Chapter 6
Ada
It’s almost ten by the time I’m done writing everything required for my revenge plot. I stretch my arms over my head, praying for the motivation to leave my playpen and take a shower when a huge shadow falls across my table.
“Pretty long vape break, Renaldo.”
Fuck.
I incline my head slowly enough to get my face straight. Jake Graves-Holland scowls down at me. The sight of him sends a bright buzz shooting between my legs. Uncool.
“Hi there!” I say. “Have we met?”
A muscle in his cheek twitches. “I dunno. Might have dreamed you up.”
Another buzz. Equally uncool. As is the fresh margarita in one of Jake’s massive hands, which he plunks in front of me. I’m clearly in for a Big Chat. Probably about the state of a certain Airbnb whitegood. “So, you’re, like, stalking me now?”
“Want me to leave?”
“I didn’t say that. I'm just pointing out you clearly came here to see me again.”
“Clearly. Can I take a seat?”
My insides fizz, and I crank my smile up to ‘step-sib porno’ levels.“Sure! I’m so glad you’re here! How was the rest of the bachelor party?”
“Someone unplugged the fridge.”
I barely hold back a snort. “That’s crazy. Do you think it was an accident?”
“No.”
“Are you sure, because—”
“Whoever did it left the door open. Everything in it went bad.”
It feels like there are four hundred bees up my nose. “No way!”
Jake gives me an extremely irritated look, but he’s about thirty years too late for that shit to work.
“Aside from the fridge, did you guys have a fun day together?” I chirp.
“You mean before or after we had to throw out a grand’s worth of food and order pizza?”
I bite my lower lip to keep from laughing. “Both.”
“It was uneventful. Wedding might be off, though.”
Dear Lord, I know I stopped going to church on account of Jenny Wallis, but if you get me through this with a straight face, I swear I’ll be back next Sunday…
“Really? How come?”
“Henry’s missus found a used condom in his jacket when he got home. But you wouldn’t know anything about that either, would you?”
I turn sideways, pressing my hand to my mouth to trap the manic giggles. It doesn’t help. They come exploding out like fireworks. I give in, shaking and howling and slapping my knees, cackling like Aggie on a good day. Jake studies me, his expression wry but not unamused.
“You’re trouble, aren’t you?” he asks when I finally quiet down.
“Yes,” I say, flicking the tears from my eyes. “Run while you still can.”
“I don’t want to.”
The last of my laughter dies on my lips. Dear God, this is not what I need right now…
“I’m into you,” he says, adding insult to injury.
What am I supposed to do with that information? Thank him? Say ‘Cool, but that doesn’t really gel with my revenge plans’? I settle for grabbing my fresh margarita and taking a big old swallow.
Jake leans toward me, his face so intent you’d think we were about to buy a house together. “I mean it, I like you.”
“’Kay,” I garble through lime and tequila.
“I can’t stop thinking about this.” He gestures between us. “You gonna give me another go, or what?”
I put down my glass. “Like, on my pussy?”
“Like, out to dinner. What’re you doing tomorrow night?”
“Isn’t there some twenty-two-year-old influencer you could be buying a Pandora charm for?”
He grins, but it’s not a ‘Hell yeah, I have a pet influencer’ grin. More ‘You’re so funny and cute, Ada Renaldo.’
Which is not what I wanted.
“Did you actually come here just to ask me out? I thought you were all pissed off at me for ruining ‘Bachelor Party Two: Bach Harder’?”
Jake shrugs. “Food’s not a big deal, and Henry wasn’t acting like a bloke who wanted to get married, anyway.”
This is why my plan primarily involves seducing dudes. People say girls are all underhanded and hate each other, but I’ve never met a man who wouldn’t shove all his mates into a dumpster for sex. Still, that line of thinking won’t help me get rid of Jake.
“I confess to unplugging the Airbnb fridge on purpose,” I say, examining my nails. “I also kicked over the bins and stole a phone from Jeremy Applethorpe that I plan on flogging on Facebook Marketplace tomorrow. Feel free to leave this booth immediately and call the cops.”
Jake just laughs. “I thought that was you. You rigged the deck, too, yeah?”
“Sorry?”
“The cards. Waterfall. You were sliding the sixes through the pack, so the boys had to drink more.”
Unless I’ve spontaneously entered perimenopause, a blush I haven’t felt in years is burning its way across my face. “Prove it in a court of law.”
“Can’t. You’re good, though.”
“Not good enough, apparently.”
“Ah, well, practice makes perfect.” He gives me a look so piercing I could swear it had points, and I blink, willing myself not to be charmed.
“Whatever. You gonna snitch on me to the lads or not?”
He shakes his head, his smile infuriatingly sexy. “I can handle you, you know.”
“Better men than you have tried.”
“Doubt it.”
God, the way he shifts between sweetness and arrogance is as irritating as it is vibrator-inducing. I decide it’s time to play my ‘Go away, potential suitor’ trump card.
“Can you please stop making intense sexual eye contact with me? It’s aggravating my Autism.”
Jake frowns. “You’re Autistic?”
“Board certified.” I knock a fist against the table. “A trait I will likely share with my future children, just FYI.”
He gives me another panty-melting smile. “I know you’re just saying that to put me off, but it’s not working.”
My stomach flips over, and I hate myself a little bit more. “You want a daughter who never sleeps and has a borderline scary interest in wood fairies?”
“Who wouldn’t want a kid like you?”
“A nutcase?”
“A beautiful prodigy.”
My body burns with hatred. Self-hatred. Hatred of Jake Graves-Holland. Hatred of this bar. Hatred of this city. Hatred of sick puppies. Pure, uncut hatred.
“God, dude, give it up already! You’re a nice guy. You’ve got hair. Go bark up literally any other tree.”
“You feel it too, don’t you?”
My insides shimmer. “What?”
“This thing between us.”
“No.”
“Don’t lie straight to my face, Renaldo. You’re not that good.”
For the first time in a long time, I can’t think of anything to say. I squint at Jake, and he looks back at me, and it’s like he’s the first person to ever see through me. Like I’ve transformed from a girl into layers of glass.
“What’s your game?” he says quietly. “What am I not getting here?”
My thoughts stall like he’s hit a big pause button in my head. I stare deep into his storm-grey eyes. “I’m a psycho bitch.”
I don’t mean to say it. It just comes out. And the minute it does, it makes me want to die. Because it’s true, the way the best music is true. Simply and completely. At least that’s what I think.
“You’re not.” Jake’s big, twisted hand comes across the table, asking me to take it. “You need people to think you are to feel safe, but you’re a sweetheart under all that, aren’t you?”
He says it like he knows. Like he sees.
I don’t need to be seen. I operate in invisibility, or behind a mask.
I don’t need to be cracked open and understood, especially not by this man.
With what feels like all the strength in my body, I close my eyes and conjure a memory of Teenage Ada and Rhys muddling along in the back field, lost and lonely. Then I open my eyes.
“Hate to break it to you, but you’re the only secret softie at this table, champ.”
Jake’s earnest expression vanishes. “Right.”
“It is right. So, thanks for asking me out and all, but you’re too nice for me.”
“I’m ‘too nice for you’?”
“Yup. I like it rough.”
Jake’s eyes darken, and his chest expands, and suddenly, he’s the man who finger-fucked me to orgasm in an Uber. “I can do rough.”
I ignore the urgent fluttering inside my G-string. “You’re not my type. I figured that out last night.”
“You came on my dick five times.”
More like eight, but whatever.
“Another thing you’ll never be able to prove in court.”
“Keep talking, and I’ll prove it to you right on this fuckin’ table, Renaldo.”
A hot sizzle runs through my pussy. Fine.
So, this guy turns me on. That still doesn’t mean I want to have some freak dinner with him.
I clear my throat. “Good luck with that. Anyway, it was fun banging you in that stag Airbnb, Jake ‘Get One Last Name Already’ Holland, but I only date self-centred nutsacks who hate me, so…?”
His eyes flash a warning. “If you wanted it harder last night, why didn’t you say something?”
This fucking guy. “I say lots of things.”
He looks sideways, as though searching for someone to share in his exasperation. “I’m starting to think you like being a brat, Renaldo.”
“Then go away.”
“You’re also the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Huh?”
“You.” His gaze intensifies. “You’re stunning, and I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s killing me.”
I sit back as far as I possibly can in the booth. “Not gonna lie, you’re being a real weirdo right now.”
“And you’re wrecking my head, but at least I’ve got the balls to admit it.” He leans across the table, his pretty mouth curled into a snarl. “How ’bout we wrap this up? I wanna date you. You don’t wanna date me. Fine. Let’s go to my place, and I’ll break your fuckin’ back.”
I could almost swear Stabbies’s thermostat burst, and the whole bar just got warmer. “I can’t…”
“I’m not done with you. Not half done.” He leans in, enveloping me in the expensive cologne-and-man scent that’s haunted me ever since I left his bed.
“Jake…?”
“Yeah?” he says in a voice so velvety it feels like it’s massaging my clit. My head spins, and my resolve vanishes.
“I don’t—”
He looks at me like I’m already naked and on my knees. “You like selfish pricks, Ada? I’ll be the biggest you ever met. I’ll pin you down and use your cunt ’til you can’t walk tomorrow.”
The bar-warmth pushes to boiling point. I’m sure all the water has evaporated from my torso and pooled between my legs. “I…”
“You want that, right? For me to wreck your little pussy? Call you a dumb slut while you take my cock?”
I’m nodding. Why am I nodding? Am I being hypnotised?
“Good girl. It won’t mean anything. I know you’re smarter than me, and I don’t care who you’ve been with, but if you want it rough, you’re gonna get it as rough as you can take it. Ready to come back to mine?”
I open my mouth to say, “Yes, take me and do what you will,” when a second large shadow falls over my booth.
“Everything good here, Ada?”
Davis has emerged out of nowhere like a gift from a higher power.
“Davis!” I leap to my feet. “Thank fucking God! I’m going to bed. Alone.”
“Ada?” Jake barks, but his man-mysticism is broken. I’m free.
“Sorry, gotta bail.” I snatch my notebook from the table. “Bye. Good to see you again. Sorry about the fridge. Not really, but you know what I mean.”
“Ada.”
“She’s going to bed,” Davis says firmly. “Right?”
“Right! Buh-bye, Jake. See you at the reunion.”
“You’re coming to the reunion?”
His hard stare would be unnerving if I wasn’t so giddy with relief. “Of course. Me and Cece. Really looking forward to it.”
“Why are you—”
“Quit talking to her,” Davis snaps.
Jake hasn’t so much as glanced at him so far, but he does now and the look on his face reminds me that he attacks dudes for a living under the guise of ‘sport.’
“You again.” Jake flicks two fingers at Davis. “I told Cece you’re a good guy. Don’t change that.”
Davis smiles coldly. “Don’t make me change that.”
“Nobody needs to change anything,” I say loudly. “I’m leaving.”
“Why don’t you leave?” Davis asks Jake. “She works here, you don’t.”
Jake opens his mouth, seems to think better, then closes it. He gets slowly to his feet. “Fine. Renaldo?”
“Yah-huh?”
“Unblock me when you’re ready to get hammered.”
Oof, that’s pretty hot. Especially since he said it in front of Davis, who once again looks like he wants to die.
“I’ll see this guy out, Ada,” he mutters. “Talk when I get back?”
“Sounds good.”
Jake does a double-take. “You two…?”
Davis and I look at each other. We have, and always will have, negative sexual chemistry. But in this moment, we wordlessly unite in a shared goal—making Jake Graves-Holland think we’re going at it raw the second he leaves this establishment.
“What about us?” I chirp as Davis growls, “None of your business,” in a voice that’s borderline sexy for a narc. I’m so lucky to have him on my team.
Jake rounds on Davis, drawing himself up to his full height, and Jesus-fuck, Aggie was right, it is a miracle he didn’t crush me.
“Stay away from Ada,” he tells Davis.
“Fuck off,” Davis says neatly. “And get out.”
“Everything okay, you guys?”
All three of us jump. Cece has materialised beside us, a tea towel over one shoulder and a ‘this bullshit ends now’ look on her face.
“I was just leaving,” Jake tells her. “Sorry we didn’t get to chat.”
“That’s okay, Jake,” Cece says, giving me and Davis a hard look. “I’ll walk you out.”
The two of them head for the door, and Davis and I grimace at each other like kids caught messing with a mailbox. We turn to watch Jake and Cece, deep in conversation, and when I see Jake give her his Captain Popular smile, my fingers twitch.
It’s not jealousy. It’s worse. It’s sick. It’s twisted. I thought it had gone forever, but it’s back. Notes are ringing in my head, crystalline sounds that slice as sharply as Jake’s stare. I want to play the flute.
Jake Graves-Holland makes me want to play the flute.