Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
K AYLA
The next day comes and goes way too fast. I’m currently busy cleaning this damn coffee machine.
Again. It doesn’t make a good espresso anymore, and I religiously descale it every week.
I did everything. I YouTubed instructions on how to fix it and nothing; the machine still doesn’t yield enough espresso.
I wipe the sweat from my temple.
The last video I watched recommended I open the machine’s frame and clean it manually.
I produce a screwdriver from the pantry (because, yes, I stocked up on more useful tools just in case—even though Freya promised that she only had one evil ex).
I unscrew the cover from the machine that somehow stopped working after only a couple months of use and put it aside .
I sent Marina home an hour ago. She’ll be here earlier than roosters wake up and will be exhausted by the time we need to close the diner.
I’m alone (with a locked door, mind you, because this woman has learned her lesson), so I can blast my rock music as loud as I want.
There are no residential units in this building, and all the businesses are closed at this hour.
Humming “nothing else matters” along with James Hetfield, I proceed to take apart the inside of this bougie coffee.
YouTube suggested I remove the brewing system and clean it thoroughly under the water.
So, I do as instructed: I remove the system and carefully move it to the sink when a knock on the door startles me, and I drop the system on the floor.
“Fuck!” I yelp. Marina will kill me! The next knock sounds louder, and I finally look up.
Justin’s standing behind the door, watching me with a small smile on his face.
When I see him, I expect my heart to start pounding as it usually does, but it doesn’t.
In fact, it’s calm. I’m calm. Turns out, an evening with Freya to talk through my problems put my mind in the right place.
I lift the system up and check if it’s broken—it’s not, thank God—and go to the door.
I open it but don’t move to let him in. I wait to see what will happen.
“Need some help?” His tone is hesitant.
I look back at the sink where the system might be living its last day, which may also be my last day if it’s broken, and Marina kills me. I nod and step aside. He comes in, bringing a scent of masculinity with him, and I try not to breathe so his crazy-ass pheromones won’t drive me insane.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” His smile is sheepish. He is never sheepish with me .
I shrug, not trusting my voice. I’m not as affected by him as I was before, but I’m also not unaffected. His brows knit together but then relax just as fast. Justin walks to the sink and lifts the brewing system into his hands. “Stopped brewing enough?”
I nod. He must have expected my silent treatment because he looks at me when I respond.
He takes a screwdriver from the table and unscrews the mechanism more.
It’s not like I know how to fix it, and he looks like somebody who knows his way around tools.
I sit back and just watch his large hands move the mechanism around.
A few minutes later, he puts it all together, rinses it, and installs it back into the machine.
He then continues to professionally grind the beans, starting the machine.
He gets the perfect amount of liquid with the most beautiful-looking crema I’ve ever seen.
Right, I forgot that Justin’s a coffee snob.
He lifts the cup to his nose and takes a deep breath before taking a sip.
He licks his lips, and my eyes are glued to his throat while he takes a lazy gulp.
The corner of his lip quirks up, and I know I’ve been caught.
I look up and see a twinkle in his eyes.
He stretches his arm out and offers me the rest of the coffee.
The only thing I manage to do is to shake my hands and swallow the massive lump in my own throat, causing Justin to smile wider.
I cough nervously and murmur a barely audible “Thanks” before walking to the kitchen.
He follows me. “Do you need help with anything else?”
I stop suddenly and turn to him with my hands on my hips. “What are you doing here, Justin?”
“Trying to see how I can help.” He looks around, but all the work is done. The diner is in perfect condition after our renovation. Besides the coffee machine, of course. But now, even that problem is fixed.
“We’re good.” I cross my arms over my chest. “What are you doing here, Justin? And don’t bullshit me with your ‘help’ story.”
His eyes narrow, and he takes a step toward me. There’s still about six feet between us. He takes another, and I don’t back down. “You looked cozy with Alex yesterday.”
“Is that why you’re here? To tell me to stay away from him?” My nostrils flare.
“Yes.” He’s curt.
“You want to take away one of my very few friends? Why? You’re scared I’ll do something with him? Seeing that I’m the town hoe and all that.”
His nostrils flare, and he takes another small step forward. “Don’t say that about yourself.”
I laugh. Loudly, very loudly. “So you can say that about me, and I can’t?” I laugh even louder. “You’re delusional. Even if I was the town hoe, I’d never do anything to hurt Freya.”
“Stop.” His voice is louder. “I told you not to say that.”
“And who are you to tell me what to do, huh? You were the one talking shit about me with your little brother all around town. What’s changed?” The switch on my temper flips on.
“You know what.” His voice is lower.
“I don’t. Not really. I’ve been asking you about your hate for me for so long.
And all you kept saying was ‘you know, you know yourself, keep your mouth shut and blah blah blah,’ like a goddamn parrot.
But now, out of nowhere, you think we can do a one-eighty?
Just like that?” I snap my fingers, getting more and more mad with every word.
“You think now that you know the truth, everything will be normal? Newsflash: it won’t be. ”
“Kayla,” he growls.
“No. You don’t get to say my name. Go back to calling me whatever else you called me, but not Kayla.
No. That name is not for you. Trailer trash is for you.
She is for you. A little thing is for you.
But Kayla is not.” My hands are balled into tight fists, itching to scratch them on his perfect face.
“Kayla!” His voice booms through the empty room. My eyes snap to his, and he growls. “Shut up.”
“You shut up yourself. You can’t tell me what to do!” I’m nearly yelling.
He moves so quickly all I see is a blur. He’s in front of me, backing me up using the sheer mass of his body. I don’t have a choice but to obey. Once my butt presses into the to-go order table, he stops.
“Oh, I can tell you what to do. And you will do as I say.” He lowers his voice even more, making it more seductive.
I’m sure it’s the one he’s used to using with his conquests, but as we’ve established, I choose a higher ground.
Justin’s face is right in front of me. I decide to play a little game of my own.
I move a bit so my mouth is right next to his ear and whisper, blowing air onto his earlobe, “Are you so sure about that?”
His whole massive frame shudders as he grips the edge of the table on either side of me.
His body radiates heat, and I can feel it even when not an inch of his skin touches mine.
It radiates off him like from a fire. “Yeah. I’m sure.
And we start with,” he inhales deeply, “you stop using those names for yourself.”
“Why? Why should I when everyone else uses them?” I try to sound confident, but his proximity places my hormones firmly into overdrive. I can barely keep up the argument.
“Because no one ever will again.” What he lacks in decency, he makes up for in confidence. The swagger pours off him.
“You can’t promise that.” I laugh at his face.
“Oh, but I can. Watch me.” His mouth is next to my ear, his voice barely a whisper.
I lick my suddenly dry lips and whisper back, “Why would you do that?”
He pulls back a few inches and stares into my eyes. “You know why.” His voice is close to a growl. Not an angry growl, like with Alex, but a sexy growl. One that makes you shiver, goosebumps running up and down your body. The good kind of growl.
“I don’t,” I whisper and lick my dry lips again. He’s staring at them, and I know it means he wants to kiss me. I don’t want to kiss him ever again. I don’t. Nope, not at all.
“You don’t?” he asks. Bringing his lips to the soft place under my ear.
His lips barely graze my skin, but it’s enough to send my blood running south.
I thought that phrase could only be used for guys, but right now, I feel that’s not entirely true.
All the blood has left my brain, heading downstairs to spawn a million butterflies. It makes me feel lightheaded.
“I don’t. A few days ago, you hated me, and now you’re all up in my space making promises you can’t keep.” I remind him about his recent vendetta against me that lasted for six years.
“I still do,” he answers, grazing the shell of my ear with his mouth.
“What?” I think I’m mistaken through my haze of desire, but he continues.
“I still hate you,” he whispers while keeping his lips strategically placed.
“What?” I rear back, staring into his eyes .
“Oh yeah, I still hate you. Because after you told me the truth, I had to come to terms with the fact that I’m the one to blame, and blaming you was always easier.
” He brings his face closer to mine and hisses, “And even when I hated you, I wanted you. And I hated you for that. And I still want you. And still hate you.” He presses his front into mine, and I can feel his hardness against me.
His whole body pushing into mine. All his power trying to get inside of my pores.