ELEVEN
LUCY
After I call my mother to let her know I'll be late tonight—and she warns me over the noisy chatter of her friends not to lose my phone or my shoes—I grab a slice of pizza from my favorite pizzeria. Taking a seat at the booth in the back next to a Tales of the Arabian Nights pinball machine, I try my damnedest not to stare at my phone waiting for a message from Jace like a lust-stricken schoolgirl. In between cheesy bites, I scold myself for agreeing to meet him tonight. I had gotten so caught up in the sensation of his hand against my skin that practical thought became an issue even after he made it clear that we won’t act on the forces thrusting us together. Which is a big problem with the man: The electricity between us is palpable, and I don't think clearly around him. I never have, not since the day we met when we were still children.
We’re not children anymore, though. Jace Exley is very much an adult and he’s my employer now.
This is not a date, I tell myself firmly as the pinball machine behind me blares to life thanks to two kids and a pocketful of quarters. This is a drink with my co-worker and my boss, and that’s perfectly acceptable. He probably feels sorry for me because Tom texted while he was in my office.
But no matter how many times those thoughts creep into my head, I can't stop the frantic hum of anticipation that vibrates through my bones. When my phone buzzes on the table, I snort aloud at how fast I pick it up. I bite the tip of my tongue the second I realize it's Jamie wanting to know if I have plans for the weekend. She's at a neonatal seminar in Ohio until next Tuesday, but she lets me know she's thinking of me while she brushes up on her cardiac pharmacology know-how and stuffs her face with room service. I tell her that I'm helping Mom clear out the attic tomorrow and nonchalantly add that I'm meeting Jace and Ash for drinks in just a little while. I hardly have time to finish chewing my next bite before the barrage of new messages begins coming through.
7:12 PM: No way! Ahhhhhh!
7:12 PM: This is way too good. Why couldn't you have done this another weekend, when I could be right there to witness all the sparks?
7:13 PM: Also, tell your mom hello. If you find anything fun and vintage, don't throw it out!
My fingers dance across my screen as I tell my best friend a blatant fib, that there are no sparks where Jace Exley and I are concerned, and that I'll definitely put aside any vintage finds Mom doesn't want for her. Thirty or so seconds pass by and then she sends me a poop emoji.
7:15 PM: The grinning shit is for the "sparks" comment since the both of us know that's FALSE. But thanks for looking out for me with the attic thing.
"Ass," I mutter through a smile, and I send her emoji back to her.
I take another bite of my pizza just as the kids on the pinball machine give up on it and race across the restaurant, their pockets jingling, to join their parents. Another text vibrates my phone, but my heart stutters when I look down and see that this one isn't from Jamie, it's from my boss.
He's sent me the name of a bar—The Mission Tap House—the address, and a brief message.
Don't stand me up, Williams.
I leave the pizzeria twenty minutes later reminding myself that Ash will be with us. And if Ash is there, absolutely nothing can go wrong.
When I worked at WLC, I often joined my colleagues for drinks at a bar a couple of blocks from our building. One of the things that had always stood out to me was that everyone, except for the bartenders, was all dressed up in their suits and ties or their sheath dresses and four-inch designer pumps. The atmosphere at that bar—The Oasis—was like our office: Strictly business, but with a splash of overpriced booze.
As I stand in the doorway of the address Jace sent me, chewing a piece of cinnamon gum to rid myself of the dreaded pizza breath and perusing the crowd in search of a familiar face, I instantly realize The Mission Tap House is a one-eighty from The Oasis.
While I'm still wearing my work clothes—a ruffle collar green blouse, high-waisted black skirt, and green velvet pumps—most of the other patrons are in jeans and tee shirts. I’m overdressed. Buttoned-up, per Jace's observation a couple of weeks before. I strongly consider backing up, making a hasty exit and letting him assume the worst. Hell, my hand is already on the door handle.
But then my hazel gaze locks with the silvery-blue irises that have become a daily fixture in my life. Jace is sitting at a tall table a few feet away from the bar with Ash and a curvy strawberry blonde in a blue midriff bodycon shirt and jeans. Her curvy body is angled toward Ash, but when Jace's lips move, she leans back and delivers a sharp blow to his forearm, rolling her heavily-lined eyes up toward the ceiling. He doesn't notice because his stare only wavers from mine for a split second, and that’s to wander over my body like it’s the first time he’s seen me all day.
"Come here," he mouths.
My breath quickens, and I cast another glance at the exit. If I leave, he’ll give me hell on Monday, but maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—
But then I look at him again, he crooks his finger, motioning me to join them, and I move in his direction. My heart slams into my ribcage with every step I take. By the time I reach the table, my chest is sore from the pressure, and I grip the back of the empty chair to steady myself.
"Whoa! She made it," Ash chuckles and tips his drink to his mouth. Based on his ruddy cheeks, I can tell he's tossed back a couple too many already. The woman reaches over to him and ruffles his shoulder-length hair. He catches her fingers in his and plants a kiss in the center of her palm, which spreads a flush across her cheeks. "I've never been one to turn down gambling, so Jace bet me twenty bucks you'd bail. Glad to see this fucker will be treating us all to drinks."
His eyes still glued to me, Jace reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a brown leather wallet. "Don't worry, I'll have Daisy take it out of your pay." He rifles through the bills before withdrawing twenty dollars and tossing it in Ash's direction. The bill flutters to the table between the blonde's water and her tiny clutch. She snatches it up, holding it high to examine it under the light dangling over our heads.
"You’ve got to watch Jace, he'll sneak you Monopoly money and you'll be too drunk to notice," she states, and Jace tells her she's full of shit. Handing Ash's winnings over to him, she winks at me as I readjust my pencil skirt, so it won't rip right down the seam when I sit down. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jace scooting toward me. He leans forward slightly, so that his body is closer to mine, and it takes all my self-control not to turn into him.
"I'm Gwendolyn Exley, Jace's cousin,” the blonde says.
"And my DD." Ash clears a good amount of his dark amber beer and wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He gives me a moment to introduce myself to Gwendolyn then he slides Jace's money across the table to me. "For the sweetest shark I’ve ever met because nobody—nobody—should go thirsty on a Friday night."
Other than my first day in the workshop, Ash has spent the majority of the last couple weeks working in silence with only his music as company. At first, I was worried that he was offended by me, but Daisy promised that's just his personality—he's quiet and just likes to get his work done. To see him drinking and talking so much makes me pause, and I momentarily forget that Jace’s blue gaze is burning into the side of my face.
"Take it.” Ash groans when I don’t rush to pick up the money. “Because if you don't I'll have to buy myself more drinks. Do I look like I need another fucking drink?"
"I guess not." It sounds more like a question and concern drips from my tone. As I reach for the money, I open my mouth to add a thank you, but the hand on my forearm halts my words. A beat passes, then two more, before I move, and Jace’s fingertips skim an electrifying path from the inside of my wrist to the tips of my fingers as I pull away from him.
I meet his stare—and the half-smile he’s sending my way—and my head spins.
He grabs his beer and nods toward the bar. Reluctantly, stupidly, I follow behind him, keeping a safe distance between our bodies.
"What's that all about?" I slide beside him on a seat at the bar, gripping the worn edge of the counter when I drag in a breath of his cologne. "Is everything okay with Ash?"
Jace motions the bartender, but she purses her glossy pink lips together and holds up a finger. Snorting, he turns his face to mine. "Ash’s roommate took off today without notice." I frown, but before I can ask more questions, he answers the majority in one quick swoop. "She took most of his shit right along with hers. Considering the situation, I'd say he's handling it like a champ. Don't worry, he'll be back to his old self by Monday morning."
I cover my hand over my mouth. "Are you kidding?” When he shakes his head, I squeeze my eyes shut. “Shit. That's awful, is he pressing charges?"
Jace's full lips quirk. "She's his ex-girlfriend."
"Oh."
"So, he won't press charges—even if she was beating him in the face with the Xbox she skanked off with."
"Skanked off," I repeat, casting him an incredulous look. As the bartender starts our way, I continue, "You're worse than Jamie with all the made-up words."
"Another thing I excel at? Stop, Ms. Williams, you're turning me into a success story." I bite the inside of my cheek but hold back my response when he focuses on the bartender. He orders a winter ale then turns to me and gives me a questioning look.
"A mojito, please," I tell her directly, gaining a slight eye roll from her and a deep snort from him. Once she takes off, her silvery blond curls flying behind her, I hotly demand, "What is it now?"
"This is a tap house, love." Because I don't immediately grasp what he's trying to say, he bends his head down to mine and whispers in my ear, "Meaning that most of us order beer. It makes poor Michaela's job a lot easier."
“Michaela,” I repeat. It has to be a coincidence that the bartender’s name is the same as Jace’s ex-employee. The one he was very good friends with. The one who was fired from EXtreme for unknown reasons, and—
“It’s the same Michaela,” he drawls, and when my shoulder blades arch together involuntarily, he adds, “Your eyes were darting just now. I could tell you were thinking very, very hard.”
“You’re imagining things,” I lie, placing an elbow on the counter. I rest my chin in my hand. When he just stares back at me, his mouth curved in amusement, I ask, “But obviously, she knows how to make a mojito, yes?"
"Michaela can make anything," he confirms. I bet she can. I feel a nasty wiggle of envy because I already know they were lovers, but now I’m wondering if they still are. It's none of my business, but every time I glance her way, my eyebrows creep closer and closer together.
"So, Ash. What's Ash going to do?" I change the subject, hoping it will keep my thoughts from veering to the beautiful woman with the mess of wild, crazy curls. I trace a row of triangles into the condensation on his half-finished glass with the tip of my index finger. "Since he's not going to press charges."
"Replace his shit." Jace drags his glass away from me and my shoddy attempt at artwork and takes a deep gulp before letting me have at it again. "Hopefully he'll learn more about the crazy slags he—”
“That’s an awful word.”
“If the platform stripper heel fits, Williams…” He rolls his eyes. “As I was saying, hopefully he’ll learn more about the crazies he fucks before he lets them move in with him. And if he does let someone move in, he'll kick her out when they break it off instead of letting her hang around for months and leech off him while she fucks every cock that swipes right."
Risking a peek over my shoulder, I feel my throat tighten at the sight of Ash's forlorn expression. Gwendolyn's doing her best to perk him up—all while giving him the same look I probably offered to Jace earlier this evening in my office. The look I pray he doesn't notice.
"Does he realize your cousin is into him?"
"Ehhh." He lifts a hand, tilting it from side to side. "They try to keep things the way they are. Don't want to fuck up a good thing. Plus, she does the occasional work at the shop—helping to pack big shipments. It would be awkward if things went to hell."
Michaela returns to our spot at the bar, plunks our drinks down in front of us, and then slinks away without another word.
She’s still screwing him.
That thought makes me wilt a little more inside.
"I wouldn’t take you for the type to frequent your pissed-off ex-employee’s bar," I blurt out before I give myself a chance to reconsider my words because it’s obvious I wanted to replace employee with girlfriend. Damn, I feel like a fool now. He maneuvers himself ninety degrees on the stool so that his knees brush the outside of my thigh. His beautiful eyes pinch in a playful frown.
"What do you take me as then, Lucy?”
"The type to avoid them at all costs." I say, my voice hoarse. I run my tongue over my lips and look down at his hand resting on his lap. He’s drumming an uneven beat. “Why did you fire her?”
“Why do you care?”
Because I feel a pang of envy every time she looks our way, and I realize she’s been with you. Because there’s lighting beneath my skin whenever we touch. “I don’t.”
He laughs. "All right, love—I'll play this game with you. Michaela worked for me. We fucked. She and I never became an actual thing, and neither of us wanted it. She was fired because she thought the NDA didn’t apply to her because of my appreciation for her cunt.”
“Jace,” I gasp, but he continues.
“We’ve worked it out since then, but she's a touch testy tonight since there's a goddamn beautiful woman right beside me."
I don't know what weighs on my mind more: the fact Jace is so talented in the sack that his ex-employee and former bang buddy is furious at him or that he had just called me beautiful. No, goddamn beautiful. Averting my stare to the sprigs of mint poking out of my drink, I struggle to catch my breath. I hear my phone go off in my purse. There's a ninety-five percent chance it's Tom since Jamie won't message until tomorrow morning with a demand for every single detail of tonight. And then, maybe--just maybe—I'll tell her that Jace Exley called me beautiful. That, though the cockiness is still present in his slate blue gaze, there's something else there too and it's not mockery.
Cupping my mojito between my hands, I bring it to my mouth and take a sip, hoping the rum will take away some of the nerves. The sugar from the rim ends up on my lips, so I dart my tongue out to lick it off.
"Don't," Jace growls. The crisp roughness of that final letter is like friction against my nerve endings, and I feel a familiar pressure building between my thighs.
"Don't what?" I whisper.
"That thing with that little tongue of yours. It makes me want to taste your lips, too." I know how struck I must look when I stiffly twist around to stare at him, our knees touching. Nervously, I fluff my fingers through my black hair. Before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, his hand replaces mine, and I shiver beneath the rough fingertips that splay against my scalp and ravel in my hair.
“Ah, Williams.” He bends his head until his beard scratches my ear. The sweet and spicy aroma of his cologne fills my head, dropping a heavy, cloudy weight on my thoughts.
“Exley,” I breathe, my tone holding none of the warnings I want to convey.
He pulls away slowly, but not before drawing in a breath of the amber-scented perfume that drifts his way. For a moment, I’m sure he’s going to release my hair, but then he shakes his head and presses his forehead to mine. A pained smile lingers on his beautiful features. “Do you’ve any fucking clue what hell it will be to let you go and not taste you when you smell like this? When you keep licking your lips?”
"No." Oh, god, my voice sounds so far away—like it's on an entirely different planet rather than right next to him, in this little bar. “So, what’s stopping you?”
"Because if I tasted you here—” He drops my hair and traces his thumb diagonally over the side of my face until it skims the center of my lips, and my heart bangs violently into the wall of my chest. “I wouldn't stop until I've tasted everywhere—and everything—else." I’m on fire when he sits upright, and I cross my arms over my chest to hide the sudden tightness in my breasts. "And I'm trying really fucking hard not to mix business with pleasure, love."