Chapter 4
Chapter Four
There was only one way to avoid the date that Sammie was so damn insistent about taking me on. I called in sick to work. If I’m not there when he turns up, he will get the hint and move on. It’s not as if a man like him doesn’t have options.
“Normal” me wouldn’t have a problem speaking my mind and laying on a hard no.
But over the last six months, I haven’t been the “normal” me.
I’ve been this na?ve, inexperienced girl I want them all to believe I am.
As much as Emmanuel Lopez says we’re friends, I have no doubt he’d bite my head off if I fucked up this job.
Which means, as much as I’d love to say fuck it and go on the date, I can’t.
The girl he thinks he’s asking out is a lie.
He has no idea who I really am. There’s also the fact that I have no idea how much longer I’ll be here.
Instead of facing him and telling the guy that I have no intention of dating him, I’m staying in and taking a bath.
I haven’t used a vacation or sick day since I started at the casino.
I like being busy. Too much downtime makes me crazy.
Gives me far too much time to think. And thinking never leads to anything good for me.
That’s why I’m currently turning on my favorite playlist, filling a bath with lavender and salts, and plan on not thinking for the rest of the night.
As soon as the tub is full, I sink into the hot water. Relishing the burn it brings to my skin. I spent three hours in the gym this morning—which isn’t anything new—but still, leg day always sucks.
Humming along to my “girl boss” playlist, I let myself relax. Well, as much as anyone can relax in my line of work. It’s when people least expect to be killed that they usually are. Like sleeping, sharing a meal, and so on…
An alarm on my phone replaces the music, telling me someone is standing at my front door.
I reach for a towel, wipe my hands, and then swipe the screen to see who it is.
I don’t get visitors. I don’t know anyone here.
My eyes widen when I realize that it’s Sammie, his fist rising as if he’s about to knock.
Then it pauses midair, like he’s unsure that’s what he wants to do.
I watch as he shakes his head and turns around. “Good. Keep on walking,” I whisper and then he’s spinning to face the door again. A newfound determination on his face as he lifts his arm and pounds his fist on the door.
I flinch as the sound bounces through my apartment. Maybe if I don’t answer, he’ll go away. Yes, that’s a good plan. Avoidance is a perfectly acceptable method for solving a problem.
And right now, resisting the urge to jump Sammie Russo’s bones is my number one problem. I bet it would be so good, though… I’m certain those hands of his would know just how to touch me.
I watch and wait. He doesn’t leave. Instead, he knocks again. Shit, I think this man must be the example you get when you look up the word “determined” in the dictionary.
The thing is I am just as stubborn. Which leaves us at a stalemate. He can’t stand out there forever, and I can’t hide in this tub all night.
I squint at the camera. “What the hell is he…”
Oh no, he isn’t!
Jumping out of the water, I snatch a towel from the counter and storm out towards my front door.
It’s only a little apartment so it doesn’t take me long to get there. I swing the door open, my bare foot lifts, and then it’s landing on Sammie’s chest, pushing him backwards onto his ass.
“What on earth are you doing? Sammie?” I feign shock, pretending as though I didn’t know it was him who was trying to pick my lock.
Sammie stands and dusts off his pants. “Do you kick everyone who comes to your door, or am I just lucky?” he asks me.
“Only the people who are trying to break in.” I fold my arms over my chest, which has Sammie’s eyes briefly glancing in that direction before they lift, and a pissed-off look crosses his face.
I mean, I did kick him. I’d be pissed too if it were me.
“Why are you breaking into my apartment? You should know I have pepper spray and I’m not afraid to use it,” I tell him.
I don’t have pepper spray. What I do have is a pistol in the drawer right next to me that I’m more than willing to use if I have to.
“You called in sick. I came to check on you.” Sammie takes two steps forward.
His hands land on my waist, and he pushes me backwards into my apartment and then closes the door.
I let him. I can’t put up too much of a fight.
I’m not supposed to know how to fight. “This is Las Vegas, Lailani. Don’t ever answer the door naked,” Sammie growls.
“I’m hardly naked.” I peer down at the towel before meeting his glare again. “And I’m not the one breaking and now entering.”
He glances over a shoulder. “Your door is intact. I didn’t break anything, and I entered when you invited me in.”
My mouth drops open. “I never…” I shake my head. “I didn’t…”
“Not verbally, but I knew you wanted to.” He winks—the cocky asshole winks at me.
Who the hell does he think he is? And why is my stomach doing that stupid butterfly thing?
“Okay, well, you’ve seen I’m fine. You can leave now,” I tell him.
“Why did you take the night off from work?”
“I had a headache,” I lie.
Sammie presses the back of his hand to my forehead. And I just stand there and let him. Dazed. “You don’t have a fever. Want me to call a doctor?” he asks.
“No, I’m fine.” What is wrong with him? Why isn’t he leaving? “I’m planning on having an early night,” I add, hoping he gets the hint and disappears.
“Have you eaten?” He walks farther into the room instead. “I’m ordering food. What do you feel like having?”
I follow him into my tiny living room. This apartment is set up to appear like it belongs to the broke college student I’m supposed to be. “What?”
“Food. What do you feel like eating?” he asks again, tapping away on his phone as he sits on my sofa. The only sofa.
“Please, make yourself at home.” I wave a hand and then curse myself for letting the snipe slip out. I don’t think an “innocent casino worker” would speak to her boss like that. But seriously, who is this man?
“Thanks, babe. I’m thinking Chinese, but we can do pizza if you prefer?” He smiles as if this is a common occurrence. Him sitting on my sofa, ordering dinner for us.
I find myself smiling, despite thinking I have a madman in my apartment. “Ah, Chinese is good,” I tell him. “I’m just going to get dressed.” I walk into my bedroom and shut the door.
What the hell am I doing?
I rummage through my closet before pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a baggy old band t-shirt. I want to look as unattractive as possible. Once I’m dressed, I sit on the edge of my bed and send Emmanuel a text.
Me:
Is there something wrong with your friend? Like in the head? How likely is he to want to peel off my skin and wear it like a suit?
E:
Why? What’s Sammie done now?
Me:
I caught him breaking into my apartment.
E:
And he’s still alive?
Me:
I took the night off from work, and he came to check on me. He’s on my sofa ordering us food, E. This isn’t funny. What do I do?
E:
I recall you telling me we weren't friends, Lailani. Call a friend for boyfriend advice.
Argh, he is going to throw that in my face forever. Asshole. I stand by it, though. Emmanual and I are not friends. We are associates. I just don’t have any friends to ask this sort of thing.
As I’m walking out of my room, my phone vibrates in my hand.
E:
He isn’t going to hurt you, or try to wear your skin. Just eat the meal and say thanks. It’s not that hard.
With a sigh, I make my way back into the living room. Sammie lifts his head from the screen of his phone and smiles at me. And there go the butterflies again. “Food won’t be long,” he says.
“Thank you. You really did not need to come and order dinner.”
“Actually I did. I told you I’d take you on a date tonight. This is our official date, Lailani.”
“You can’t be serious. I’m wearing sweats. This isn’t a date.” I shake my head.