Then, sitting across from this Jace-man, I had no option but to stare.
I blushed, not exactly sure what to make of all of this, but—DAMN!—he just looked so handsome. I wasn’t used to feeling attracted to men, especially as of lately. It wasn’t common to work with attractive men, most the ones who had to pay for sex weren’t doing so because they had a ton of other options. I wondered why this sort of man would’ve had to pay for sex. I could imagine that a lot of women would’ve been eager to get with him for free. Blushing at that, I wondered if I’d just confessed to myself that I wanted to sleep with him…
Jeez, Mia! Get a grip. It’s not like you don’t work with men DAILY.
He stared back, seeming to know that there was something going on in my head.
“Are you going to kill me?” I finally asked.
The gasp the question earned had Jace in a coughing fit. His face reddened as he hacked and keeled, the crooked hostess leaning at a funny angle to look at our table from across the dining room.
“SIR?” she called out, “ARE YOU ALRIGHT? WOULD YOU LIKE SOME WATER?”
Jace, too overwhelmed by his coughing to answer, nodded and held up a thumbs-up.
I stared, blushing, feeling strangely guilty.
Finally, starting to gasp from the whole ordeal, the coughs began to space out and eventually calm. Two glasses of ice water clanked louder and louder as the hostess hurried to bring them to our table, and the moment he had the chance to do so he gulped down almost half of one of the glasses in only a few gulps.
“You gonna be alright, hun?” the hostess asked, looking like she was prepared to call us an ambulance.
Jace nodded, assured her he was fine, and thanked her. Once we were alone, he gave me a hard stare, took another gulp of water, and shook his head. “No,” he said flatly. “We’re not in the business of killing. Tough as your guys have made that.”
“For starters,” I hissed, “the Carrion Crew are not ‘my guys.’ I work for them. That’s it! Got it?”
Jace nodded, seeming happy to hear it.
“Secondly, who in the hell is ‘we’?” I demanded. “You said ‘we’re not in the business.’ So who’s the rest of you?”
Jace sucked on his upper lip, still obviously nervous, and stared back at me. I could almost see him replaying all of our conversations as he did, making one last assessment of me.
Despite everything I’d been through—everything I’d done—I realized I’d never felt more exposed. Part of me would have preferred it if he’d just slipped under the table to stare between my legs at my nakedness; at least that would have made sense to me.
Then he sighed and shrugged, committing to whatever outcome the decision he’d just made brought his way. “My name,” he said the words as though he hadn’t already told me his name, “is Jason Presley. And I’m the leader of the Crow Gang.”
He said the words like they were supposed to mean something, but I couldn’t bring myself to know what that something was. I felt like he’d just confessed to being the king of some exotic country—like trumpets should have suddenly blared at the confession—but I felt like the one person in the classroom who’d never heard of the So-and-So Empire. Okay, so he was Jason Presley, that was cool, but what was a Crow Gang, and, more importantly, why should that matter?
“Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and to remove all doubt,” I quoted to myself.
Then I inwardly groaned as I realized I was quoting a dead president while sitting in a Denny’s, wearing a ruined-yet-about-to-be-sold eighteen-hundred dollar dress with no underwear, across from a guy who’d just turned my world upside-down and thrown a bunch of money at me to save his life. The weird-train to Awkwards-ville was officially derailing and crashing down on the Forest of Fucked-Up, and now I was expected to know—or care—about another goofy-sounding, bird-obsessed group? I held back the sudden urge to just break down into hysteria and followed after the hostess. In my defense, I felt I was holding it together pretty well, all things considered.
He stared back at me.
I gave no sign that I either knew or did not know what he was talking about. Somewhere in that effort, I failed.
“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” he asked.
I held on a moment longer, trying to decide if it would be worth it to bluff, and finally shook my head.
Jace smirked at that, seeming relieved. “Wow!” he said, “I guess you’re not too woven in with the Crew then, huh?”
“Woven in enough,” I grumbled, taking a sip from my own glass of water.
And then Jace went on to explain just what his bold confession to me truly meant.
****
“Like one criminal organization wasn’t enough, right?” Jace finally finished.
I blushed and shrugged. “From the sounds of it, your gang is actually sort of heroic in its own way. I mean, sure, it’s still crime and whatnot, but you said it yourself: you’re not in the business of killing. I barely knew anything about this town’s gangs—didn’t even know there was more than one, honestly—and I at least know that the Crew are nothing if not murder-happy bastards.”
Jace smiled at my words.
“So, yeah,” Jace said, sipping from his now nearly empty glass of water. Our server had already taken our drink order and, since he’d started telling me about his gang, we’d gotten a round of Cokes between us. Even then, he’d been working on the water as he talked. “I thought I was being clever in going in there tonight—thought I’d snoop around and get an idea of what they were up to—” he looked away as he said this, and I figured he was making sure nobody was eavesdropping, “but when you pegged me as a narc in an instant I figured I was likely testing fate and decided it was in my better interest to get out of there.”
I blushed and nodded, fascinated by this new information. Moreover, knowing this added detail about Jace only made his demeanor and his behavior towards me that much more incredible. Not realizing I was doing it, I shifted in my seat.
Jace raised an eyebrow at my obvious shimmy of discomfort.
“What?” I bit my lip. “It’s… it’s just weird to be sitting at a Denny’s with no underwear on.”
He shrugged and grinned. “I’m sure it’s not the weirdest thing they’ve seen. Besides, I imagine it would be kind of exhilarating, right? Would be for me, at least.”
“Yeah, well, you aren’t the one doing it,” I pointed out.
“What if I am?” he grinned, raising an eyebrow.
I chuckled, rolling at my eyes at that, “Then they wouldn’t know anyway.” I gestured to his pants. “These kind of block anything from being seen.”
“You want me to strip?” he grinned. “I’ll do it. Get down to my boxers if it’ll help you feel better.”
“Boxers? So you are wearing underwear!” I grinned.
He shrugged, “I can take those off too if you want.”
I blushed, suddenly feeling exhilarated just like he had said. Sitting at this booth with him, being able to freely laugh, being able to say whatever I wanted—this was exhilarating! The feeling was incredible. I silently thanked any and all gods that made this meeting possible. I had wanted to leave, and he had crashed into the scene—literally—at the exact moment I needed.
And now, free from that place, I got to take the night off from being Mia the whore.
But then a part of me reminded myself that this man in front of me had technically paid for me. That he was choosing to use the time he’d bought to do this instead of using my body in some way didn’t change the fact that I was being used as a commodity. That part of me went on to remind me that, in any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have been caught dead with me. At that, I looked down, trying to ignore the sudden shame I felt at feeling any differently in this circumstance.
“Thanks again, by the way,” he said, not seeming to notice that I’d basically broken myself in the prior moment. “You really did save my ass.”
“You paid me to do so,” I added, trying to hold the bitterness I was feeling back.
“Technically I paid for the dress I ruined and compensated you for the lost wages for the rest of the night.”
I rolled my eyes, “That why you paid more than double the cost?”
“So far I’ve only paid you two-grand,” he reminded me. “And before you go thinking that I bought you I think it’s worth stating that I would’ve thrown all of the money I’m paying you and more to just about anybody who could’ve gotten me out of there, regardless of their occupation. Please remember that, okay? I just got done telling a friend about how disinterested I am in taking him up on an offer for a prostitute these days, and I feel like it would get back to him if that’s what you’re taking away from this. I paid you—Mia—not you—the prostitute—to put on a little skit to get me out of there. Simple as that.” He shrugged and smirked. “Just think of it as you charging double to be an actress,” he offered with a smirk, then, flipping back in his menu, asked, “You wanna split some nachos as an appetizer? I’m hungrier than I thought.”
At the change of subject, I relaxed. I hadn’t been sure if he could actually tell what was on my mind or not, but I appreciated it all the same. Somehow with those few words, he had made me feel less like the whore I was. I decided that, if I was getting the rest of the night off, I could at least thoroughly enjoy myself for the time being.
“Sure,” I smirked. “Nachos sound nice.”
He grinned, nodding. “So, what kind of burger you thinking of getting?”
“A double,” I smirked. “With an egg, bacon, and whole shit load of that cheese sauce they have.”
“A woman after my own heart,” he said lightly and I tried to tell myself that I didn’t feel a jolt of something from those words. “I think I’ll get the same thing.”
The server came back then to take our orders. Jace talked on, building a burger that seemed more complex than any sandwich had any right to be. As he prattled on—“… triple patties, extra cheese, extra bacon, avocado…”—he seemed totally oblivious to the fact that the waitress was practically drooling over him. She hung on every word, emoting with exaggerated grins and even adding “ooh! That sounds good!” when he paused to reference the other possible add-ons even though she looked like the sort of girl who considered herself naughty for eating a crouton from her side salad. And when Jace jokingly asked if they could cook it rare if he “batted his eyelashes real pretty,” she went so far to force a series of squawking laughs that conveniently forced her to put her hand on his shoulder. I watched with what I convinced myself was passive indifference—and any annoyance I was feeling was purely directed towards how awkward she was making the ordering process and nothing else!—and considered how all of this just proved me right. Jace was the sort of guy who could get any girl he wanted—or didn’t want, judging from how he shrugged the waitresses’ hand off his shoulder—and yet he’d confessed to me that he’d paid for the service of prostitutes in the past. It just helped to add to my confusion as to why Jace would’ve had to pay for sex. The man was perfectly fit. After the waitress left, pausing to admire Jace once more, I looked back to him, being able to see better now that we were under the bright fluorescent lights. His hair was pitch black and any sort of styling he had been trying for had completely been forgotten as his hair fell over his face, hanging past his cheeks. His face was traditionally handsome and I admired the square cut jaw he possessed and sculpted cheekbones. He really was way too handsome.
It wasn’t fair.
But it wasn’t just his features that caught me. It was his eyes. They were a deep green that reminded me of home. It reminded me of every Christmas I’d spent as a child, before things had gone bad. We had lived near a forest of pine trees and every year, we’d go out and choose a tree together as a family. His eyes were the color of the pine and I could almost smell the trees as I got lost in the memory, in the sight of his eyes. I’d hardly noticed that those eyes were focused on me, focusing on admiring me as well. Blinking, I looked over, seeing that he was also staring at me.
“Like what you see?” I asked, hoping it didn’t sound too much like I was soliciting him.
He raised an eyebrow and chuckled, shaking his head. “S-sorry, didn’t mean to stare. Though, to be fair, yes—I do like what I see. Not my fault you’re hot.”
I blinked at that and let out a sudden bout of laughter. I had tried to hold it back for so long. Something about this man calling me “hot” just ended up being the last straw. I lost it. I doubled over the booth, laughing heartily, not even noticing the attention I was getting from doing so. I didn’t care at that point. It wasn’t like not doing anything was doing us any good. The restaurant had went quiet when we were seated and while some people were less noticeable in their gazes, others were blatant in watching us, specifically watching me. The mixed looks of interest, surprise, and hatred (mostly from a few woman who had obviously caught their man staring) were something I was used to. Now I saw the stares of horror and decided that I could just add that look into my growing list of reactions to seeing me.
“Aaand she’s lost it,” Jace said to himself, followed, to me, with, “You okay?”
At that moment, I wanted to hug him.
“I’m…” I took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Just… this entire situation is pretty funny, don’t you think?”
He smiled and nodded, finally tackling his Coke. “Definitely ranks in my top-fives for interesting situations.”
“Top three for me,” I boasted, “and that’s coming from a whore.”
He smirked. “Well, that is pretty impressive then,” he admitted.
As our nachos came, we both fell into another silence and I was surprised to find that it didn’t feel awkward or strained. I wasn’t used to this feeling and I couldn’t help but look appreciatively towards Jace, who’d already snatched up a heavily decorated chip and was in the process of feeding it to himself while, with his opposite hand, pushing the heaped-up plate in my direction to dig in, as well. While, yes, he needed an excuse to leave the party, he had definitely helped me in the long run, too, whether he chose to admit that or not. If I’d have known that this was where the night was headed I wouldn’t have…
I sighed and pulled up my bag, reaching in and handing him his credit card.
He stared back, mouth still crammed with nacho. “What?” was all he could manage to say.
I smiled and shrugged. “You already paid for the dress and the necklace,” I told him. “There was almost two-and-a-half grand in the wad you gave me.” I shook my head and smiled, “I don’t need you to give me anything else.”
“You sure?” he asked.
“You still paying for dinner?” I countered.
He swallowed his mouthful of nacho, smiled, and nodded. “Of course.”
“Then I’m sure,” I told him.
He shrugged and moved to retrieve the card. “Okay. Sort of reminds me of that old joke about the hooker giving the money back, but I feel like I didn’t even pay for something worth getting a return on.”
“Trust me,” I said, blushing and moving to take a nacho for myself, “That you’re saying that is reason enough.”
He stared, obviously not understanding. Finally, giving up trying to figure it out, he said, “Well, if you insist.” Then, as he snatched up another chip, he said, “Now, while we wait for our burgers: what… is your favorite color?”
I giggled at the drama leading up to such an otherwise simple, basic question. I looked at him, wondering if there was some trick behind it, but then I remembered how he’d been all night and how I’d been all night; my suspicions only served to prove that he was totally sincere every step of the way.
I silently uttered another curse to my brother for turning me into this.
“Purple,” I answered. “Yours?”
“Yellow,” he grinned.
“Yellow?” I sneered. “Really? I didn’t think anyone’s favorite co
lor could be yellow.”
He laughed and shrugged. “Just is,” he said. “Reminds me of summer. Used to be my favorite season until this year. This year’s making me hate summer; this heat wave’s been a real ball-buster.”
“I weep for your balls,” I joked and then shrugged, sighing. “But you’re right, it has been unseasonably warm,” I agreed. “The lack of rain is partially to blame.”
“The dry spell will run up soon,” he said. “Least I hope it will.”
I nodded in agreement and decided that if we were asking random questions, that I could at least contribute to the conversation. Thinking of what to ask, more specifically, something that I also wouldn’t mind answering, I went through the list of basic greeting questions that people went through.
“Favorite animal?”
“Cat,” he grinned. “Yours?”
“Dog,” I grinned back.
He raised an eyebrow. “Seems we are running opposite with most our answers.”
I smiled and shrugged. “I don’t mind cats,” I admitted. “I just have always been more of a dog person, I guess.”
Jace nodded and smiled. “Dogs are cute. I’ve always just loved cats, I guess because of the work that needs to go into having a cat. They aren’t quick to trust and they certainly take a lot of maintenance to please. But once you get a cat’s love, they are loyal to only you.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” I bit my lip, realizing just how much I sounded like a cat in his description.
I supposed that a lot of people did compare women to cats, but I had always thought it was just a joke about pussy. At Jace’s description, I smiled and realized that I suddenly didn’t mind the comparison to cats. I also decided that Jace’s answer had told me more about him that he likely guessed. Most men hated putting any work into anything. The fact that Jace’s favorite animal was a cat and that what he valued from them was something that required effort made him better than most the men I had met in my life.
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