Chapter 16
ONE YEAR AGO
SKYLAR
You know that feeling when you’re at a barbeque and there’s a fly constantly buzzing beside your ear being the absolute fucking pest it was created to be?
Well, that’s what Saxon Wilder is to me at this exact moment.
The worst kind of insect—or rather, parasite—who’s latched his feelers onto me and won’t ever give me a moment of peace.
I guess he wasn’t lying when he said he was going to keep tabs on me, because here we are, a year later, and he’s still in my fucking business twenty-four seven.
Lucky me. I’m working, so I have to be on my best behavior since he’s the customer and all.
“What is it you’d like today, Saxon? My resume, my Social Security number, my first-born child when they inevitably arrive on this planet? What do you want now?”
“As if I needed to ask you for any of that information.” He smirks at me, his signature fucking smirk that has started to birth butterflies in my gut whenever he graces me with it.
I clear my throat to hopefully eliminate said butterflies but to my unfortunate luck, or lack there-of, they remain growing at an exponential rate.
“Seriously, Saxon, what do you want? I’m kind of busy.
” Rolling my eyes, I grab a beer from beneath the bar, crack open the top, and slide it to a gentleman who gives me a nod of appreciation.
I’m a damn good bartender and have become even better at reading people.
Like right now, Saxon doesn’t have anything he needs from me.
He’s just here to annoy me with his presence and assert his dominance in this town. As if I could forget.
“Who said I needed anything? Maybe I’m just here as a paying customer who is waiting for his bartender to stop being so snappy so I can order a beer.” Before he can say another word, I grab a Corona, pop the cap, and set the beer down in front of him.
“What if I don’t want a Corona today?” He’s clearly fucking with me now; this is all he drinks.
I know because I’m always his bartender.
I have been for the past year. I’ve yet to see him order anything other than a Corona—from a bottle, if I’m being specific.
I give him the biggest fake smile I can muster.
“I know you better than you think, Sax. And if you ever ordered anything other than this, I would probably call an ambulance for you because that would mean you’re sick and possibly dying.
So, would you like anything else, or is it just the one for right now?
” With his killer smirk, he looks over his shoulder at the rest of his crew and back towards me.
I assume that’s his way of saying he needs a few more, and I do just that, lining the beers up in front of him before he gives me a wink and leaves me to continue my job.
I watch him as he leaves, his muscles in his back rippling under his shirt, and I find myself smiling a bit.
While we clearly bicker like enemies, it doesn’t feel anything close to that anymore.
I know he hasn’t stopped believing that I may be some type of spy for my father, but he hasn’t been as overbearing as he used to be.
In fact, our relationship has turned into a game of sorts.
He pushes my buttons, I push his, and we wait to see who snaps first. While he won this round, clearly, I have to say, I’m the one who wins most of the time.
Saxon likes to say he’s a patient man, but he is most certainly not.
He likes to clench his jaw when he starts getting too annoyed.
A way for him to try to keep his anger locked down.
And because I’m the biggest pain in his ass, I like to see how many times he clenches his jaw before he finally snaps at me.
I’m cruel, I know, but I never said our relationship was anything but unhinged.
We dance together in this back-and-forth limbo.
We’ve created almost a routine, him and I.
He comes into Vice more nights than not, where his sister and her friends dance while he and his boys like to catch up and converse in their usual booth.
While all this is happening, I feel his eyes on me throughout the night.
We make brief eye contact, where he sometimes winks at me, flips me off, or glares at me, and I return the sentiment.
It’s subtle, and no one besides the pair of us would notice this behavior, but that’s what I like about it.
I like his eyes on me, and while I know it’s because he thinks I’m still the enemy, sometimes I like to pretend he’s watching over me.
A fantasy that someone is here to protect me rather than hurt me.
But I always leave it at that, a fantasy.
Because even I know how insanely ridiculous and unimaginable that would be.