Chapter Eight
Eden
“What’s this?” Killian asked, looking at the Tupperware container I set on the desk next to his computer. He was sitting on the leather swivel chair, typing something. I noticed he used the hunt and peck method, typing with his index fingers.
“Chocolate chip cookies. They’re for you. I mean, you could share, but I baked them for you.”
He leaned back in his chair and pulled the container into his lap. “You baked them? For me?” The way he said it, you’d think I’d just given him the Taj Mahal. He pried open the lid and looked inside, a perplexed look on his face.
“Do you like chocolate chip cookies?”
“Yeah. I like them. But why?” he asked, his brows knitted, like he couldn’t make sense of why someone would do something nice for him.
I shrugged. I wasn’t entirely sure why I baked him cookies. I was in the grocery store, saw the bag of Nestle chocolate chips, and thought about the things Killian’s dad said to him. Since I’d been the one to bring it up in the car, I wanted to make it better. When we were kids, if we had a bad day at school, my mom always baked with us. While we baked cookies or cupcakes or brownies, we talked about our problems, and by the time we’d finished licking the bowl and spoons, we’d always felt better. Chocolate chip cookies wouldn’t take the sting out of his dad’s words, but I offered them anyway.
“Just to say thank you,” I said. “For giving me a job.”
Ava walked into the office and did a double-take. She looked at the cookies, then at Killian, over to me, and back to Killian. “You’re eating cookies?” She raised her brows as Killian took a bite.
He didn’t answer, because it was obvious he was. “Wow. This is epic. Can I get a photo?”
Killian narrowed his eyes, but didn’t respond. I didn’t understand what the big deal was, and nobody bothered explaining it to me. But Killian seemed happy with his cookies, so that was good enough for me. It only dawned on me later—I’d never baked chocolate chip cookies for Luke.
* * *
My fifth shift at the bar, and I was starting to feel more competent. I was working with Killian and Louis, who was no stranger to the gym. He had a shaved head, his dark skin so smooth and glossy, I was tempted to ask if he waxed it.
Luckily, Louis was a good guy, and he was okay with Killian hiring me.
Although they co-owned the bar, the entire staff took their problems to Killian first. I didn’t know whether it was because Killian was the dominant alpha male, a natural leader, or just a bigger control freak than Louis, who was more laidback and easygoing.
On the first night I’d worked with Louis, he answered the question without me having to ask. “Killian needs to take control of a situation. He doesn’t know any other way.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“I let Killian do what he needs to do. But when he takes it too far, I wade in and make nice with the people he pisses off.”
I laughed. “But you guys are good friends?”
“Yeah. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s good people, and I couldn’t have done this without him.”
In the past week, I learned a few things about Killian. On our drives home, we talked. I did most of the talking, but he didn’t seem to mind. And every now and then, he came out with an insightful observation.
“Is art like therapy for you?” he’d asked one night, genuinely interested in my answer. Killian didn’t make conversation just to hear himself talk, and he didn’t waste his words on idle chit-chat.
“Yeah, it is. I guess it’s easier to express your feelings through painting sometimes. You can take all the crap inside you and put it on the canvas. And believe me, I put a lot of crap on the canvas.”
“I bet it’s not crap,” he’d said, though I’d had no idea what would make him think I was any good.
I also knew Killian worked out at the gym every day and ran in McCarren Park like I did, although our paths had never crossed. He appeared calm on the surface, but I could tell he worked hard to control his temper. I got the feeling he was hiding a lot inside, and he locked down his emotions, like Sawyer—like all the guys in my family. I should have been used to it by now, but I still felt compelled to dig deeper—one of my tragic flaws.
Since I’d moved to Brooklyn, I’d been doing a lot of soul-searching, not only trying to figure out where Luke and I went wrong, but what I wanted out of my life. Growing up in a small town, people labeled you and put you in a box. In high school, I played the role assigned to me. Head cheerleader dating the captain of the football team. Homecoming Queen. Younger sister of the wide receiver, the school’s bad boy who left a trail of broken hearts in his wake. High school was a popularity contest I’d pretended not to play.
I’d always loved art with a passion, but I’d kept it private and never hung out with the artsy kids. I hung out with the jocks and cheerleaders and tried to reconcile those two very different people. College hadn’t been a lot different. Similar people, similar setting, but on a larger scale.
Now, I was living and working at a bar in Williamsburg, a young, artsy, vibrant neighborhood, and nobody had any preconceptions about who I was. I could be myself, in all my flawed glory, and it was liberating. Taking charge of my own life. Figuring out what truly made me happy and surrounding myself with people I liked hanging out with.
I set a draft beer in front of a guy with a blond buzzcut and colorful tattoo sleeves and took his money. When I returned with his change, he and Killian were talking.
“You ever need a tattoo, come and see me at Forever Ink. Name’s Jared.” Jared reached across the bar and shook my hand. “You can see my masterpiece right there on Killian’s arm.”
“That’s good advertising,” I said. “His arm is a work of art.”
Killian gave me a sidelong glance. “You think so?”
“It’s beautiful.”
Jared winked at me. “I like a girl who appreciates good ink.”
“Eden’s an artist,” Killian told Jared.
I raised my brows. An artist?
Killian raised his brows. Yeah. Because I said so.
He said it as if I had paintings displayed in galleries. Meanwhile, the only thing Killian knew about my art was what I had told him.
“When’s Connor coming back?” Jared asked Killian. “The shop’s busy. I could use him.”
Killian cleared his throat. “Soon.”
“Who’s Connor?” I asked. Killian tensed, and even though no part of his body was touching mine, I could still feel it. That’s the way it was for me, though. I could feel him even when he was clear across the room. I’d never experienced that with anyone before, and I didn’t understand why I was so attuned to his moods.
“Killian’s younger brother,” Jared said. “He’s an artist too. A free spirit. Can’t always pin him down.”
Killian rubbed the back of his neck. The conversation was making him uncomfortable. Time for a subject change.
“I’m thinking about getting a tattoo,” I said.
“Do it. Ink is encouraged,” Jared said.
“You want a tattoo?” Killian asked, sounding intrigued by the idea.
I’d considered it before, but never that seriously. “Yes, I want a tattoo.” Jared handed me his card, and I pocketed it.
A little while later, Killian asked where I’d get the tattoo. I placed my hand on my right hip, just below the waistband of my shorts. His eyes darkened, and I needed to turn away from him before I self-combusted.
Working this closely with Killian was proving to be difficult. His arm brushed against mine, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. His chest pressed against my back when he needed to move past me. We did this dance all night long, every night I worked with him.
It was after midnight, and Killian had changed the music to psychedelic trip-hop, giving the bar a chilled-out vibe. A guy walked in the bar and called me over. He had a preppy rich boy look—classically good-looking with brown hair cut in short layers. His gray, tailored suit looked like it had cost more than my rent. I cleared the empty glasses in front of him and wiped down the bar. He ordered a Tecate and a tequila shot. “Start a tab,” he said, handing me his credit card. “Wanna do a shot with me?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
I started a tab and set the beer and tequila in front of him. He downed the shot, set the glass on the counter, and ordered another one. I brought over the bottle and poured.
By the time I served four gin and tonics to a group farther down the bar, he was ready for another round.
“Bad day?” I asked, setting the beer in front of him. He’d taken off his suit jacket and slung it over the back of his stool.
“Shitty day. I lost a lot of money. I’m a trader at a hedge fund.” I nodded like that made perfect sense, even though I didn’t know much about the financial world, and it had never especially interested me.
“Other than the days when you lose money, do you like your job?” I asked, because job satisfaction was a topic that interested me.
“I’m good at what I do. And I like the money. Anyone who says they don’t care about money is lying.” He cuffed the sleeves of his white shirt, revealing a Rolex on his left wrist. “The one with the most toys wins.”
“And I guess you want to be the biggest winner.”
“I have a lot of toys.” He flashed me a smile, confident in his ability to charm. I was sure a lot of girls would fall for it. But making money for the sake of it didn’t impress me. Neither did bragging about his toys.
I left him guzzling his beer and moved on to other customers, but he kept calling me back.
“What’s your name?”
“Eden.”
“If you offered me an apple, I’d succumb to temptation.”
“That was Eve.”
“But the apple came from your garden, Eden.”
“Don’t hold that against me.”
“I won’t. My name’s Adam, by the way.”
“For real?”
He laughed. “For real. Adam and Eden,” he said.
“It was Eve.”
“Eve. Eden.” He reached for my hand and pressed a kiss on it. It was a soft kiss, just a brush of his lips, but it felt strange, and not altogether welcome, so I yanked my hand away. Undeterred, Adam lifted his beer in the air, toasting me. “The beautiful Eve. I’ll drink to that.”
He kept powering through his shots and beers like he was on a mission to see how fast he could get shit-faced. Despite all his toys and money, he was in a bar, drinking alone.
“Eden,” Adam shouted, a little while later. “I need you.”
“Is that guy bothering you?” Killian asked as I rang up a drink order. I slid the tab under the credit card and looked over my shoulder at Adam. His eyes were glossy and unfocused. He had downed a lot of alcohol in a short amount of time, but now I was thinking he’d started long before he came in here.
“He’s harmless. I’ll cut him off though.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
I grabbed his arm to stop him. He looked down at my hand, and I dropped it to my side. “I can handle this.”
He frowned.
“Would you have stepped in if I were Zeke?”
“Zeke doesn’t have guys hassling him,” he scoffed.
“Hey, Killian,” Louis said and we both looked over at him. “If you make yourself crazy over every guy who looks at her, you’ll be too busy to serve the customers.”
Killian ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck. This is exactly why we shouldn’t put women behind the bar.”
I rolled my eyes. Louis winked at me. Killian scowled. I returned to Adam.
“I need more tequila,” Adam said, slurring his words.
“You’ve had enough,” I said firmly.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I need more.” He opened his eyes and grabbed my hand again, but this time his grip was strong, and he tried to pull me closer. “I need you. Come home with me. You know how to make things better, don’t you, Eve?”
I pulled my hand free. “No. I don’t.”
Killian growled. Yes, he growled. “Keep your fucking hands off her.”
Adam leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. “My hands aren’t on her,” he said, his tone surly. “You need to chill out.”
Killian glared at Adam and followed me to the register, getting right in my space as I closed out Adam’s tab. “That was unnecessary,” I said, looking him in the eye. We were so close I could see the thin rim of black around the outside of his iris. Why did he have to smell so good? It was like he’d marinated in pheromones. I was tempted to take a few steps back to fight this chemical reaction, but I held my ground. “I told you I can handle him. Pounding your chest and acting like a caveman is not cool. Not to me, anyway.” I wasn’t overly impressed with Adam, but Killian didn’t need to turn it into a major issue either.
He narrowed his very blue eyes at me. “It’s my job to protect you from assholes. It’s your job to serve drinks. Not to play shrink.”
I rolled my eyes and stepped around the mountain of muscle that was Killian. Setting Adam’s card and receipt in front of him, I handed him a pen. “Is he your boyfriend?” Adam asked.
“No.” I could feel Killian’s eyes boring a hole into the back of my head.
Adam jammed his credit card in his wallet and threw down a wad of cash for a tip. “Give me your number. I’ll take you to dinner.”
I shook my head no and reached for his tab and receipt. My pen still in his hand, he grabbed my arm and wrote his number on it. “Call me.”
I had no intention of ever calling him, and I didn’t want his number on my arm. But Adam smiled like we’d brokered a deal before he turned and stumbled to the door. “Goodnight, Eve,” he called over his shoulder.
On our way home, Killian brought up Adam again. “That guy was all over you. I didn’t like it.”
Was he jealous? It was hard to tell with him. “I was trying to be nice to him.”
“Too nice.” He looked at my arm where Adam’s number was still written in ink. “That’s the kind of guy you like?”
“No, it’s not the kind of guy I like.” Adam had the same preppy golden boy look as Luke, and there had been a time when I was attracted to that type. But Luke and I had met young, and his douchebag behavior, his quest for power and money, and his sense of entitlement, hadn’t been fully developed yet. Adam had already shown me that side of himself, and I knew it wasn’t something I wanted.
“You didn’t wash off his number,” Killian said.
“I didn’t get around to it.” I’d been busy with my closing duties and had mostly forgotten about it. As soon as I got home, I’d scrub it off.
I expected Killian to drop the subject, but he pressed on. “Do you want him to take you to dinner?”
“Why does it even matter to you?” I asked, annoyed with this conversation and his persistence.
Instead of answering, he pressed his lips together. If left to him, the rest of the ride would be in silence.
“Hey, Killian.”
He grunted. Caveman-style.
“Does it hurt to get a tattoo?”
Killian shrugged. “It just feels like a needle scratching your skin. Annoying more than anything. But it doesn’t hurt. Not for me, anyway.”
“Tough guy, huh?”
“Thick skin. Not as delicate as yours.”
“I’m pretty tough.”
“You’re also stubborn. You’d probably say it doesn’t hurt even if it does.”
“Probably. I grew up with boys. They wouldn’t have let me hang out with them if I’d been a big cry baby. Whatever they could do, I could do better.”
“And were you…better?”
I laughed, thinking about some of the stupid stunts I’d pulled. Nine times out of ten they back-fired. Like that dirt bike accident. Sawyer and I built jumps in the woods behind our house. When I took the jump, I bragged, “I’m flying so high I can see straight into the next county.” Unfortunately, I didn’t nail the landing. “No. But not for lack of trying.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
When he pulled up in front of my building, I said, “You’re only a caveman sometimes. When we do talk, you’re a good conversationalist. And you’re not charmless. I’ve seen you be quite charming, so I know you’re capable of it and—”
“You don’t need to lie to protect my feelings.”
“I’m not lying. Underneath your tough exterior, I know—”
“I’m not a gooey marshmallow underneath. Don’t fool yourself into thinking I am.”
He could try to hide it all he wanted, but I knew he was a good person. He’d defended Ava against bullies. He’d given me a job even though I had zero bartending experience. And Jimmy had told me Killian had recruited his taco truck for the courtyard. Before that, Jimmy said he had barely been making ends meet, but now business was good, and he had a steady gig.
I also knew the tattoos on Killian’s arm meant something to him, and he wouldn’t have inked his skin if they didn’t. Someone broke his heart. Stabbed it with a dagger. Even though his face was usually shuttered, I’d seen fleeting moments when it wasn’t. And in the short amount of time I’d known him, I’d started to care about him, and I had an overwhelming urge to protect all the feelings he tried so hard to hide. I didn’t understand why. I just did.
“Where’s your brother?” I asked quietly.
“I don’t know.” He rolled out his shoulders. “He’s a runner. Takes off when things get hard.”
I bet Killian would never run from trouble. I bet he’d stay and fight his corner, even if all the odds were stacked against him. “Everyone has their coping mechanisms.”
“Guess so.”
“If you ever want to throw some paint on a canvas, I can hook you up. It’s good therapy, apparently.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”