Chapter 2 Lilly #2
Thank god for small mercies, because as soon as I see the gym bag, I remember he’s a football player and surely heading to practice with my dad. The reminder swiftly douses the desire.
As if that wasn’t enough, there’s nothing like the guy who said you were the most beautiful girl now looks at you as if you’re gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. I didn’t change that much, did I? It’s been four years, not fifty. And screw him.
“Morning,” I say with cheer, forcing my lips into a big smile.
“Morning,” he grumbles.
We move to the elevator, waiting in stilted silence. The tension rises around us. It’s a wonder neither of us chokes on the heavy air.
I sense him watching me, and I jab my finger on the button, urging the elevator to hurry. Come on, already.
“It won’t get here sooner, even with your assault.” His deep voice ending on a husky note, has butterflies flapping their wings against my rib cage.
From the corner of my eye, I watch him. His features seem even sharper than before—angular nose, high cheekbones, and cut jaw.
He has those thick, curled lashes that all girls want.
Even his brows have the perfect arched form, as if his features are painted to add a touch of ruggedness to his handsome face.
No physical flaws. I remember vividly digging my nails into that tight ass as he fucked me into another dimension.
From top to bottom and from bottom to top, Ian is the embodiment of physical perfection.
“Take a good look. We don’t want you to strain your neck,” he says smugly.
I open then close my mouth, feeling my cheeks warm. Thankfully, the elevator doors open, and I dash inside with my nose stuck up. Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe I conjured him that night. The guy in front of me is not sweet. He’s arrogant and calling out my weakness.
We both go to press the button and a zap shoots through me, awakening my senses from their comatose existence. No, you indulged once. That’s enough. But not a cell in me seems to agree.
He smells so good—a heady blend of bergamot and something woodsy and clean.
That scent could put the entire female population on their backs.
I take another sniff. I must inhale, right?
It’s biology and I can’t hold my breath for longer than thirty seconds.
It’s earthy and masculine. The type of smell that’s not too much, just enough to want to smell it on repeat.
I catch him glancing at the side of my face.
Emboldened by that, I sass. “Take a pic. It will last longer.”
He arches a thick brow, seemingly unimpressed. “I expected something more original.”
Before I can reply, he plucks out his phone and takes a photo of me.
He puts it in my face, showing the not-so-flattering pic of me looking like a blotched fish gasping for air. Awesome.
Reaching the lobby, the elevator doors slide open, and he gestures for me to go out first. The gentlemanly gesture reminds me of that night. Cursed to relive that time as the highlight of my romantic life.
“Such a gentleman,” I mumble, full on petty that he forgot about me.
His eyes twitch, and I almost believe he remembers me and our night together. I thought we shared something special. I guess I was wrong.
Outside, a heat wave rolls over my skin, the end of summer bringing with it the hottest days.
I watch him walk toward a black Range Rover, which looks like a dark beast on wheels. Of course mine is parked next to his. My Mini looks like a toy car in comparison.
When I open my door, I catch the intention of a smile on his handsome face.
“What? I don’t need to overcompensate for anything.”
He pats his chest in faux offense, winking at me. “Oh, Lilly, we both know I don’t need to either.”
Suddenly, I feel hot. The sexual innuendo goes straight between my thighs, creating an ache.
He climbs in and takes off, leaving me dumbfounded.
So, he remembers. The dick. Maybe I hurt him the way I left, with no explanation.
I was so sure it was just a stolen moment, and we’d go our separate ways, that I didn’t consider his perspective.
A one-night stand isn’t supposed to be life-changing.
One time with someone is not meant to mean more, right?
Wrong. Four years later, my past just crashed into my present, causing a tectonic shift, leaving me despondent. I don’t know what to do.
I try to stay focused on the drive to the store, unscathed by the horns blaring from behind me at every traffic light. People have no patience in traffic. Their only goal is to catch the light turning green as if missing that nanosecond would have catastrophic consequences.
Parking the car behind LuKo Juice—a play on our initials—I slip inside the back door.
The store has an industrial feel with a large counter at the front.
A soft pink wall separates the back. Large refrigerators, where we store our fresh fruit and vegetables, span the left wall.
Five industrial juicers line up on the right side.
I move toward the counter, which features a steel sink and ample space for cutting. Above it, a row of cabinets holds our stock of superfoods. Through the sliding glass door, I have a clear view of what happens in front of the shop.
Shortly after I arrive, Mark and Nancy step through the back entrance.
After exchanging brief greetings, they get to work, preparing the juice drinks for the day.
It’s not long until the shop opens and I see the first customers coming in, ordering some shots.
Stevie, our cashier, swiftly takes the orders.
Once the morning rush subsides, in the back corner of the kitchen, I try a new recipe.
I call the space my “testing spot,” which has its own juicer and prep station.
The menu features ten basic flavors, each with a specific health benefit, but we also offer a special every week.
This week’s is made with pomegranate and banana.
My best friend bustles through the door, and I give her a taste.
“Love the combo,” she says, then adds, humming in appreciation, “and whatever you sprinkled in there rounds out the flavor.”
“It’s the lemongrass powder,” I say dreamily, exhilarated by her reaction.
She props her hip against the counter, arching a brow and she makes a rotating hand gesture in expectation. “Anything new on the Ian front?”
I sigh, crossing my arms over my chest. “We met at the elevator this morning and guess what? He does remember me.”
Her eyes sparkle at the prospect of more. “I knew it. I knew it.”
Even though she has been in a steady relationship for years, she makes it her mission for me to have a personal life.
Would I want a relationship? Yes, but after the last one, I am better off alone than with the wrong guy. My one-night stand had a more positive impact on me than all my other experiences combined. Maybe there is something wrong with me.
She takes my hands in hers and eyes me with a serious expression. “Tough love time. This is your chance. Grab it. It’s not healthy to only fantasize about a guy when you could have him. Take a chance.”
I chew on my lip, avoiding eye contact. “Ian’s changed. It’s been four years. And you forgot a vital detail. My dad is his head coach.”
She waves my point off, unbothered by the forbidden aspect. “He won’t play for the same team forever. Every team wants that guy. He’s Ian Weston. He and Levi Kingston are what the sports world will talk about for decades to come.”
I sigh, sadness weighing me down. “No. I mean, he doesn’t seem to like me very much anymore.”
“If that’s as true as him not remembering you, then I don’t believe it.”
I wish I had her confidence.
“I’m happy being single.” It’s not a lie, firmly believing that if you don’t like your own company, then no one else can fill the gaps.
She offers me an understanding smile. “I know, babe. And that’s important, but—”
“No buts, and I have to finish this up,” I say, putting a stop to this conversation.
Ian and I won’t happen. Period. Plus, he has heartbreak written all over him. Shaking my head, I try to clear it and focus on my work.
After closing the shop and the staff leave for the day, I find Kat in the office, glaring at the laptop. Brows knotted together, she peruses something before lifting her gaze to me.
She raises her hands, frustration thick in her voice. “I swear these reports are going to give me a migraine.”
Slamming the lid shut, she stands up and grabs her purse. We check the shop one more time, locking the front and back doors.
“It’s Theo’s turn to cook. Wanna come over?” she asks.
That’s an appealing offer, considering I am a terrible cook, but I shake my head, needing some alone time to sulk in peace.
“Maybe another time. I’m beat.”
Hugging, we wave goodbye, and I hop in my car, driving home.
His Range Rover is not in the lot, and I park just a bit over the line. I don’t even know why I do this, but it gives me immense satisfaction. He’ll have to think about me. It would be only fair. He has no right to consume so much of my headspace.
Feeling way better than I should for my childish behavior, I walk into the building humming and with a pep in my step.