Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ezekiel
Riley’s face lights up when I hand her a soda water with lemon.
We’re seated in the corner booth of a bar.
“Do you play?” I ask, pointing towards the pool table.
“I’ve tried a few times,” Riley responds. “But I wouldn’t say I play.”
“We can play later,” I call for the waiter. “We should order something. Are you hungry?”
“Actually, I am,” she blushes, hiding her face behind the drink. “I forgot to have dinner.”
When the waiter arrives, Riley decides to go for a large portion of French fries, suggesting we could share. The thought of eating from the same plate with her sends a ridiculous bolt of excitement through my body.
It’s so mundane.
I return my attention to Riley. “How was the performance tonight?”
“It was great.” Her face lights up at the mention of performing on stage. “I made a lot in tips. Actually, I was about to call an uber before seeing your car waiting for me.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about calling an uber from now on.”
Before she gets to answer, the waiter returns with our fries and I let her take the first bite. She dives in without holding back, bringing a smile to my face.
“What?” She asks, confused.
“It’s refreshing to see a woman not overthink before each bite,” I admit, reaching for a fry.
“Oh,” she chuckles. “Do you think we can order a milkshake as well?”
“You dip your fries into milkshake?” I raise an eyebrow, suddenly questioning this girl’s life choices.
“Don’t you?” She looks at me puzzled, as if I had just told her I don’t like fresh air. “I’d seriously reconsider us hanging out if you turn out to be a boring ketchup guy.”
“Would it be that bad?” I joke. “Maybe I don’t like dipping it into anything and eat it bland?”
“Ew,” she pretends to make a disgusted face. “That’s almost worse than the ketchup option.”
I reach out to take another fry at the same time as her and our fingers brush accidentally.
Neither of us pulls away. Instead, we stay like that a heartbeat longer than necessary before she drops her empty hand on her lap.
“You’ve been eating them bland all along, but now you’re suddenly judging me? ”
“That’s because you didn’t offer to order milkshakes to begin with,” she shoots me a knowing look.
“We can fix that,” I quickly jump up from the seat and get to my feet.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Getting you a milkshake for your fries,” I wink. “At a bar… where people drink alcohol.”
I don’t wait for her to respond, instead I head to the counter and order a large chocolate milkshake for Riley. When I return, I find her with her face buried in her palms. She looks embarrassed and I can’t help but laugh.
“Here’s your milkshake,” I place the glass on the table next to her and she looks up at me.
“Thank you,” she says, reaching out for the straw. “But please don’t embarrass me like that again.”
“Oh, so I am embarrassing you?” I can’t believe my own ears.
“Yes,” she teases. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
“Which is?” I lean in, my elbows on the table.
“A paramedic baddie and stripper extraordinaire,” she grins, and then proceeds to dip her fry in the milkshake.
“I kinda like that,” I admit, taking another fry myself. “Can I try?”
“You never tried having fries with milkshake?” The disbelief on her face is overwhelming.
“Not really,” I admit.
She shakes her head dramatically. “This is something you absolutely must try in your lifetime. Otherwise it doesn’t count as living.”
“So you’re saying that if I were to drop dead right now without trying it, my ghost will stick around with unfinished business?” I raise an eyebrow, holding back the laughter.
“Of course!” She says. “What did you think?”
“Imagine the title in the news ‘A ghost haunts diner to dip fries in milkshake’?”
“It’s funny that a man as big and scary as you believes in ghosts,” she laughs.
“It’s a concept, Riley,” I lean back in the leather seat, unable to take my eyes off of hers and the way she lights up discussing a ridiculous topic such as ghosts. “It doesn’t have to be real to talk about it.”
As a couple passes next to us, I notice her eyes drift to the watch on the woman’s hand.
It’s an Audemars Piguet Royal Oak watch for women.
She notices my eyes drifting in the same direction and quickly explains.
“I used to draw watches like that on a piece of paper and put it around my wrist when I was little,” she smiles, recalling the memory. “But, hey, one day…”
“One day,” I smile.
“By the way,” she quickly turns back to face me. “This is the first time I’m seeing you like this.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I raise an eyebrow playfully, but I’m genuinely enjoying our conversation and wait for her to explain herself.
“Like this,” she points to my casual black polo shirt and black jeans. “Casual. You usually look like you’re on your way to give someone the lesson of their life.”
I lean in closer over the table, and I notice the way she swallows, her eyes falling to my lips and then returning back to look me in the eyes. I smile. “I have an idea,” I say. “Let’s play the twenty questions game.”
“Oh, that sounds like fun!” She gets into it immediately. “But no lying. You first, shoot!”
“Favorite color?” I ask.
“Green,” she says without hesitation, her eyes continuing to track my face. “Your turn. What’s the one thing you can’t stand?”
“Liars,” I reply. “Question three. Why did you chose to become a paramedic?”
“Because nobody came to save me when I was a kid,” she says bluntly, her gaze unwavering. “I want to be the person who shows up. Even if I’m a complete stranger. Question four. Do you actually like managing a place like the Eden or are you doing it because it’s family business?”
“It’s family business,” I suddenly become aware of the silence of my phone and the lack of news on the problem we’re facing there.
My eyes drift toward the bar’s entrance as a group of loud guys walk in. My jaw tightens on instinct and I check the perimeter, my mind shifting back to the missing girls and the rot spreading through my club.
“Zeke…” When I look back at Riley she is leaning forward, her chin resting in her hand and her eyes locked onto mine. “You’re not entirely present. What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
“That’s breaking the rules of the game,” I try to force a casual smile.
“Come on…”
I look at her for a long moment, realizing how badly I want to protect her from the dark reality of my life. Yet somehow, lying to her feels cheap. And I would be doing the exact thing I despise.
“It’s work,” I admit, my fingers tightening around the whiskey glass. “We are having some issues. Things I need to fix but haven’t yet figured out how.”
She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she just nods slowly, a fierce, quiet understanding in her gaze. “Is it dangerous?”
“It always is,” I lean across the table to close the distance between us. “But you don’t need to worry about it.”
“Is it about the missing girls?” She asks, making my stomach drop.
“Riley,” I hesitate for a moment before placing my hand on top of hers on the table. “You shouldn’t speak to anyone about that. Not even me. Just pretend you don’t know anything.”
“But I do,” she sighs, her eyes dropping to our hands. “How can I pretend I don’t when it’s so big?”
“Do you trust me?” That might be the most stupid question I could have asked of but it escapes my lips before I can control myself.
“I do,” she nods, surprising me. “For whatever reason, despite my rational brain telling me to be careful, I trust you.”
“Then trust me when I say the best thing you can do to protect yourself is to keep quiet, don’t ask questions, and if it comes up in a conversation, pretend to be clueless,” Asking that of Riley might as well be asking a tree to speak, but I need to keep her safe.
And she will not be safe if she goes around asking questions that she shouldn’t.
“Will anything happen to me if I keep working at the Eden?” Her voice almost breaks as she speaks again. I can see the genuine fear in her eyes, she really believes she is in danger just by working for me.
“I will do everything in my power to make sure no one else goes missing,” I reassure her. “And to find the other girls.”
She sighs, pulling her hand away from mine as she leans back in the booth. “Okay…”
“So, next question…” I smile, trying to shake the dark cloud away. “Question six—”
“It’s question five, genius,” she interrupts me, laughing.
“Right, question five,” I correct myself, continuing. “Are you ready to lose a pool game?”
Riley’s eyes snap back to mine, the heavy fear from a second ago instantly turning into a sharp, challenging spark. She’s enjoying this.
“I told you I’m not a pro,” she scoffs, crossing her arms. “But I’m definitely not losing to a guy who eats his fries bland.”
“Is that a challenge, Riley?” I lean in, the sudden sight of her getting competitive making my blood run hot.
“Name the stakes, Kavanagh.”
“If you win, I’ll buy you that Audemars Piguet you used to draw” I murmur, watching her eyes go wide. Before she can even protest, I drop my voice lower, locking her in place. “But when I win… I get to take you the bathroom, lock the door and do whatever the fuck I want to you.”
She swallows hard, her throat moving as a dark, heavy blush creeps up her neck. Her fingers tighten around the edge of the table, her chest rising as she tries to find her voice. It takes all of my self-control not to burst into laughter.
She knows she’s going to lose and yet, her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip in pure, submissive anticipation. “It’s a deal,” she whispers.
Ten minutes later, I’m pocketing the solid black eight-ball into the corner pocket without a shred of mercy. Riley stands by the edge of the table, her pool cue resting against her hip, staring at the empty table with a breathless, defeated smile.