared to life.
Not bothering to buckle, I threw the car in reverse and backed out. My tires screeched as I turned the wheel quickly and sped away. I’d barely made it to the end of the street when my phone began to ring.
Fuck, I’m stupid.
Of course, he moved on.
We were nothing.
And, of course, she’s gorgeous and cute and calls him a sweet nickname without sounding corny or stupid.
When everything was too wobbly through the tears pooling in my eyes, I pulled over to figure out what to do. If I went home or to work, Damien—Professor Caine wouldn’t hesitate to follow. I didn’t want to go wallow in my empty apartment anyway—mostly because I had no alcohol, but also because I’d been pathetic enough for one day… or a lifetime.
My phone started ringing again, and I grabbed it to turn it off. Or possibly throw it out the window. I hadn’t decided.
When I saw it wasn’t Professor Caine, though, I answered. “Hello?”
“Hey, gorgeous,” Brooks said, like a guardian frat bro. “I know you’re working tonight, but—”
“Actually, I read the schedule wrong. I’m off.”
“Really? Holden and I are being college guy stereotypes by spending the night playing video games while drinking cheap beer. Wanna come over?”
“That literally sounds perfect.”
I thought about my earlier naïve plans and the perfect way I’d hoped the evening would go. A deep ache filled my chest, swirling with a hint of guilt.
Brooks knew we were just friends, but that didn’t mean I needed to treat him like my fallback.
Sighing, I closed my eyes. “Actually—”
“Too late. Just come over and relax. It’ll be fun.”
“I don’t think I remember how to have fun or relax,” I said with a laugh, though I wasn’t really joking.
“That’s how you know you’re overdue.”
Clicking off with him, I turned off my phone and started driving toward cute boys, cold beer, and normalcy.
And away from the one person who’d made me feel like I didn’t have to pretend.
*******
Damien
“Fuck.” I paced the floor and dialed again, that time from my house phone I only used for work contacts I didn’t actually want to talk to.
“Do you want to go after her?” Steph asked, setting the takeout on the kitchen island.
I didn’t want to. I needed to.
But after what’d just happened, she wouldn’t go home. And she wouldn’t go to work. She might hang around campus, but I doubted that. Campus was my homefield, and she wouldn’t give me that advantage.
Listening to the endless ringing, I thought about where else she had to go.
Or, rather, who she’d go see.
Twisting jealousy filled me as I side-armed the phone across the room. It hit the wall and exploded.
Steph didn’t pause in fixing her food, though her eyes did widen.
Whether that was from my outburst or her hungrily staring at a mountain of beef and broccoli, I wasn’t sure.
Her plate heaping, she popped the wine’s cork and poured a glass before sitting on a stool. “Okay, talk to me. What’s up?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Give me the abridged version. Who is she?”
“She’s… Hell, Steph, she’s everything. And I can’t have her. I shouldn’t have her. But now maybe someone else is going to.” Running my palm down my face, I closed my eyes and saw her. That image of her would be seared in my memory until my last breath, and then it’d torture me in hell.
The surprise. The embarrassment burning across her cheeks.
The fucking pain that dulled her sky-blue eyes.
By the time I’d gotten over my own surprise to realize the assumption she’d made, it’d been too late.
She’d been gone.
“You do know you’re not making sense, right?” Steph asked.
Inhaling deeply, I admitted, “She’s a student.”
The look on Steph’s face made it abundantly clear she was still confused and concerned, but mostly she thought I was a fucking idiot.
She wasn’t wrong.
“Damey, no,” she dr
awled, the one syllable stretching to five. “You could lose everything.”
My gaze went to the door. “I just did.”
“Shit, I don’t… I don’t even know what to say. You’re torn up, and I get that, but you’ve got to think this through. What if she tells people?”
“She wouldn’t.” Steph opened her mouth, an argument already twisting her features, but I held up my hand. “I’m an idiot, but I’m not stupid. Eden wouldn’t tell anyone.” She didn’t look convinced, so I gave her a reassurance neither of us wanted to discuss. “We’ve never slept together.”
Her shoulders slumped in relief, but she turned a little green at the conversation. “Okay. I mean, that still leaves a lot of gray area, but okay.”
I held her eye-contact and didn’t hesitate or waver. “I don’t give a damn about rules and policy and whatever other bullshit is in place. I do give a damn about her. Her future. Her happiness. I was fucking with both, so I backed off and it’s been appropriate professionalism since.”
“I want to make a joke about how shocking it is that you put someone else’s needs before your own, but I’ll refrain.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, but there was no indignation in my words because there was no untruth in hers.
I’d always been a selfish bastard, and she only knew a fraction of it.
Taking a sip of wine, she set the glass down and asked, “If things are on the up-and-up now, why was she here?”
“No clue. And she won’t pick up her phone to tell me.”
“At the risk of you throwing something else, where do you think she went?”
“There’s a kid in class she’s close with.”
“Close, as in…”
Clenching my jaw, I shook my head.
“So, to recap the night... She saw me, thinks you and I are…” She grimaced and shuddered, a sentiment I echoed. “And now you’re worried she and him will…?”
“Yes,” I gritted out.
“And, obviously, you can’t show up at his place to correct her because he’s a student, too. Hmm.” Steph’s fingers drummed on her wine glass as she looked to the side. “Well, if she’s willing to turn around and hop into bed with someone else—”