Chapter 9
Nine
In the months since Cin gave me a lap dance, my obsession with her hasn’t stopped. I visit TT’s regularly, watching from the booth in the back, but I’ve somehow managed not to request another lap dance from her, and by the time she comes down to work the crowd, I’m already gone.
I still watch her work at Black Magic Bar, but now instead of parking on the street, I’ve rented the space above the dog groomer’s directly across from the bar. The window gives me the perfect bird’s-eye view through the bar window. Though I can’t see everything, she’s visible when she makes her way to the far end of the bar. It’s sad how much I live for those fleeting glimpses of her.
It’s not a problem, though. It’s gone no further than that. I don’t know where she lives. I haven’t hacked into her life online. I’ve remained under control.
At least that’s what I tell myself when I’m gazing out the window on New Year’s Eve, waiting for Cin to finish her shift at the bar and wondering if she’s heading to TT’s after.
I’m going to be late for dinner at the manor. Anabelle and Rapsody insisted on us eating together before we go our separate ways to ring in the new year. I have to choose to either abandon my post or stick it out and piss off my family. My laugh echoes through the empty room. It’s not really a choice.
When Cin makes an appearance at the end of the bar, I lean forward in my seat. Her back is to me, and I see her fingers fly over the screen of her phone, texting so fast I assume she’s agitated by someone. She shoves her phone in the back pocket of her jeans, and when she turns around to face the bar again, there’s a stricken look on her face. Someone has pissed her off.
My chest tightens with the need to remove that person from her life. She shouldn’t ever have to deal with assholes—I’ll do that for her. But I don’t need to know more about her life. I can’t even go there.
I keep my thoughts from straying and check my watch. I have some time to go check out her vehicle. Maybe it will hold some clues.
Telling myself I’m not crossing any of the lines I’ve drawn for myself, I leave the empty apartment and make my way downstairs and out onto the sidewalk. I cross the street and head to her old Toyota.
I’ve never looked inside her car before, so I don’t know what it normally looks like, but today the back seat is filled with cardboard boxes and plastic bags. Is she living out of her car? I would have known that, wouldn’t I? The boxes hold toiletries, and the bags have her clothes. Does her car always look like this? Tell me she isn’t a hoarder.
My shoulders draw tight because if I’d done more digging on Cin, I’d already know the answers to my questions. At the same time, if I go that far, I might never escape her.
I do another lap around the vehicle. When nothing else sticks out to me, I return to the apartment across the street. The last thing I need is to get caught skulking around the parking lot.
I keep watch on the bar, and about a half hour later, she reaches for her purse underneath the counter. She waves goodbye to the patrons sitting at the bar and leaves out the front door. I’m about to book it out of the apartment and to my car so I can follow her, but she diverges from her usual routine. She doesn’t make her way immediately off the porch and over to the side lot to her car.
Instead, she flops down on one of the old chairs and leans over, putting her hands over her face.
Is she crying?My stomach twists, and the urge to run over and find out who made her upset and make them pay for it rises inside me. But if I do that, she’ll wonder where I came from, and how do I explain that I’ve been across the road and watching her all day?
She raises her head, and I spot a tear track down her cheek.
My hands fist at my sides. I can’t just stand here and do nothing.
I hurry out of the apartment, not bothering to lock the door, and rush down the stairs. Rather than take the front exit, I leave the building out the back and run behind all the buildings to the alleyway where I parked my car. Then I slowly creep onto Main Street and drive toward the bar.
Much to my relief, Cinder’s still sitting in the chair. Her back is heaving, and she keeps wiping her cheeks. I’m not sure how I’m going to play this, but I pull up in front of the bar and slow my car to a stop, putting it in park before I climb out and walk along the front of the vehicle.
“Thought that was you,” I say, trying to play off a nonchalance that is natural.
Her head whips up and her eyes widen. She wipes the tears from her cheeks with her fingers. “Nero, what are you doing here?”
Jesus, hearing my name on her lips is enough to undo me. It’s only the pain in her eyes that keeps me in check and reminds me why I came here.
“What’s wrong?” I take the three steps up onto the porch and crouch in front of her so I’m not lording over her.
“Just family stuff.” She sniffles, and it’s clear that she’s trying to pull herself together.
But I want her a mess. I want to know all the ins and outs of this woman, especially what has her so upset. I want to fix her and the problem. But now isn’t the time to push her. She needs to trust me first.
“I’m familiar with those.”
Her head tilts. “Really?”
I nod and give her a small smile. “Unfortunately, yes. Anything I can help with?”
“You don’t even know me. Why would you want to help me?” The way her big blue eyes stare into my own makes me think she really wants to know the answer to this question, and it’s not a surface-level ask.
I’m not sure I can answer the question, so I say, “How could I not? I see a beautiful woman crying, and you expect me to just drive on by?”
She laughs.
“Seriously, though.” I take one of her hands. “What can I do to help?”
Her hands are so small, and the heat from her soft skin seeps into mine despite the fact that it’s cool out.
“I left my home because… I have nowhere to stay.”
I frown. “Why did you leave?”
Her lip quivers. “My mom died when I was really young. My dad passed about a decade ago.”
My eyes fall closed for a second. I know exactly what that feels like. When I open my eyes, there’s raw pain in Cin’s eyes. I love the juxtaposition of the confident, powerful woman on stage and the vulnerable one sitting in front of me. But I take no pleasure in her pain.
“Come home with me.” The words leave my mouth before I consider them, but I don’t regret saying them.
Her head rocks back. “You don’t know me. I don’t even really know you.”
I let go of her hand and stand, shoving my hands in the pockets of my coat. “True, but I can tell you anything you need to know, and there’s more than enough room at my house. You’d have your own room, your own space. You can stay as long as you’d like.”
She shakes her head, standing and swinging her purse over her shoulder. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t even know if you’re a serial killer or something.”
I step closer to her and place my hand on her cheek. It feels impossible to be this close to her and not touch her. “Do you think I’m a serial killer?”
She holds my gaze and shakes her head. “No. No, I don’t.”
“Do you feel safe around me?” I hold my breath while I wait for her answer. I’m not sure why the question feels like a heavy weight.
Cin nods, although reluctantly it seems. “Oddly, yes.”
“Then come home with me. At least for tonight. You have nowhere to go. We don’t even have to interact if you don’t want to. I’ll leave you alone. But you can’t expect me to just leave you here with nowhere to go.”
She hems and haws, and I take her hand again and squeeze.
“Please. Just for tonight.”
She nods. “Okay, for tonight.”
I try to hold back my smile and not show her how happy her decision makes me. “Great, follow me to my place then.”
“Alright.”
I hurry down the steps and back into my car before she changes her mind.
Now I have to figure out how to get her to stay more than one night.