Chapter Five
Lily
? “Bad Intentions (feat. Migos)” - Niykee Heaton ?
Fifteen hundred dollars.
Mateo, one of my regulars who comes in, tips me five hundred dollars every time he is here.
I know it’s only because he wants to take me out to dinner—which I refuse every time.
I just sit there and talk to him. He’s only a couple of years older than me, not bad looking.
Typical dark brown hair, brown eyes, an insanely pointy cupid’s bow, no piercings, no tattoos, just a typical New York businessman—a rich New York businessman.
I spot Jace leaning on the wall with his arms crossed against his chest when I walk out of the locker room. “Can we stop somewhere? I’m hungry,” I propose, pushing all my money back into my bra.
He propels himself off the wall and starts walking away.
“Is that a yes?” I follow him out the back door of the club. The cool breeze hits my uncovered legs and arms, making my teeth chatter. I wrap my arms along my body and start jogging toward the car. I beat Jace there, pulling on the handle. When I look up, I can see him striding, taking his time.
“Please open it,” I beg.
He puts his hand in his pocket and starts walking slower.
I let go of the car door handle, putting my hands on my hips. “I will break your window.”
“And I will break you,” he states.
That literally makes no sense. As I am about to give him my middle finger, the car automatically turns on.
I pull on the handle, quickly get inside, and reach for a knob to turn the heater on.
I pause, my hand mid-air as I look at all the electronics.
What kind of technology is this? There are multiple buttons at the bottom, mainly the push start and a huge knob at the top.
None of them look remotely close to being a heater or AC.
Why have a half a million-dollar car if you have to struggle just to find the heat or AC buttons?
Jace opens the driver-side door, throwing me a sweater. “Where do you want to get food?”
Oh god, it smells like him and it’s so soft.
I run my hands over it. It has to be a hundred percent wool.
I look at the tag to read the very famous, very popular, very expensive name brand.
I slam my eyes shut, scared to look anymore.
I would die to have at least one thing from their collections.
I bring the sweater closer to my face, looking at the knitting. This must be their Pont Neuf yarn.
“Lily?”
I snap my head to look at him.
“Do I need to leave you so you can continue eye fucking my sweater or do you want to go somewhere to eat?” he teases.
I can feel the warmth in my cheeks. My fingers clench the sweater.
“Food. Yes.” I place the sweater neatly into my lap because for one, if I put it on, I will never take it off.
Two, because it smells like him and there is a chance I won’t take it off for that reason as well. Three, I just won’t take it off.
“Can we go to Hippies?” I ask.
“Hippies?”
“Yes, have you never been there?” I pull my legs under me, my eyes growing bigger as I turn to him. My mouth waters just thinking about it. “They make the best sandwiches.”
"Hippies it is."
What I may have failed to mention to Jace is that it is an hour away, and at this time of night, the line is extremely long.
After a thirty-minute wait, we finally pull up to the speaker.
“What do you want?”
I bend closer to Jace, looking out the window. My eyes light up as I stare at the menu. “A double-double, large fries, and a fruity Judy,” I state.
“What the fuck is a fruity Judy?” He turns his head and our lips slightly brush from how far I’m leaning over. I fall back into my seat as we gawk at each other.
The intercom asked what we wanted, but we’re stuck staring at each other.
The muscle in his jaw constricts and my heart hammers in my chest. I clench the sweater in my lap, forcing my fingers to not touch the tingly sensation I received from his lips touching mine.
I have never had that happen before. Why did that happen?
Why do I want to lean over and experience it again?
Maybe I will. Should I? I mean, why not?
He is handsome, like really handsome. I can admit that.
I just hate him, maybe we can hate fuck.
I heard those always end well. Maybe he knows how to put that lean, toned body of his to use.
I might just let him. I can get it out of my system, we can do it for one night, and then go back to hating each other.
Finally, he breaks off our eye contact and orders my food.
I watch as his fingers tightly grip the steering wheel, driving to the first window.
His arm is covered in tattoos from his fingertips up to the side of his neck, crossing to his other arm.
I notice something that looks like wings, another that looks like a scythe, and the rest I can’t see in the dark.
“It’s their signature drink. A bunch of fruit juices mixed together. Goes good with vodka,” I say, my fingers rubbing the fabric of the sweater.
“And is that what you’re doing tonight? Getting drunk?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I mean, I no longer have a morning job, thanks to you.” That gets his attention.
His eyes bounce to me, blazing. I clear my throat.
“I can’t decide if it's a good or bad thing for me yet. I rarely make it to class, even though most of my classes are online. I mean, we don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.
I mean, I don’t even know if I want to. It’s like two a.m. Who starts drinking this late at night, or early in the morning?
However you take it. Did you know that vodka used to be used as an antibacterial agent? ”
His eyebrows pinch forward as he studies me, but I can’t stop the word-vomit that is coming out of my mouth.
“From the way it tastes, it makes sense. Pour a little on a cut and it will be disinfected. And vodka is a diminutive of voda, which means water in Russian. Vodka is really big in Russia, right? Do you know? You probably don’t know.
You’re from Ireland, so why would you know?
Yet I’m from Greece and I know, but I don’t know why I know.
I just like learning random little facts about things I guess.
” I finally exhale, shutting my mouth and turning to look out the passenger window.
Jesus Christ, Lily, pull it together.
The window opens. “That will be three seventy-five.”
I go to reach into my purse on the floor, but a large hand stops me, grabbing my wrist. When I look up, Jace is exchanging his card for the greasy, delicious bag.
He hands me the bag and says, “I am nervous that you’re about to eat a fried bologna piece that only cost a dollar.”
“Piece? It’s called a sandwich. A double stacked sandwich,” I correct. “If you’re nice, I will let you have a bite.” I give him a hospitable smile, but I see his fingers turn white on the steering wheel.
If I don’t get out of this car right now, I might end up having a nervous breakdown.
I have never had a nervous breakdown around men.
That slight kiss? Lip brush? Peck? Whatever it was made me fucking nervous.
It felt too… real? Too nice? And according to the way he is gripping the steering wheel for his dear life—it seems as if he is nervous too.
I’m not stupid. I know Jace finds me attractive.
Ever since I dropped off a bottle for Jace and Rowan in their section years ago, he has always had his eyes on me.
Always trying to talk to me while I’m working, or constantly staring at me, creeping me out.
I am afraid the longer I am with him, the more nervous I will get.
I will end up saying something even stupider.
I wonder if we have a quick hate fuck, will my brain calm down?
Will I no longer be nervous and get over whatever feeling this is?
Will I still be worried about being down one job, or the current assignment I have due that I haven’t started, or the fact that Celeste and I haven’t paid the utility bill yet and I have no idea when we will since she is MIA?
Okay, I need to calm down. Now. Don’t think about anything stressful.
Or Jace. Or sex. Fuck, I should probably see a therapist.
For me, sex is just fucking. I don’t understand the need to have to love someone to have sex with them.
Sex is a temporary energy exchange. A physical serotonin exchange from one person to the other.
I don’t need to know where your mother grew up, how many siblings you have, or what your five-year life goal plan is.
As long as you’re not my regular customer at work, I am down.
Which Jace is not, because he stays in VIP, where I do not tend to.
I can differentiate between making love and fucking, and I’d rather take the latter.
We can hate-fuck, get it out of our system, and worry about the possible awkward interactions after Rowan and Celeste come home.
He is totally my type: blonde hair and blue eyes.
He’s covered in tattoos, muscular, annoying, possessive, and controlling.
It’s all the red flags a girl can dream of—for one night.