25. Waverly
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
WAVERLY
M y everything hurts.
Okay, so maybe that’s a little dramatic, but the bruising that didn’t seem so bad last night when I fell asleep looks and feels especially brutal in the light of day.
I’ve spent most of the day in bed, but by the time I need to make a decision about whether to work tonight or not, I’m already going stir-crazy.
I’ve spent a decade working as many hours as I can just to keep a roof over my head that I honestly can’t remember the last time I had a day off to lie around in bed, and I don’t think I’ll be making a habit out of it.
I dress in one of my new dresses, a long-sleeve minidress that accentuates my curves but still covers the evidence of yesterday. Now that I’m down to one job, I need to make the most of every shift I have.
The club is still quiet when I step through the front bar, and I make my way to the main room, slipping my handbag and jacket underneath the counter of the bar before turning to find Abigail hot on my heels.
“Are you okay, girl? Elias said you had an accident at your other job, and I was worried!” She looks me over for any noticeable injuries but comes up empty. “I need to get your number so I can check in with you.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her with a smile as I fix my loose curls in the mirror behind the bar. My makeup is darker than normal tonight, but I like it. I have to admit, it was nice having time to get ready rather than rushing in and out of my apartment in five minutes or less.
“Are you sure? If you need me to carry the tray for you for big orders, you just let me know.”
My chest clenches at her kindness. I don’t think I’ve ever worked anywhere my coworkers actually cared about me, and I can’t help but feel overwhelmed by Abigail’s offer. “Thank you. Really, I appreciate it so much.”
“I’ve got your back, girl!” She beams as her eyes fall on someone behind me, and her smile turns to a smirk. “I’m going to grab some extra vodka from the back. I’ll be back.”
She’s gone before I can turn around, and when I do, I find Emmett on the other side of the bar with a worried look. “Oh hey, you’re here early.”
He nods. “I wanted to check in with you. I went by your apartment, but you’d already left.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure.”
I turn my back on him, making quick work of pouring him two fingers of his favorite neat whiskey and slide it across the dark marble bar, only to find a gift box sitting between us.
“What’s this?” I ask with a frown.
“It’s for you.” He smiles shyly, and I stare at the box for long moments. When was the last time someone bought me something? Has anyone ever given me a gift?
The fact I even have to think about it tells me no one has, and I’m lost for words that Emmett, someone who was a perfect stranger a week ago, thought to buy me something.
“I can’t take that,” I whisper, my voice wavering.
He chuckles and pushes it closer. “Yes, you can. Please?”
I bite down on my bottom lip and step forward until my stomach presses against the bar. Emmett has never given me any indication that his interest in me isn’t genuine and has gone out of his way more than once to spend time with me or to ensure my safety without asking for anything in return.
I mean, there was his warning in the bathroom last week that still runs through my mind at least a few times a day, but I can’t say he scared me with it.
“This is happening, Waverly. One way or another, we’re going to be together. You just have to decide how you want that to look.”
I flick my eyes up to meet his once more before I reach for the box, and he rewards me with a blinding smile.
Swallowing heavily, I lift the lid on the box and quickly shut it again, my eyes wide as panic slams into me. “No.” I push it back toward him. “No way, that’s way too much!”
He chuckles and nudges the box back toward me. “It will make me feel a lot better if you have a phone, Waverly. It’s unsafe in a city like this not to have a way to contact people. Plus, this way you can message me. See, it’s a selfish gift.”
Except there’s nothing selfish about the brand-new iPhone sitting nestled inside the gift box. “I can’t take something like that, Emmett. We’ve only known each other for a week. It’s way too much.”
He sighs and rounds the bar without missing a beat. He prowls toward me, and I’m too stunned to back away until it’s too late, his arms falling on either side of me and trapping me between him and the bar. “Listen to me closely, Waverly, because I don’t intend to repeat myself regarding this. I understand allowing other people to take care of you is foreign. I understand that gifts may not have been a frequent part of your life leading up to this point, but I want to spoil you. I want to give you the world, I just need you to let me.”
I swallow heavily around the emotion bubbling just beneath the surface. I’ve never given much thought to someone spoiling me before, and as much as I hate the idea, I also crave it. Not in a material way. No, I want someone to spoil me with their attention, their affection, their time.
But Emmett’s right, for that to happen, I have to let it. I can’t push him away at every opportunity, even if that’s what comes naturally to me.
“Will you please take the phone? I’ll feel much better knowing you can call me if you get into trouble or just need someone to talk to.” There’s a dangerous edge to his voice that feels different from his usual easy-going calm, but I don’t hate it. If anything, it sends a thrill through my body and straight to my core.
How did I go from practically no interest in sex to now constantly craving this man and all the things he can show me?
I nod slowly. “Okay. Thank you,” I whisper, not trusting my voice not to crack under the pressure weighing down on my chest.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, dropping his head until his lips are a breath from mine. His minty breath whispers across my cheeks, and I just about choke on how badly I want him to kiss me. But I can’t make the first move…can I?
Before I can think better of it, I lean forward and brush my lips over his in a gentle caress that leaves me desperate for more. But I’m at my job, and making out with a patron behind the bar is more than likely a fireable offense, even for an establishment like the Scarlet Lounge.
“What time do you get off tonight?” he asks, his body still holding mine hostage against the bar.
“Ten,” I whisper.
“Let’s play tonight.”
“Play?” I raise a brow.
“I’ll book us a room.” The smile that tugs at the corners of his lips is dangerous, but I find myself nodding before I can think better of it or can convince myself of all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
Because it is.
There’s no scenario where this doesn’t blow up in my face.
But right now, I can’t find it in myself to care. Not when my body craves what this man can do to me so desperately.