4. Payton
FOUR
PAYTON
Life especially sucks at this moment.
Hiding in the kitchen of Fawn’s isn’t exactly screaming great life .
Today’s round of fuckery comes from the group loudly chatting I was forced to wait on while ignoring their muttered comments, my grip on my poor pen a testament to the level of restraint exerted. One more comment, and I’d be bleeding blue ink when it cracked—then they’d be getting a carafe of coffee over their heads. Because waiting on Aaron and his friends isn’t how I wished to start my day.
Despite the notes, he hasn’t actually been around. So what makes today the day to torment me? He hasn’t referenced anything, and while I debated bringing the notes up, I chickened out because not engaging him was the high route I opted to take.
“You okay?” Jim, the cook and co-owner, asks from where he’s placing a few plates into the tray that’ll soon be slid inside the industrial dishwasher.
“Yeah,” I reply, but we’re both aware it’s a lie.
I hate how small Aaron makes me feel, even after the year since our break up. While I’ve gotten over him and mostly grew past everything he said, his actions still linger like an ever-present wound on my insides. More than that, I despise how long it took me to get my head out of my ass and see through his bullshit. Unfortunately, all those realizations came too late to avoid the damage.
The familiar chime of the door sounds, informing me of an entering customer. With a resigned sigh, I push through the swinging door, keeping my head low and eyes averted from the table in the far right, as I greet the newcomer. Forcing cheer into my voice, I say, “Good morning!”
The newcomer hovers midway between the counter and the door, and it’s with a stuttered breath my heart skips a beat. No fucking way it’s him. Out of everyone whom it could be, I should be thrilled it’s the best non-friend I’ve ever had.
Jace Hayes.
For some reason, I fear his opinion more than anyone else’s. Perhaps because he’s always been so good at not judging me, even when I needed a firm kick in the ass to shove me on a better path. But it’s been years. I’m no longer the same person, and presumably, neither is he.
He blinks, shaking his head, and continues approaching. Realistically, toward the counter to order, but the way his large strides eat up the small space, dirty boots on the black-and-white tiled floor, makes me feel like I’m being chased. The mental images of him hunting me have my hands pinching the sides of my jeans, and I force breath through my lungs, eyes on him. The customer , I remind myself; only a customer to serve, same as anyone else in here. It’s a struggle to keep my expression passive, yet still friendly.
Maybe he won’t recognize me. It’s an unlikely hope, though, because if I recognize him, surely he’ll recognize me.
And, holy fuck, do I ever recognize him. Jace back then was hot—I’ll admit that—but now, he’s downright sexy. And huge. Seriously, where the fuck did those muscles come from? His dad owned a construction company, and it’s clear from just the look of him, it’s what Jace now does for a living.
He slides onto one of the stools, his frame too large for the small, red seat. Muscled arms rest on the counter, and his finger traces the stack of menus piled beside him as he lifts his head, gazing at me with eyes so impossibly dark, they’re like an endless cavern I could see myself falling headfirst into. And like a cavern, they’d probably lead to my demise, because being attracted to a man isn’t on my immediate radar. Been there, done that, have the debt to prove it. And creepy notes—let’s not forget those.
His arms on the counter draw my attention to the way his plaid button-down is open, revealing a plain tee beneath. The sleeves are rolled up, prepared for a day of work. A baseball cap sits on his head, a black one that’s a bit faded and even frayed along the beak’s edge. It makes his hair, still retaining its slight curls, frame his face.
He smirks, and even the simple line of his mouth makes me flushed, like his mouth has secrets he’ll never admit to but could certainly make me reveal.
“No fucking way. Payton Thorne.”
Damn it. I force a smile, my lips tightly pressed together while glancing at the far corner, where Aaron and his friends still sit.
“Jace.”
“You came back.” There’s a second question beneath the first, asking Why? , which I ignore.
“Two weeks ago, yeah.”
“Yeah?” He smiles, showing perfectly straight teeth. Why the fuck am I thinking about this man’s teeth? “Clearly, I’m shit at keeping up with local news. How long have you been working here?”
“Few days.”
“Well, that’d explain it. Nice to see you again, Thorne. It’s been some time.”
Dark eyes scan me, making me hot in places that haven’t been heated in a while. I hate what he must see—my body, my jeans not quite fitting right, my apron unable to hide the bulges that have developed over the past few years, thanks to stress eating while living with the asshole across the room. I have come to appreciate my body, but Aaron never took a breath between insults; that shit weighs heavy on the mind and comes back to haunt me, even now. Especially when at the centre of someone’s attention.
“What can I get you?” I ask, remembering my role as a waitress, needing the distraction of work to pull me back.
“Coffee please. Black.”
Simple and sensible. I reach behind me for a white mug and the carafe before pouring it full, then sliding it to him. He takes a mouthful, regardless of the steam wisping from the surface, and releases a pleased growl in what might just be the most sensual sip I’ve ever witnessed.
“Good shit,” he rumbles, setting the mug down.
“It’s free refills.” If you stay long enough. Do I want him to leave? For so long, Jace was the presence I looked forward to joking with between classes, though neither of us really acknowledged the bond being a friendship.
“Heard you were living in Toronto. How was that?”
He’s asking why I’ve come back without outright saying the words. I appreciate that. People are too nosy for their own good, and anyone else wouldn’t beat around the question.
My gaze flicks to Aaron in the corner, who’s talking with his hands. “I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.”
Jace tracks my attention, a shadow passing over his expression. “I’ve heard a story, yeah, but I want yours.”
“Does it matter?” I busy myself by retrieving a damp cloth and wiping the stretch of counter farther away from him. It’s not dirty, but it’s enough to distract me from tumbling into old desires and setting myself up for failure. “My side, his side—it’s all true in one form or the other. My perspective is only mine.”
When I pass by him to go to the opposite end of the counter, he stops me with a hand on my wrist. His fingers are warm, wrapping me in a hold I already know would be impossible to escape from even without attempting.
“Then make it mine too,” he rasps in a low voice. “Because I know for damn sure you cheating on him was a lie the coward made up to take the heat off himself. I knew you well enough, Payton. You weren’t that girl, and I don’t believe you’re that woman either.”
I open my mouth to reply. With what, I’m not certain. The truth, maybe, or at least some of it, because it feels nice not to be blamed. Especially after my experience with the police not believing me. Whatever my response would be is cut off by an obnoxious shout.
“Waitress! I need more coffee.”
My teeth jam into my tongue and, for a full three seconds, I don’t budge. I’d rather dig my own grave at this point than have a repeat of earlier, especially now with Jace witnessing. My hatred is tamped by reminders of why I’m doing this, and I snatch the carafe. Without a glance at Jace, who’s probably judging me, I exit the safety of the counter and cross toward Aaron and his friends—all of whom know my name, making the use of my job title downright rude.
The one closest to me holds up his mug without looking, and I focus everything onto pouring the coffee into the mug and not on them, no matter how tempting.
“Anyone else?” I ask in a lifeless voice, repeating the mantra of “do it for the money” over and over in my head while praying they release me from this torture session and allow me to escape into the back room.
“Yeah, me.” It’s the bane of my existence. Unlike his friend, he doesn’t hold up his mug. I’m okay with it, though, because the asshole probably wouldn’t keep it steady.
As I reach across the table for his mug, I feel like the entire diner is watching, even though it’s probably just my anxiety making the back of my neck tingle.
I straighten, and his hand snatches my wrist to pin me close, pinching the skin painfully. He sits upright, glaring to discourage me from making a scene, and ensures his voice carries no further than the group when muttering, “Playing this game is cute, baby, but you’ll come crawling back. You always do. This time will be no different.”
Crawling across coals after having my legs sawed off would be more preferable.
I yank my wrist away, ready to make a scene if he doesn’t release me, but satisfied when he does. “The only game here is the notes you continue leaving on my porch. Isn’t that what they are—your pitiful attempts to scare me back to you? It’ll never work, so give up.”
A flicker of surprise cracks his smirk, neither of us expecting those words to come from my mouth. Certainly not me, because talking about them gives life and meaning to his torment. Letting them die and feigning na?veté could be safest, at least until figuring out what his goal is.
His grin stretches wider than before—faked. “Don’t know what you mean. You’re delusional, believing someone would leave you love notes.”
“Threats won’t win me back.” Nothing will. “Instead of spending all your time bullying me, get a fucking job and help pay off the debt you accumulated.”
Aaron’s gaze flicks to his friends, then back to me. “You’re mine, whether you like it or not, Pay. Don’t make me remind you of all the ways I own your ass.”
“It’s been a year,” I hiss. “Fuck off.” Thrilled to be done with this interaction, I muster a friendly-ish waitress smile and twist to leave, only to be stopped again by my ex’s grating voice.