Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Jenny
Going out two days in one week, what am I?
Someone with a social life? This is unsettling.
But by the time I handed Kingston over to Joey and walked home, there was already a long, opaque garment bag and shoes hanging on my door.
I thought it was weird that he took a picture of me standing next to the restaurant sign, but I guess it was used to measure my body.
I wash the day off me, trying not to get my hair wet.
If it gets wet, then it’s a whole thing.
I've got to dry it, curl it, and make it all cute. So, I’m doing a little dance under the shower, whatever I can to keep the splash back from happening.
It’s only after I almost pull a muscle in my neck that I remember I have a shower cap I use for my hair dye.
Joey said he would pick me up at nine. Nine… at night. On a workday. Unreal. Truthfully, the late nights were one of the reasons I stopped going to the club. Once I’m home, I want to stay home. This effort should be rewarded with a fucking parade.
It takes me more time to fix my hair than my makeup. I’m actually pretty proud of myself. I only had to redo my eyeliner three times. Once I’ve finished transforming into a slightly upgraded version of myself, I finally put eyes on the dress.
Oh, he has got to be insane. There’s fucking straps everywhere. Does this thing come with instructions or a manual?
I’ve been getting dressed my whole life, and this is the first time I’ve needed a master's degree in engineering to do it. Fifteen minutes are spent trying to navigate this maze before I finally see the zipper on the side. Oh, I step in… got it.
And damn it all to hell if it wasn’t made exactly for my body. It hides all my little lumpy bumpy parts I’m not overly thrilled with and highlights my toned arms.
I look hot.
Correction: I am hot.
There’s a knock, and I’m trying to get my shoes on as I open the door. But unlike Elphaba, I can’t defy gravity, and I stumble face first into Joey’s chest.
Awesome. I couldn’t even pull off the sexy opening the door and ‘come in’ introduction I intended. Nope, I faceplant right into his shirt. Thank God for good setting spray, or I would have to throw myself off the nearest cliff. Where is the nearest cliff? I’m sure I could google it.
He grabs my arms and lifts me up, stepping into my home as he rights me. “Whoa, you okay? You gotta be careful there.”
“Stupid strappy cute shoes.” Once my foot is snug and no longer causing a potential health hazard, I take a step back, smoothing out my dress and resetting myself. “Hi.”
I’m not expecting Joey’s expression, or the range of emotions that move over it in such rapid succession. Amusement, following a glance of darkened lust before he closes his eyes. When he opens them, there’s a quick flash of shame.
Yikes. Shame? Am I not hot enough for him? Maybe he regrets asking me, because a blue-haired dogwalker isn’t cool enough to be seen with him.
“You look good.” He’s stammering, and his cheeks shift into a deep pink hue. Wait, is he blushing? He blinks a few times and rubs the back of his neck. “No, you are incredible.”
My ego has officially unlocked a new achievement—I made Joey blush. Joey, a mafia boss in training. Or is he a mafia intern?
He’s dressed in all black, everything perfectly fitted to his frame. His dark hair is slicked back, and it’s the most crime lord he's ever been around me. Despite waving a gun at my face, I never felt threatened by him. But now I see it. The danger lying under the surface.
“Thanks. You look…” I pause to find the right word, “cliché.”
Any hints of shame he felt vanishes, morphing into a generally neutral face. But then his lips curl at the corners. “You sure know how to compliment a man.”
“That’s probably why I’m still single.”
He peeks over my shoulder to my trophy case of books. “Damn, you weren’t kidding. How much of that is demon porn?”
I do a quick survey of the shelves. “Only the top row of special editions. Most special editions are for fantasy.” I shrug and grab my purse. “My e-reader holds all the good stuff.”
I don’t want him in here for too long. At first glance my home is normal, but the longer you’re in it, the more you notice the lifehacks I’ve set up for myself to be a functional human.
At least he takes the clue and steps to the side so we can leave. Moments later we’re in his car. Kingston’s fur is on the front seat. “Is your new furry roommate settling in?”
Joey exhales. “You didn’t warn me he would want to ride shotgun and sometimes step onto my lap like he could drive.”
“In all fairness, I didn’t know he would do that.”
He taps his cellphone and shows me a picture. Kingston’s ears are up and pointed, his tail is curled, and his mouth hangs open, smiling. How many pictures did he take of the dog? I say, “I hope you’re prepared for a camera roll filled with Kingston in various locations and positions.”
“Three isn’t enough?”
“Not even close.” I laugh.
A few minutes later, he’s pulling into a back alley.
It’s dirty, with trash piled around the walls.
I’m pretty sure there’s a family of rats playing dodge ball in the dumpster.
Joey puts his hand on my back and leads me to a green metal door.
Before he can knock, the hinges scream as they open.
A man, who has to be as big as the frame, steps into the light.
“Boss. I’ll let Cam know you’re here.”
There’s a very distinct shift now. He’s not Joey, the new pet owner who has been sneaking glances at my thighs while driving. No, his body is tighter, he stands taller, and there’s a coldness to him I wasn’t expecting.
Shit. He really is a mob boss.
Joey says nothing as he steps inside, but his hand wraps around my wrist. He guides me, and his grip is light. When a man with slicked-back hair and tattoos running up and down his arm almost bumps into me, Joey’s grip tightens, and he shifts his body as if to shield me.
The bass rattles the floor, but it’s not overwhelming. We walk in through the back of the hallway, offices on one side, boxes of open T-shirts on the other.
Joey grumbles when he sees it. “Strike one. Merch is tacky.”
We continue through the inner workings, down twisting hallways, staff moving as fast as they can. Our guide opens another steel door, and for a second, everything goes dark and vanishes.
Lush leather, soft lighting, with an overall elegant design magically appears. This is giving the same vibes as karaoke a few nights ago. VIP. We’re in the VIP section.
We lord over the commoners dancing on the main floor.
Joey’s hand is on my back as he scans the room.
But the pretty lights and the high-end fashion make everything feel so fancy.
I’ve never seen so many red bottom shoes in one location.
Do people really live like this, it’s not just some filter for social media?
The Narrator Lady whispers, “you don’t belong here.”
And I agree.
Joey glances down at me with a quick side smile before guiding me to a table where a man holds court, laughing and charming everyone around him.
He’s older than us, I think. I’m shit at telling people’s ages.
His head is shaved, giving him less of an evil Lex Luther and more of an elegant Mr. Clean vibe.
As soon as he sees us, he jumps to his feet, making a quick gesture with his hand and the rest of the table gathers their drinks and scurries away.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Of course, Cam,” Joey says. Cam’s eyes drift over to me. Instantly with an air of authority, he says, “This is Jenny.” Wow, my name has never sounded so important before.
I wave. “Hi.”
“Hello.” He acknowledges me but turns his attention right back to Joey.
They start talking about business stuff, and normally I would be interested, but I’m too focused on the detailing of the tablecloths and the sparkles in the glasses.
The crowd dances and sings to the act on the stage, a DJ who plays remixes of pop songs I know every word to.
My hips sway back and forth as the music pulses my own heartbeat.
But suddenly there’s a change in the crowd—not the dancing one, but the people in the VIP section.
I’m sure my jaw drops fast, nearly unhinging itself and landing at my feet. Gross. Not a pretty image, because what about the skin and my chin. No. Instead, let’s say I’m fucking floored. Because the single most stunning man I’ve ever seen floats toward us.
He’s the epitome of quiet luxury. If Joey is dressed to kill, then this man is dressed to revive—dark hair perfectly styled, crisp facial hair just the right length, piercing blue eyes.
Do I know who he is? Yes, yes, I do. Has he entered many of my late-night fantasies in the form of a demon with two tails?
Again, yes. I am standing within ten feet of music icon Grae.
But it’s the man next to him I recognize, and I squeal in delight. “Darren!” I bounce a few times and dash over to throw my arms around him.
“Shit, Jenny! Girl, how’ve you been?” He’s all smiles. There’s a few extra wrinkles around his eyes, and one or two gray hairs since the last time I saw him, but the man still looks great.
“I’m good. Keeping busy. You?”
He slaps Grae on the shoulder. “Trying to keep this one alive.”
Behind me, Joey clears his throat, his eyes flashing the same rage he had at the vet. Ohhhhh shit, did I do something wrong?
“You know when you see someone you haven’t seen in forever, and you remember enjoying their company and having a great impression of them.
That’s Darren. I haven’t seen him in over a year…
. But then it all starts to click, and you remember the circumstances of how you met.
In this case, mutual friends introduced me to Darren's roommate, who I started dating, and then the conversation of extracurricular activities came up, and Darren explained he works part time in this club, and me and his roommate started going. And it was weird at first, but Darren made me feel all comfortable, while my boyfriend treated me like shit. Darren moved out because he was tired of my then-boyfriend always leaving half-eaten yogurt containers near the sink—and quite frankly, that should have been a red flag. Who doesn’t finish their yogurt?
It’s not like there’s all that much in a container.
But when Darren moved out, it made me super sad because then I could only see him at the club.
When I broke up with my now ex, I stopped going, which was doubly sad because I couldn’t watch Darren get all nervous and flirty with Jade, and that’s a plot thread I never got any resolution to. ”
The world around me blurs as I replay the memories in my head, and when I finally stop to breathe, I see Joey, eyes narrowed and a deep frown spread across his face.
Darren is waving his hands in a frantic way that screams please for the love of everything holy, stop speaking. Cam is straight up horrified.
Oh no…
A new sense of dread hits me. “And of course you know who he is because you’re his boss, and I said all of that out loud instead of in my head where no one else can hear me.”
This! This is why I don’t like to let the Narrator Lady speak.
Every one of my worst nightmares is coming true.
God, why didn’t I google the closest cliff yet?
Maybe I could hurl myself over the ledge and onto the dance floor.
Probably not high enough to kill me, and it would be terrible press for Cam’s opening, and he seems like such a nice guy.
I focus back on Darren, who is now a million shades of red, and I can’t tell if he’s embarrassed for me or him, or kinda pissed. Behind me there’s a series of rapid huffs of air on the back of my neck. What the hell?
I turn back to see Joey smiling and trying, but failing, to hold back his laughter. “Sorry,” I whisper. “We good?”
His lips curl up and he nods. “We’re good.”
But there’s a plot thread I’ve got to tie up, and my little hyperfixated brain won’t let me move forward until I know. I turn back to Darren, hoping he’s still standing where I left him. “Are you and Jade finally dating?”
Grae steps in and throws his hands up in the air. “Noooooo. And I don’t understand why. They would be fucking cute together.”
“I know, right!” Finally, someone else agrees.
Grae nudges his bodyguard on his arm. “And she works with my favorite tattoo artist. I could get some fresh ink, and you could have a chat with Jade. It would be easy.”
Darren scrubs his face and exhales. “I’ve got to keep you alive.”
“I’m a grown-ass man, and I only almost died twice… three times.” Darren skewers him with an ‘are you serious right now’ look. “Okay, no more than ten times. But you can’t use me as an excuse to run away from your happiness.”
I cross my arms and shake my head. “I told him that a year ago. Unless it’s some club policy…” I turn my attention to Joey, who is full on smirking.
“No, it’s not policy. I think Darren’s being a chicken shit,” Joey says flatly.
Now Grae is basically giddy. “I think that’s something we can all agree on.” He motions with his hand like he’s holding up a giant billboard. “Darren: will take a bullet for you but is too scared to ask the woman he’s been crushing on for years now on a date.”
I shake my head. “That’s a long title. ‘Chicken Shit Darren’ it is.”
“Yes! That’s the winner,” Grae says and gives me a high five.
Our skin makes contact, and here’s the thing—I thought I would be swooning. An absolute sex puddle. But no. Nothing. He’s pretty, sweet and funny. But no fun flutters in my belly. The contact was friendly, benign. Platonic. I’m not attracted to him.
But when I turn around, I see the vein pulsing in Joey’s head. And that does more for me than all my demon smut books combined.