14. I Look So Good （Without You） #2
Thankfully (and unthankfully), I’m all too aware. The gestures twist my insides until they probably resemble a wrung-out dish rag.
“Seems the scenery’s gotten better in here since Senior Year,” he remarks. “Where did you two lovely ladies come from?”
I want to kick myself for feeling any ounce of relief around this fucker, but I can’t help it.
He doesn’t recognize me.
“We just quit our jobs as exotic dancers,” Maggie teases, wholly unaware she’s engaging with Satan’s spawn. “Thought we’d try to make a living while wearing some clothes for a change.”
“I know it shouldn’t be my place to judge someone’s profession, but, hot damn, I most definitely think you need to return to your old job. You are both waaaay too gorgeous for this place, especially considering the eyesores that used to work here.”
Do you think Giorgia would be mad if I punched one of her customers?
I had worked here for over two years, and this idiot harassed me every time he came into the restaurant.
I also hadn’t gotten up the nerve to tell Maggie about why I left here for my job at the library. Since everything has been quiet for the past week, I had deluded myself into thinking the issue wouldn’t come up.
Well, my dumbass decision has undoubtedly come back to bite me in the butt, because Maggie’s guard isn’t close to being up.
She just thinks Trent is your run-of-the-mill “Frat Bro” on summer vacation, a.k.a.
the kind of guy you’d see her playing tonsil hockey with at a party when she’s had one too many drinks.
Watching the two of them banter back and forth for several minutes tests my gag reflex.
Maybe Maggie’s just that much more trusting of people, because her intuition doesn’t seem to sound any warning bells.
Me, on the other hand? I knew something was wrong with Trent the first time I saw him in fourth grade.
“And what might Maggie be short for?” Trent drawls, gesturing to my friend’s name tag.
She’s not particularly fond of this question (because she’s not particularly fond of her name), so it’s no surprise that she grimaces, unable to hide an eye roll. “Magnolia.”
“Are your parents hippies?”
“No, smartass.” She gives him a playful slap to the bicep. “It’s where my parents met one another. On Magnolia Boulevard, in L.A.”
“What about Red over here?”
I can feel Trent’s eyes on me, but I’m doing everything to not look his way, busying myself with filling complimentary glasses of water.
Maggie doesn’t say anything, and to my disappointment, I see she’s been pulled back to her section to deliver drinks.
I’m not even standing directly in front of the counter. Yet, with his height, Trent has to do little more than lean over to reach me, brushing the hair away from my name tag. And it doesn’t escape my notice that, yes, he’s just brushed the top of my breast.
Mother.
Fucker.
“Alex.” He says it like a statement at first, but his eyebrows furrow after a moment, as if needing the time to digest the two syllables. And—
Oh no.
He’s studying my face.
And studying.
And studying.
And studying.
When recognition finally lands, his eyebrows fly up so high that they might be in danger of leaving his forehead. Trent lets out something caught between a choke and a laugh. “Holy shit! Birdie?”
He doubles over, and everyone’s attention in the restaurant turns to the four of us. “Well, hot damn! Seems someone cleaned up. You actually look doable.”
The fucker keeps laughing as Jase’s focus wanders aimlessly away from me.
Good to see nothing’s changed.
“Hey, you just might actually have a shot now with Rivers here,” Trent continues, wrapping an arm around Jase’s shoulder. “What do you say, man? Probably still a freak, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t worth the tap. Hell, I wouldn’t mind letting her ride my flagpole.”
“Excuse me?” Maggie definitely overheard that comment, because the girl appears in front of me with the lightning reflexes of a ninja, blocking his view of my body. “The only birdie you’ll be getting is this one.”
Sure enough, she holds up her hand, giving him a middle-finger salute.
“Oh, lighten up, sweetheart. I’m just having some fun,” Trent scoffs with a laugh. Any attempt at a good nature he had is gone, something that always rears its ugly head when I’m around.
Nico comes out from the back and looks over at the counter. “There a problem here?”
“Nah, just sharing a word with Birdie,” remarks Trent.
“Well, Alex is busy. Either place an order or get out. I’d suggest the latter,” instructs Nico. Anytime he’s witnessed Trent and the rest of the Untouchables harassing me, he leans into the cliché as much as he can, just shy of physically removing them.
There’s a very fine line you have to walk when dealing with bratty children who hail from politicians and billionaires. It had been stupid of me to think time had changed anything. Not when it comes to Trent.
I’m still a walking liability.
“You can’t kick me out of here,” Trent says. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Oh, but I might.” To everyone’s shock, it’s me who levels the warning. “Who’s to say I won’t spill a pot of boiling hot coffee into your lap during my rounds?”
I’ve been dealing with his bullshit for four years now, and only once had I dared to stand up to him. Considering how things played out, it didn’t surprise anyone that I never dared it again.
Hence, Trent’s confusion. “Is that a threat?”
“From me ?” I bat my eyelashes, the perfect facade of innocence.
“Why, of course not. It’s just…I’m a little rusty with my waiting skills.
Accidents do happen. But given the fact that you feel the need to bully girls less than half your size to feel anything resembling masculine—” I punctuate the point by dropping my eyes below his belt, not looking particularly impressed “—I’d bet the coffee wouldn’t do any real damage down there that anyone else would be missing. ”
The group of tourists seated behind Trent chokes on restrained snickers, and that proves to be the final straw.
I expect the same reaction I got from him the last time, knowing damn well a threat will get him thrown out of here…
But Trent’s smile is like a bucket of ice water doused over my head as he oh-so-casually leans over the counter, his voice dropping low enough that only Maggie, Jase, and I can hear.
“If you’re concerned with what I’m packing, sweetheart, why don’t you just ask your sister?
She’s been more than acquainted with it. ”
What the fuck?
Music plays overhead, and there’s no shortage of conversation around the restaurant, but I swear you could hear a pin drop as the asshole winks at me.
Maggie, who’s never short on comebacks, just stands there, stupefied, like the rest of us.
Because what the fuck?
There’s no way in hell Vanessa would ever touch him with a ten-foot pole and a hazmat suit. Not after what he did to me—
But Trent’s entire demeanor says differently. His flaring temper, the white-knuckled fists, the tensing muscles in his neck…they’re all gone, replaced by the casual composure of a conqueror.
Because that’s what Trent is.
And he lets everyone know that when he saunters right out the door with a cheery whistle as his soundtrack.
Game. Set. Match.