12. Maeve
Chapter 12
Maeve
I ’ve only been to Quartz & Crystal a few times. I used to come a lot more when I first moved out here, but after a while, the scene started to bore me. That, and I got tired of the bottle girls flirting with my boyfriend right in front of my face. I got that he was everyone’s favorite, the owner’s cute nephew, but it was annoying. Disrespectful.
The club looks great tonight, though. Massive chandeliers hang from the ceilings, draped with glittering cobwebs, and fog swirls around our feet, illuminated by flashing purple and green lights. Skulls, candelabras, and floral arrangements of black roses and deep crimson lilies add a macabre touch. I have to admit, it’s pretty cool. There’s even a photo booth with a gothic throne against a backdrop of an enchanted forest. I motion toward it, wanting a closer look, but Callum shakes his head. “Later,” he mouths, nodding toward the bar where Uncle Dario and his wife, Gigi, are holding court.
I try not to stiffen as he leads me over, wishing we could just skip this part. Gigi is okay, but Dario De Leon gives me the creeps. He’s the current patriarch of the family and unlike his sister Paloma, who is Callum’s mother, Dario is condescending and brash. Sometimes I think his influence is as much to blame for Callum’s changes as the drugs.
I don’t know which of the people around Dario and Gigi, if any, are involved in the drug game, and I don’t want to know. Callum would love nothing better than for me to join him in his endeavors, but that’s just not who I am, nor will I ever be.
“Ah, Callum,” Dario booms as we approach, his arm extended in welcome. “I was wondering when you were gonna bring your pretty little bird around.” His gaze slides to me as he embraces Callum, dark eyes gleaming like onyx in the low light.
I force a smile onto my lips, stuffing down my discomfort. I’ve been around men in power my entire life. I know how to handle the rotten ones.
“Not a bird, honey, a ballerina,” Gigi says, winking at me. “So good to see you, Maeve. You look lovely.”
“Thank you, Gigi,” I say with a smile. “You, too.”
Dario steps closer, a ghost of a smile playing around the edges of his lips. “Maeve, Cal tells me you’ve put the ballet aside for now.”
Startled, I shake my head. “No, not exactly. I was just holding off while my ankle healed up. But I’ve been taking classes?—”
“Dancers have expiration dates,” he says over me. “Injuries start to add up, so it’s probably for the best.”
Unsure of what to say, I glance at Callum, who’s sidled up to the bar and is talking to the bartender.
“I don’t know about that,” I say. “Ballet will always be a part of my life.”
“That’s nice—” Gigi begins.
“You’ve got a good man in Callum. I hope you appreciate that,” Dario says, clapping his nephew’s back. “It’s good you’re here. We got a lot of big plans, big things coming up, and he needs you at his side.”
Callum tosses back a shot and rejoins the conversation, his arm snaking around my waist. I cast a confused look his way, wondering what the hell his uncle is rambling about. What does he want me to do, play hostess and serve snacks during Callum’s drug deals?
“Maeve’s my ride or die, you know that,” he says, giving me a squeeze. “She’s down for whatever.”
Dario gives a nod of approval, raising his glass. “That’s what I like to hear. You’ll love Las Vegas, sweetheart.”
I go cold, nerves prickling over my skin. “Las Vegas?”
“Uncle Dario’s opening a new club on the Strip, and he wants me to run it,” Callum says, mouth pressed to my ear .
“But—”
“Nothing’s set in stone. We’ll talk about it later.” His grip on my waist tightens before he lets go of me altogether, angling toward Dario.
Gigi makes small talk with me for the next few minutes while the men talk, but my mind is elsewhere. Las Vegas? Callum and Dario can expand their little kingdom into Mars for all I care. I’ll be home, in Boston, where I belong.
We chat with them a little longer before Dario dismisses us. I stumble a little as Callum pulls me through the crowd, eager to get up to the VIP room. He’s always loved it up there, loves the exclusivity and the perks. I’d rather be on the dance floor, but I have all night for that. I’m just glad we’re doing something fun for Halloween. It’s always been one of my favorite holidays.
I feel a pang in my chest as I realize that this is the first time I didn’t go trick-or-treating with my nephew, Liam. I don’t even know how he dressed up this year. I hate being so far away, surrounded by strangers.
But at least Jaime’s here. I glance back as we ascend the stairs, catching his eye for a quick second. He’s sandwiched between Mac and Griff, who’ve been arguing about the latest Warriors game since we left the house. At the top of the stairs, sugar-skull-painted staff unclasp the velvet rope and let us into the VIP room where there’s another photo booth, hors d’oeuvres, and themed cocktails. Besides the bottle girls, there’s just a smattering of people up here, including a politician I’ve seen on TV and two guys I’m pretty sure are football players.
I adjust my angel’s wings as we sit on a long, curved couch built around a glass table.
“You’re always the baddest in the room,” Callum says playfully, his eyes soft as they take me in. He leans over, grasping my chin so he can kiss me. It’s as genuine as it is possessive. He loves me, I know, but he loves to show me off, too.
It’s so complicated with him. Besides family, no one knows Callum and me the way we know each other. But sometimes I wonder if you ever really know a person. I was with him the night his parents split. His mother left, and though we knew it was his shitty, abusive father she was leaving, Callum always felt like she’d abandoned him, too. For years we held one another up, and we did it with love. I think it’s one of the main reasons I’ve stuck around so long. But Callum doesn’t need me the way he thinks he does, the way he once did. He’s just addicted to the memory of what we were.
I’ll give him until Christmas. He’ll have to let me go home then.
“What d’you want, baby?” Callum asks, squeezing my thigh.
Like the other bottle girls floating around the room, the brunette standing in front of us is in a tiny, pink babydoll nightie. I wonder how long she and Callum have been flirting while I’ve been in my own world, people watching. Jaime watching . It’s been a game of little looks all night. Sometimes I catch him, sometimes he catches me.
“Another lemon drop, or what?” presses Callum.
“Lemon drop’s fine,” I say.
“Lemon drop, coming right up,” she says. “A Jack and Coke for you, right, Cal?”
“Yeah, thanks, Sassy.”
Sassy?
I stand, running my fingers over the tulle of my tutu. “I’m gonna go dance.”
Callum nods, not offering to join me. He used to dance with me in high school, but that was a lifetime ago. Instead, he calls for Jaime, motioning for him to come.
“She wants to go downstairs. Keep an eye on her, will you?”
Hours go by. I dance and drink and dance and drink until I’m tipsy and tired. Jaime keeps his distance, but there’s so much heat in his eyes that I feel like I’m melting. I wonder what Callum would do if I asked Jaime to take me home. I don’t think he realizes how good-looking Jaime is.
“Wanna hit this?” Callum wheezes, handing me a glass pipe. It looks and smells like weed, but I wouldn’t put it past him to add a little something extra.
I shake my head, pushing the pipe away. “I’m straight. No more for me.”
He laughs, squeezing my cheeks between the thumb and forefinger of his hand. It’s a little rough, and I yank my face away, but he doesn’t notice. Or care. He’s pretty sloppy right now. “That's cool. More for me.”
“More for you,” I agree, draining the last of my drink and adding it to the ever-growing mess of glasses in front of us. I’d judge Sassy for doing a crap job of keeping our table cleared, but she’s busy entertaining Mac. I shake my head, watching her giggle and smack his hand away as it tickles beneath her gauzy nightie. If I had a dollar for every time I saw that guy getting busy in public, I’d be richer than Dario.
It’s been a good night, though. There haven’t been any incidents, and no one’s made a scene, not even Callum despite being off his face. The food is fantastic, and so is the music, alternating between a DJ and a live band playing dark wave.
And Bria must have felt me missing them because she texts me pictures of their escapades from earlier tonight. Liam’s going through a superhero stage, so he went as Spiderman with Bria as his Mary Jane. Tristan and Evie joined them as Thor and Black Widow. And Lucky, of course, just went as himself. I text back a selfie I took before leaving the house, promising I’ll call her tomorrow.
I slip my phone into my purse in time to see a petite, blonde vamp approach Jaime. Oh, here we go. I swear, he’s everybody’s type. I wait for him to send her packing, but he doesn’t. My heart drops. It’s hard enough to pretend that Jaime doesn’t affect me in general, but seeing him in flirt-mode is like a gory car accident on the 580, and I’m a rubbernecker.
Jaime’s eyes find mine over the girl’s shoulder. I wish I knew what he was thinking. I wish I wasn’t caught up in this twisted situation, crushing on another guy while my boyfriend flirts with other girls. The vamp kisses Jaime’s cheek. My stomach flips as he smiles and touches her hair.
My stomach sours. Why is he doing this right in front of me? Surely, he must know how I feel by this point . And then I close my eyes because obviously I’ve lost the plot. Jaime might be sweet to me, but when it comes down to it, he’s just like the rest of these guys, taking what’s given. And why shouldn’t he? He’s single and hot as sin.
Callum nips at my neck, and I push him away, but he thinks I’m playing so he laughs and does it again. Nearby, Griff pours himself a shot of tequila.
“Can I have some?” I ask, thrusting one of my lemon drop shot glasses in front of him.
Nodding, he fills it up. “Cheers,” he says gruffly, clinking his glass to mine. Tequila splashes down my wrist.
“Cheers,” I say, watching Jaime and the girl sit down nearby. Don’t be dumb, Maeve. He deserves to have fun. I gulp down the tequila and reach for a refill.
“You sure you don’t want any?” Callum asks, offering the pipe again.
“It’s just weed, right?” I ask dully, eyeing it.
“Yeah,” he says, laughing.
I take a few little puffs. It’s definitely just weed, but after the tequila, it hits harder than I anticipated. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” I tell Callum, wobbling to my feet.
The bathrooms are predictably packed, but there are lots of stalls, so I’m able to get in and out in no time. I wash my hands and dry them, taking a second to check my appearance in the mirror. I look as pretty as I did when we got here, even after several rounds of dancing.
Pretty and sad.
By the time I return to the group, Mac and Griffin are getting actual lap dances and Callum is having a heated discussion with some guy I’ve never seen. Jaime’s still sitting with the blonde. She’s hanging on him, saying something, but he’s looking right at me.
Everything else disappears. My heart somersaults, and I go to him.
Callum shifts on his stomach, snoring. It’s a new development. I think it has something to do with the abuse inflicted upon his nose.
I stare at the ceiling, head pounding, and tumble back into my thoughts. I managed to drink myself into a stupor last night, forcing Jaime to leave his slutty little vampire at the club so he could carry me to the car. One, because it was his job and two, because Callum was three sheets to the wind himself. But the satisfaction was short-lived. Jaime had to do it. He was paid to do it. And if he’d had his way, I’m betting he’d have been all up in that girl .
When I puked on the way home, I let the guys think it was from the alcohol alone.
Callum got new blackout curtains for the bedroom. They’re great for facilitating sleep, but they do their jobs a little too well. Like right now, it’s past eleven in the morning, but in here, it’s so dark it could still be night. Hauling myself out of bed, I pull on a fleece sweatshirt and head for the kitchen, desperate for hydration.
After gulping down two glasses of water, I pop a Tylenol and turn on the coffee pot. As much as I’d love some of Jaime’s special coffee, I doubt he feels like talking to me right now. Not after last night’s messy behavior.
Wandering into the living room, I gaze out at the lush green hillside. It’s hazy today, the sun playing peek-a-boo with the clouds, but I can make out the pale blue bay in the distance. For all of the shitty things that’ve happened here, this house has also been a source of peace and comfort. When I’m alone, at least.
Pouring myself a double cup of coffee, I venture onto the patio and curl up on the chaise lounge. I probably could’ve put on something warmer, but the brisk, fresh air feels good. Miles away, the Bay Bridge hovers in the fog. I think about the people traveling over it, wondering where they’re going.
My stomach flutters when the door to the guest house opens. Jaime appears a few feet away, his large hands cupped around a mug of his own. He looks sleepy, his hair tousled and messy, and I imagine what it would be like to wake up next to him.
Nausea washes over me, and it’s not just the hangover. If Callum knew the thoughts that I have, he’d kill Jaime, and he might kill me. Still, I can’t deny that I like Jaime way more than I ever meant to, and I resent that I can’t have him. It’s a constant battle, my head and my heart at war.
But then I remember him smiling at that blonde and I resent that he’s as screwed up as the rest of them, even if he does have way more finesse.
“Did you just wake up too?” I ask when it doesn’t seem like Jaime’s going to say anything.
“No, I’ve been up for a while.” He takes a sip of coffee. “How are you doing? You were pretty messed up last night.”
I tuck my knees in, cringing at the blurry memories of tequila and jealousy followed by making Griff pull over so I could vomit on the side of the road. Jaime would’ve been right behind us in his car, so I can just imagine what he thought. “I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice. Seems like once again, I’ve become someone I loathe.
Jaime glances at his phone. “You feeling okay today?”
“I feel like shit,” I mutter. “How about you?”
“I’m fine. I didn’t drink that much last night,” he says.
“Oh.” I nod, feeling as if I’ve failed him somehow. “That’s good.”
“Well.” He takes another sip of coffee. “I know how hard Cal and the guys go. I thought I might have to take you home.”
I narrow my eyes, a thought occurring to me. “Why didn’t you? Griff drank a lot last night—he can’t have been in a good condition to drive.”
“None of them were, but Callum insisted that you ride with him.” Jaime’s voice is light, but his face is hard as he turns to go back inside.
The reality of how stupid we were last night hits me hard. I gulp down my coffee, relishing the way it scalds my throat.
“I’m guessing no class today, right?” he calls.
I glance back over my shoulder, shaking my head. I hadn’t even thought about class.
Callum is in a demonic mood when he comes out of the bedroom, crashing around the house like an angry bear. I’m still on the patio, staying out of his way while I chat with Bria on the phone, when he yells for me.
Rolling my eyes, I retrieve my coffee mug from the ground and stand up, stretching. “Listen, I gotta go,” I tell Bria. “Give the fam my love.”
I find Callum in the kitchen, bleary-eyed but freshly showered. “Hey. Do you know where my keys are?”
“They’re not by the front door?”
“If they were, I wouldn’t be asking.”
Swallowing the urge to tell him where he can shove his keys—when he finds them—I put my mug on the counter and leave the kitchen.
“Sorry,” he says, following me into the bedroom. “I’m tired and I thought I’d have the day off, but my uncle needs me to pick up something down in San Diego.”
“That sucks,” I commiserate, tugging the bedsheets into submission. San Diego isn’t exactly a hop, skip, and a jump away.
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“Check the walk-in,” I say. “Your keys might’ve fallen out of your pants or something.”
Sure enough, he finds them near the hamper in the closet. “Be back by tonight, promise.”
I doubt that, but it’s cool. It’s nice to have the house to myself, a true lazy day. I watch TV for a while, flipping through wildlife documentaries and cooking shows before settling on a Netflix series I started months ago but never finished.
By the time that’s over, the day’s starting to go dim and I’m bored. I turn off the television and root around the kitchen, wondering if I should make dinner or order in. But then the soft glow of the pool catches my eye through the window above the sink. The day’s last light reflects over its glassy surface, tempting me to get in. Callum goes for night swims all the time, but I’m not too crazy about it, not when his friends are always around. That’s not an issue tonight, though.
Making sure the pool heater is on, I change into a swimsuit and grab a towel. The autumn air is crisp and cold, but the water is balmy. I swim aimlessly for a while and then I just float, gazing at the stars emerging from the fading, lilac sky. It’s beautiful. I’m dreading the moment I’ll have to leave my warm cocoon when I sense movement in my peripheral vision. I let my eyes drift to the guest house windows. The shadowy reflection of trees on the glass makes it hard to see, but Jaime is standing on the other side, watching me.
I close my eyes, pretending I don’t see him. It’s his job to watch me, although there’s a stark difference between keeping me safe and creeping on me in a bikini. A cold breeze skitters over the water, pebbling my skin. Watch me all you want, bodyguard.
When the wind begins picking up, and my fingers and toes feel like prunes, I force myself out of the pool and into my towel. Giving myself a brisk rubdown, I walk over to Jaime’s and knock on the door .
He answers after a second, taking in my towel-clad form with a raised eyebrow. “Kind of late in the year to go swimming. Aren’t you cold?”
“Why are you always worried about me being cold?”
“It’s like forty degrees right now and you’re soaking wet.”
“Well, then aren’t you going to let me in?”
“If that’s what you want,” he says, standing aside with an amused smile.
I brush by, shivering as the warmth hits my goosebumpy skin.
“What’s up?” Jaime leans against the wall, folding his arms. “Is everything okay?”
“Why do you always ask me that?” I laugh. “Can’t I talk to you just because?”
“You can, but you usually have an agenda,” he says.
“I do?” I ask, looking around. The TV is on, though muted. His laptop is on the countertop, open, beside a bottle of beer, a half-eaten apple, and a jar of almonds. “What happened to that fruit you bought at Berkeley Bowl? The one you said you’d let me try?”
“I ate it,” he says.
“But you said you got one for me.”
He watches as I approach him, his expression going from relaxed to curious to cautious in seconds. “I didn’t think Cal would appreciate it.”
“Appreciate me eating fancy, tropical fruit?”
“Appreciate me giving you things.”
I stop a few inches away from him, my heart a strong, steady drumbeat. “What was it called again?”
“Guanábana.” He shifts from one foot to the other. “Did you need something, Maeve?”
“Don’t act like you weren’t watching me swim just now.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, but he doesn’t confirm or deny. Not that I need him to. I know what I saw.
“I liked it,” I whisper.
His smile fades.
“Do you know how much I think about you?”
“Stop,” he says, his voice a soft rasp .
I’m looking at his beautiful mouth as he says it, so beautiful it renders what he just said meaningless. I let my towel slip as I draw closer, and it falls to the floor in a damp heap.
“Maeve,” Jaime warns, grasping my shoulders as he holds me at bay. His gaze skips over my body before coming to rest on my face. “Stop playing.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a dangerous game.”
“But we’ve been playing it for a long time,” I say, almost salivating with how badly I want to kiss him. How many times have I imagined what it would feel like? “You said there are no cameras here.”
His eyes dart to my mouth, betraying him. Closing the distance between us, I rise to my toes and kiss him. His hands drop to my hips, flexing, as I rest mine on his chest. Our lips part on the same breath and I slip my tongue inside his mouth, tasting apples and almonds and beer. It’s gentle and tentative, and it’s all me. My heart sinks when I realize he’s not reciprocating, and I step back, unsure.
But Jaime follows, walking me back against the door. “Why?” He fists his hand in my dripping hair and tugs my head back, his eyes a violent storm. “Why would you do that?”
Tears spring to my eyes, burning down the sides of my face. He descends with a rough, demanding kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth like a thirsty man drinking from an oasis. He takes and takes, kissing me but not letting me kiss him, doubling down when I whimper, pressing me against the door so hard I can barely breathe.
When I reach up to touch his hair, he grabs my hands and presses them to my sides. “What do you want from me?” he asks, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes.
“What?” I ask, confused, breathless, my heart still pounding.
“What do you want?” he repeats, enunciating each word. He crowds me against the door, his grip on my wrists tightening. There is no warmth in his gaze or his voice. “You trying to fuck?”
Shame, embarrassment, and anger burn through my body like a wildfire, leaving me flushed and shaken. Have I misread this entire situation? I thought there was affection between us. I thought Jaime liked me, but apparently, I’ve deluded myself. Shaking my head, I grasp for words. “I?— ”
“This is above my pay grade.” He lets go of me and walks away, not bothering to look back. “Go home, Maeve.”
Snatching my towel from the floor, I throw his door open and leave.