Mine to Fake Date

1. Jackson

JACKSON

The neon sign of Lou's Diner flickers against the early evening darkness. Perfect place for a meet - generic enough to avoid attention, busy enough to mask conversation. I can't believe I haven't been here before. Though I suppose if this is Blade's normal spot then I can't take it.

I stride in, scanning faces out of habit. Three truckers hunched over coffee. Elderly couple sharing pie. Nothing concerning.

I slide into a corner booth, positioning myself to watch both exits. Blade's running late, which isn't like him. My fingers drum against the sticky tabletop.

"Coffee?"

I look up. The waitress stands with a pot in hand, radiating an energy that doesn't match this dump. Her uniform's standard issue, but she wears it like designer wear. Those light brown eyes meet mine without hesitation - unusual, given most people flinch when they see me.

I usually look at someone just long enough to catalog if they are a threat, but with her… I can't stop staring. She is striking, not that it should matter.

"Black." I keep my voice low, assessing. There's something calculated in her movements as she pours, like she's dancing to music only she can hear.

"Waiting for someone?" She arches an eyebrow, and I catch a glimpse of a small tattoo behind her ear.

"Not your concern."

Her lips curve into a knowing smile. "Everything in my section is my concern. Especially when it involves Blade."

My hand instinctively moves toward my concealed weapon. She notices - of course she does - but doesn't react.

"Relax. I've served him enough times to know his preference for the meatloaf. Though tonight he's running about ten minutes behind. Traffic on Canal Street." She sets down a menu with practiced precision.

Before I can respond, Blade's bulky frame fills the doorway. He spots me and makes his way over, nodding to the waitress like they're old friends.

"The usual?" she asks him.

"You know it, sweetheart." He settles into the booth across from me.

She turns back to me, and there's something dangerous dancing in those gold-flecked eyes. My eyes drop to her name tag. Aliyah. The name suits her.

Something about her sets my teeth on edge. Most people shrink under my stare. She meets it head-on.

"Ready to order?" Her pen hovers over her pad, but her eyes lock onto mine with quiet amusement. "Or do you need another minute to finish your silent intimidation routine?"

My jaw tightens. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, you know." She waves her pen in a lazy circle. "That whole brooding, dangerous vibe you're projecting. Very effective on most people, I'm sure. But this is Lou's Diner at 8 PM on a Tuesday. The scariest thing here is what we call the mystery meat special."

Blade chokes back a laugh. I shoot him a glare that would make most men piss themselves.

"Careful, sweetheart," I growl. "You don't know who you're dealing with."

"Actually, I do. You think you're the only guy with a gun and a pissed off look?" She leans in closer, voice dropping to a whisper that carries steel beneath its sweetness. "Trust me, if I thought you were a real threat, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

The small tattoo behind her ear catches the fluorescent light as she straightens. Her movements remind me of a dancer - but one who knows exactly where to place the knife between your ribs.

"Now, can I take your order? Or should we continue this delightful exchange of veiled threats?"

For the first time in years, I find myself caught off guard. This woman has information she shouldn't, courage she can't afford, and an attitude that should get her killed. Instead, I find myself fighting back a smirk.

"Burger. Rare."

"Brave choice." Her lips curve into that knowing smile again. "Our cook's interpretation of 'rare' is usually somewhere between 'still mooing' and 'possibly witnessed a flame once.'"

"You got a real mouth on you."

She looks up at me with a narrow to those innocent eyes that surprises me. "Most guys don't complain about that."

I grit my teeth, irritated and intrigued. If she knows Blade, then how does she not know how to walk away and let us handle business?

"Listen, sweetheart." I lean forward, lowering my voice to the tone that makes grown men tremble. "You are probably used to guys falling all over themselves for you, but I won't be one. So why don't you walk away before you lose your job for pushing me too far."

Aliyah's smile doesn't waver. She perches on the edge of the booth next to me, close enough that I catch a hint of her perfume. Her movements are fluid, deliberate - like a cat toying with its prey.

"That's cute." She smooths her apron with manicured fingers.

"But here's the thing, tough guy. If I suddenly find myself unemployed, I'll have nothing but free time.

And I know exactly which beautiful black Aston Martin you drove up in.

" Her voice drops to a honeyed whisper. "Would be a shame if someone followed you around town, slashing your tires. Every. Single. Day."

My fingers clench around my coffee cup. The threat shouldn't affect me - I've faced down cartel leaders without blinking. But there's something in those light brown eyes that tells me she means every word.

And I kind of fucking like how unhinged she is.

"You're bluffing." The words come out rougher than intended.

"Am I?" She tilts her head, the motion drawing attention to that mysterious tattoo - a key, I realize. "Want to test that theory? Because I've got excellent cardio and a very sharp knife collection."

Blade watches our exchange with poorly concealed amusement. I want to reach across the table and wipe that smirk off his face.

"You really don't know when to back down, do you?" I growl.

"Backing down isn't really my style." Aliyah stands, straightening her uniform with a grace that seems out of place in this dingy diner. "Now, about that burger - would you like fries with that? I promise not to poison them." She pauses. "Today, at least."

Something twists in my gut - a feeling I can't name. This woman should be cowering, not trading threats like they're dinner specials. Instead, she's managed to throw me completely off balance with nothing but a sweet smile and sharp words.

"Fries are fine," I mutter, hating how defensive I sound.

"Perfect." She flashes that dangerous smile again. "I'll put a rush on that order. Wouldn't want you boys getting hangry."

I watch her walk away, noting the deliberate sway in her step. She knows exactly what she's doing, and that makes her more dangerous than half the criminals I deal with.

"Well shit." Blade's gravelly laugh breaks my focus.

He's one of the easier guys to work with.

He's a good time…until you piss him off.

I've managed not to do that - and never found myself under his blade as a result.

"That one's got more fire than most of my crew combined.

Haven't seen anyone stand up to you like that since-"

"We doing this deal or not?" I cut him off, my voice sharp enough to slice through steel.

He holds up his hands, but that knowing smirk doesn't leave his face. "Just saying, a woman who can match your intensity... that's rare. Like finding a black diamond in a coal mine."

"What I find rare is how much you're running your mouth instead of talking business." My fingers trace the rim of my coffee cup, a warning in the motion. "How much do you need?"

"Four shipments. Have them come into the docks on Thursday." He leans back, crossing his muscled arms. "But you might want to ease up on the death glare. Your waitress is coming back."

Aliyah appears with our plates, setting them down with practiced efficiency.

Her presence shifts the air around us, like a current of electricity running beneath the surface.

When she reaches across to refill my coffee, I catch another hint of that scent.

It's sweet and floral - and I shouldn't be thinking this fucking hard about goddamn perfume.

"Anything else?" Those gold-flecked eyes meet mine, challenge written in every line of her face.

"We're good." My voice comes out rougher than intended.

She nods, that knowing smile playing at her lips again before she moves to another table. I force my attention back to Blade, who's watching me with unconcealed amusement.

We make it through the meal as we discuss the specifics.

Every few months, he orders a massive weapons shipment from us and we send it into his docks like it's part of his actual business.

That's why he's great at controlling the docks - and he's fucking ruthless when someone wants to use him to smuggle anything in.

"Thursday," I confirm as we finish up, pulling out enough cash to cover the meal and then some. "Make sure you got the right guys there."

"You know I'd never mess that up." He stands, adjusting his leather jacket. "Try not to terrorize the staff after I leave."

I shoot him a look that would make most men stumble, but he just laughs and heads for the door. The deal's done, clean and simple despite the... complications. I force myself out to my car, but when I get in, I don't leave. I just keep watching, something keeping me rooted here.

The steering wheel grows cold under my grip as I sit in the darkened parking lot. Through the diner's grimy windows, fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across Aliyah's face as she moves between tables. Her movements hold a predatory grace that doesn't belong in a place like this.

I drum my fingers against the leather, irritated by my own hesitation. Anyone else who dared speak to me that way would be bleeding in an alley. Yet here I am, watching her like some lovesick teenager instead of putting her in her place.

She bends to wipe down a table, and that damn uniform hugs curves that were made for sin. But it's not just her body that holds my attention - it's the calculated way she surveys the room between movements, the sharp intelligence behind that sweet smile.

My phone buzzes. Three more deals need scheduling this week. Usually, I spread meetings across the city's safe houses and neutral territories. Instead, I find myself typing out Lou's Diner as the location for each one.

"Just to show her she doesn't affect me," I mutter, knowing it's a lie even as the words leave my mouth.

Through the window, Aliyah's head snaps up, those light brown eyes finding mine in the darkness. Her lips curve into that knowing smile that makes my blood burn. She doesn't wave or acknowledge me - just holds my gaze for one heartbeat, two, before turning away with deliberate slowness.

The engine roars to life under my hands. I need to leave, need to put distance between myself and this woman who treats my threats like dinner specials. Instead, I sit there, telling myself I'm just doing surveillance, gathering intel on someone who knows too much.

But deep down, I know the truth. For the first time in years, someone's gotten under my skin. And instead of cutting them out like the threat they are, I'm planning to come back for more.