* * *

Chapter 1

‘It looks like it might rain’, Aulora thought as she idled at a stoplight. She waited for the green arrow to signal so then she could turn into the parking lot where she worked, becoming more frustrated with each passing moment that the road on both sides stayed empty and that the light stayed red. “C’mon,” she mumbled to herself. “I’m gonna be late.”

Finally, mercifully, the green arrow appeared and she turned across the wide street into a sloped parking lot outside Tackleman’s, the grungy sports bar that had helped her pay her bills for the past two years. The gravelly noise in her engine was back, she noticed, as she situated herself in her favorite parking spot. It’s just because it’s cold, Aullie told herself. She couldn’t afford any significant repairs.

The dated, blue Accord was on its last legs and she was firmly in denial about it. It wasn’t like she had the money for a new car.

Twisting the keys out of the ignition, she snatched her black, canvas, serving apron off the floor from under the passenger seat, amidst an array of discarded receipts and crinkled plastic water bottles. The door creaked as she opened it and again as she slammed it behind her and manually locked it.

The air was crisp and cool, making her snuggle into her fleece-lined hemp hoodie as she crossed the mostly empty parking lot. ‘Great…’ she thought as the chill bit the tip of her nose, ‘…another slow night’.

The front door, a heavy, scuffed monstrosity with fading brass handles and a white TACKLEMAN’S decal, peeling off from the dingy windows, groaned as she yanked it open and a blast of heated air warmed her chilly cheeks. Inside, feel-good music played quietly on a constant loop in the dimly-lit bar.

Tackleman’s boasted thirty-six beers on tap. They were usually out of about twelve of them. A full wet bar, all house liquors, loomed behind a colossal wooden bar plastered with tacky sports memorabilia, flickering neon signs and celebrity mug shots. Worn tables, most with an aged and peeling finish, were scattered around the bar in a sort of ‘wherever it fits, it goes’ design. A low stage sagged into the back corner, near a small, pathetic excuse for a dance floor. It was usually lonely, except for the wretched weekend nights when local bands of graying wannabes did their best to rupture Aullie’s ear drums.

“Hey, Aullie!” a baby-faced blonde called out, galloping up to the front of the bar with an enthused smile. Dammit, Aullie thought, she had really been meaning to learn the new host’s name.

“Hey,” she said vaguely, with a half-assed smile, hoping the girl wouldn’t notice that she hadn’t said her name back.

She didn’t. The girl just rested her elbows on the weathered wooden podium used as the hostess stand. The dusty chalkboard on the front advertised the daily specials in colorful chalk, and whoever had done it that day had some very big, very loopy handwriting done in pink.

“Long time, no see! Am I right?” Blondie tried for a lame, over-friendly joke. Aullie wanted to roll her eyes but resisted the urge. “But hey, look. You’ve got, like, a really good section tonight.”

“Yeah, I would hope so. I told Napoleon I would come in early and close tonight,” Aullie said, peering over the host stand to scan the table chart. Five tables, all large, somewhat clean booths near the bar, plus whatever came in after everyone else was cut. She could work with that.

“Hopefully it gets busy, I’m sooo bored,” the other girl whined.

“Yeah,” Aullie replied bluntly, breaking off the conversation and making her way past the bar and around the tables, to the back.

Some Tackleman’s guests weren’t even sure the bar had a kitchen because it was tucked way back in the far-right corner. There was a short, metal expo line where the kitchen served up the food. Around the corner, it opened to a semi-cramped kitchen that had probably once been pristine and white but was now stained, yellowed and dirty.

One by one, the on-duty cooks acknowledged her, their greetings ranging from ‘Yo, Aullie!’ to a sultry ‘Hey, girl!’ and she nodded or waved in return. Most of them had worked there as long as she had, and some were even like family.

The kitchen backed up to another partial wall, behind which were the manager’s office and two rows of coat hooks for the staff. Several jackets and various sizes of backpacks hung from the hooks already and Aullie wriggled out of her sweatshirt and hung it off one of the hooks on the lower rack. She tied her apron around her waist, securing the strings with a double-knotted bow under her belt buckle and tucking it under the flap. She checked her pockets; coasters on the left, order book in the center, and a cluster of pens in the right. She was good to go.

The door to the manager’s office was most often closed but not on that night. Through the opening, she heard a familiar voice call out, “Aullie, is that you?”

The nasally utterance grated on her nerves. She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes, then crept up to the door and peeked around into the office. As per usual, it was tiny, cramped, and the desk was littered with papers. Shelves on the walls were packed with books and binders and there were six huge bottles of pineapple vodka, leftover from another promo flop, crowded in the back corner.

A very short, very thin, very pockmarked man in a stiff, charcoal gray button-up with a pair of wiry glasses sat in the bulky, black office chair, typing furiously on a keyboard attached to a clunky desktop monitor.

“What do you need, Eric?” she asked, the airy, pleasant professionalism in her voice masking her deep, preoccupying loathing for the tiny man and his huge attitude.

“Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for coming in and helping me out tonight. We had two servers call in tonight if you can imagine that, and as always, I just wanted to thank you for all your hard work and being such a team player.” Eric said it all without looking away from the screen. The lack of eye contact only added to the professional yet wildly insincere tone that he always seemed to have.

“Yeah, of course,” she replied. “You know me, I need the money.”

“Yeah, art majors usually tend to need help with that.”

“Yeah,” she replied bluntly. “Can you come clock me in?”

Eric stood and Aullie, at only five-foot-seven, could see straight over his head. His height, or lack thereof, coupled with his hair-trigger temper and inflated self-importance had earned him the nickname Napoleon, among his staff. As they walked together back up to the point-of-sale computers, Aullie nursed her battered ego.

She wished his playful jab at her chosen career path still hadn’t damaged any hope she had harbored for making it as an artist, but after the show that weekend, there wasn’t much left there for him to damage.

Truth was, she was coming up on three years of learning to draw, and to paint, and which colors to do it with, and which artist was responsible for every painting. Three years of late nights spent sketching, erasing, re-sketching, smudging, coloring, color-mixing, painting, and swearing. Three years of smudged fingertips, washing brushes, and praying countless stains come out in the wash or the shower. And in three months, when she had walked across the stage to receive her fine arts diploma, she knew that she was walking into an unforgiving world whose approval she would need if she ever hoped to pay her rent.

Sure, she had known that going in but she hadn’t really known it until she’d put her heart and soul up on the walls in front of gallery owners and private buyers and walked away with only sixty dollars and not a single showing contract. It had been five days since the show but the wound still sucked at her gut like a raw, angry hunger.

‘I’m going to be waiting tables forever’, Aullie thought morosely. She pictured herself as an old woman, liver spots on her pale, slender hands and shots of gray through her inky black hair, serving Irish car bombs to college boys and her heart sank halfway to her knees.

She tapped her login code, 8134, into the POS which popped up a window that read, ‘Clock in time was: 4:30 PM. Are you early?’

Eric swiped his manager card to complete her clock-in and she was good to go. Ready to serve all of the tables that weren’t there. Awesome!

“Where’s your name tag?” Eric barked, short and snappy like a little Yorkie.

With a resigned sigh, Aullie said, “In my pocket.” She began to dig it out.

“Why isn’t it on your shirt?” Eric asked, smugly.

“It’s getting there,” Aullie said, locking eyes with him as she fussed with the magnetic back to attach it under her collarbone. Her tone was playful but her eyes said beware. Eric turned and walked away, an ugly, smarmy smile on his little face.

Nobody else would be there until five and she had forgotten to ask Eric what the new host’s name was. Aullie didn’t really want to talk to her anyway, so she wandered around the restaurant wiping crumbs off chairs with a wet rag, refilling the already full ice bin, brewing new tea they probably didn’t need, anything to keep her mind off her failure as an artist.

Not a failure. She chastised herself for her negative self-talk. A lot of the greats didn’t make it big at first. The thought perked her up a little bit; it was true, a lot of stellar artists weren’t big and famous right off the bat. She was only twenty-two, she had time to get better, right? A sinister voice nagged at the back of her head. A lot of the greats still didn’t make any money either.

The next few hours dragged on. There was supposed be a pot for the football game at seven, but at a quarter-til, there was still only about one table per server and a few bearded men cluttering the bar. Aullie had only made thirteen dollars in almost three hours and once again, she was regretting helping Eric out. She practically lived there, especially on the weekends, and she was beginning to wonder if she should try to find another job.

As if on cue, about four minutes to kickoff, a small herd of men in team colors lumbered into the bar. They yelled, high-fived, back-clapped, and whooped as they all blazed past the host stand and began seating themselves at random around the bar.

Aullie exchanged looks across the drink station with Brittany, a beautiful, full-figured Latina who was probably Aullie’s only real work friend. They rolled their eyes in sync. The two of them straightened out their aprons, allowing the men to settle themselves in as the other three waitresses hovered around as they all readied to strike.

Three of Aullie’s booths filled up and she started at the furthest, number eleven.

“Hey there guys.” She switched into server mode: perky, smiley, and just a little bit flirtatious. “I’m Aullie, I’m going to be taking care of you. What are we drinking?”

The order; three Coors lights and two jack and cokes. The second booth at table twelve were all older, overweight, married men who leered at the low-V neckline on her work shirt. They ordered two pitchers of beer and a round of fireball shots. She shuffled down to table fourteen, ready to gear up her spiel and take some more orders but suddenly her breath was sucked away.

There were four men at the table. The first man had a rough beard and wore a classic plaid flannel, semi-hot in a hipster lumberjack sort of way. The second man was clean cut, blonde and baby-faced wearing a crisp oxford. The third had a mess of unruly bushy hair escaping from an upside-down and backward sport visor. He was wearing a hockey jersey for some reason. But the fourth man.

The fourth man was a dream come true.

Even though he was sitting down, she could tell he was tall. Aullie had always been a sucker for tall guys. He was long and lean, with great posture. He wore a fitted Henley that hugged his thick, athletic arms. The thin fabric strained against his swollen pecs. He had that brownish-blonde hair that women paid good money for, but Aullie was sure it was natural.

His golden hair was barely brushed. Thick, prominent brows framed a stunning pair of practically gold hazel eyes. His full lips were twisted in a predatory grin as those gold eyes bore into her so intensely, Aullie couldn’t breathe. Something about the man struck her to her core. He looked at her the way a leopard would a gazelle, and she was startled to find she felt almost... aroused.

The spell was broken, thankfully, when Visor Boy leapt up. His knees jostled the table, he pumped his fist in the air, yelling, “WOOOO DOGGY! Yeah! Go boys, go boys!” His fist pump narrowly missed Aullie’s head. The sudden commotion distracted her and gave her heart a different reason to race. Golden Eyes still watched her, before he chuckled slightly and she felt heat rise in her cheeks.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized, with a smooth British accent.

‘Of course, he has a British accent’, Aullie thought lustfully. “Oh, it’s no problem,” she stammered. “I’m Aullie, I’ll be taking care of you guys.”

“Well, that’s a weird way to spell it,” Visor Boy cut her off, leering at her name tag. “Isn’t that a boy’s name? Like O-l-l-i-e?”

“Usually, yeah,” Aullie replied, hoping her to make her irritation sound light-hearted. “So, can I get you guys something to drink?”

Lumberjack wanted a Sam Adams, Baby Face got a gin and Tonic, and Visor Boy got a double Jack and Coke. Golden Eyes asked how she got her name.

“Oh, uh,” she stuttered. “My real name is Aulora, like Aurora but with an L in the middle? But I end up getting called ‘Laura’ a lot and I just prefer Aullie.”

“Beautiful,” his sexy accent purred. “And so unique. I like it. Could you get me a short stout and a shot of Jameson?”

“Which stout? We have…”

He cut her off. “Surprise me.”

The way he said it, the wicked gleam in his eye, the sensuous curl to his lips, and that voice. Aullie wasn’t usually one to get so star-struck by men, but she wanted to surprise him with so much more than just a beer. She tapped away at the POS. Thankful she had written everything down before Mister British scrambled her brain.

Brittany walked up behind her, flicking overflowed beer off her manicured hands. She examined her precious fake nails, currently Tiffany-box blue with sparkly silver bows ironically adorning her third fingers.

“Hey, Brit,” Aullie called, wiggling her fingers in front of the screen.

“Yo,” Brittany joked in her fake Chola voice.

In more of a commanding tone than she meant to use, Aullie ordered, “You have to run my drinks to table fourteen.”

An instant glare moved over the other waitress’s, overly made up, face. “Bitch, why? Do your own job.”

“Bitch, because there’s a guy there. He’s built, hot as hell, and British.”

“Oh, honey, consider me there.” She sashayed her voluptuous buttocks over to the bar to snatch the drinks before someone else could. Aullie laughed and shook her head as she finished ringing everything up.

Aullie began filling fifteen waters, hoping to keep everyone at least a little sober. Cutting people off was a hassle that she wasn’t feeling up to. She took them to her other tables first, ensuring that Brittany could get in on the eye candy. Then she took some orders for potato skins, hot wings, and fried cheese. She walked straight past table fourteen when she saw Brittany at the computer. If she’d been paying attention, Aullie would’ve noticed the dreamy British hunk watching her like a hawk.

“So, what do you think?” Aullie asked Brittany with a wicked smile.

“Oh my god, girl, total ten. Get his number and send me pictures when you do him,” Brittany said. She waggled her perfect, penciled-in eyebrows and bumped her hips against Aullie’s suggestively as she worked the computer.

“Oh, whatever,” Aullie laughed. “Guys like that don’t leave me their number. Guys like his weird buddy in the visor leave me their number. And I am not going out with him.” She shuddered at the thought of spending an evening with that buffoon.

Brittany clucked disapprovingly. “Next time you go shopping make sure you find some confidence that fits you, girl. You could totally bag that. Oh shit, some dude’s waving me down. Asshole,” she muttered under her breath as she wandered off toward an acne-ridden blonde who was staring her down as though she were a chunk of meat.

‘Gotta love the bar business’, Aullie thought.

Chapter 2

Appetizer orders in, Aullie took another trayful of waters back to table fourteen, where she was actually grateful to see the men all invested in the game.

“Here are these for you guys, just in case,” she said cheerfully as she arranged the glasses in front of the four men, snatching away the Brit’s empty shot glass. The TV was behind her and none of them looked away, except for Golden Eyes. His smoldering stare made her feel warm, almost feverish.

“Thank you,” he politely said. When no one else budged, he spoke a bit louder to his friends. “Thank the lady.”

The three of them seemed to reanimate from their dumbstruck sports faces, and a chorus of quiet, habitual thanks were heard round the table.

“So, are we eating? Or…”

Before she could finish, Aullie was once again cut off by Visor Boy. “Fuck yeah, let’s get some wings! Like, a butt-ton of wings!”

“Dylan, what the hell is wrong with you? I’m sorry about him, Miss Aullie,” the way Golden Eyes said her name with a formal title tickled her a little. She wasn’t exactly used to manners in the dive that she worked in. “I’m Weston, by the way.” Not only was it kind of a sexy name, but his accent really gave some body to the ‘W’, making it sound almost regal.

“Nice to meet you, Weston,” Aullie could practically feel her nervous knees knocking together. Get a grip, Aulls, she silently told herself to pull herself together. “So. Wings. What flavor? What sauces for dipping? How many? What are we doing?”

There was some grumbling between the men. Clearly, no one was prepared, and as much as Aullie enjoyed being in Weston’s presence, she did have other things to do. She hoped her anxious jiggling and flicking eyes weren’t too noticeable, but finally the conclusion was come to that they would have one pound of medium and one pound of sweet and spicy Thai with ranch and bleu cheese. She jotted a note on the pad in her order book, promised them it would be right out, and turned to leave.

Before she could take even two steps away, Dylan raucously called, “Oh yeah, and some shots! Make it a round of Jame-o!”

Though irritated, Aullie turned, smiled and scribbled on her pad to acknowledge that she’d heard. Weston glared at his friend, shaking his head and smiling as he brought the glass of thick, dark beer to his lips. Aullie wondered briefly how two such different men had become friends.

Orders were taken, drinks and food were run to tables, and eventually the bar settled back into a lull. The waitresses hung out in hidden corners, gossiping, giggling and complaining out of view of their tables. Aullie’s feet had begun to ache and she was startled to see that it was already half-time.

With eleven and twelve managed, Aullie sauntered over to table fourteen. Though Weston was definitely the highlight of her night, Dylan had wasted no time getting half-cocked on shots and it turned out that he was even more obnoxious when he was intoxicated.

She approached with caution, asking, “Everything alright over here?”

The question was met with an enthusiastic, “Woo!” right into her face. Dylan’s breath stank of hot sauce and whiskey.

“So, I’ll take that as a yes?” She was trying for coy, hoping her exhaustion and annoyance weren’t showing yet.

“We’re great,” the lumberjack said. “I’m sorry about him, I don’t know why he’s acting like such a dick.” With the last word, he turned angry eyes on Dylan and kicked him under the table.

“Really, it’s fine. He’s super mellow compared to what usually goes on here. You guys are first timers, huh?”

She’d directed the question at the group, hoping Weston would answer for them, but unfortunately, it was Dylan who said, “Nah, we’ve been in a few times before but didn’t even realize this was, like, the place to watch the game. You guy’s got a great set up here.”

“Oh, you mean all these?” Aullie held her hands out and gestured at their TV collection. It really was ridiculous, there were more TV’s in the bar than there were tables. On days when there were multiple games, it actually got super disorienting with all those colorful bodies moving out of sync.

“Yeah. Those.” There was a libidinous tone to Dylan’s reply, and his muddy brown eyes were squarely on her chest.

Aullie narrowed her eyes. “Too bad those aren’t for public viewing,” she spat. Before he could annoy her any further, Aullie stalked away. Some girls thrived under that kind of attention, and Aullie really didn’t understand. It just felt so… smarmy.

The second half of the game sounded like an exciting one, lots of table pounding and drawn out ohhhhh’s in the dining room. However, Eric had decided to cut the floor so that everyone could get all of their side work done by the time that their tables finished so then everyone could clear out and stop wasting his labor hours on a bunch of table-campers.

Aullie rushed around, almost frantically, assigning and checking everyone else’s little chores for the night and scribbling her messy signature on checkout forms. Fully aware of how much she had been neglecting her tables, she regretfully marched down the row of booths, dropping off checks and hiding her worn-out soul behind a peppy little mask.

Eleven and twelve were both ready to tab out, thank God, and she approached fourteen to find Weston gone. The other three men made signing motions in the air and Lumberjack said, “All on one check.”

Aullie wondered idly where he’d gone, but was frankly too tired to care anymore. After a long day of classes, studio time, and then a work shift, she was completely worn out. Plus, like she’d told Brittany, it wasn’t like anything would ever happen between them anyway, so it wasn’t like his being there was going to change anything.

Aullie passed out tabs, collected cards, ran cards, returned tabs and, bid all her happy patrons a good night, all without another sighting of Weston.

‘Oh well’, she thought. Dylan had paid fourteen’s tab, and Aullie watched him from the POS as he continued to scribble on the receipt long after he should’ve been finished signing it.

“Told you I’d get weirdo Visor Boy’s number,” Aullie grumbled to Brittany, who was slipping into her coat to leave for the night.

“Bummer girl, I’m sorry,” she replied. Suddenly, Brittany perked up, pointing a bright teal finger in the air. “Unless! Maybe British Dream had to leave early on some kind of emergency or something and dipshit over there is giving you his number instead!”

“Yeah, ha ha,” Aullie’s voice was dripping with sarcasm and she rolled her eyes. She hugged Brittany goodnight and waved at the other girls who were heading out the door.

Eventually, Dylan and his friends left too. Aullie walked the row of booths, tucking checkbooks into her apron pockets and balancing cold, dirty glasses in her arms. The bar stank of fried food and spilled beer, and the air was hotter and muggier than it had been before the rush.

She carried her mound of glassware to the dish pit in the back, the humidity was almost choking. Water rushed through the pipes, the pressure-washing dish machine whirred. It was only ten, so the bar wouldn’t close for two more hours, but the kitchen had begun shutting down most of their stations.

Tackleman’s late-night menu, like most sports bars, consisted of just a few low-maintenance fried appetizers but no one expected it to get busy again.

They were right, too. Aullie and a tall, ginger-haired bartender named Danielle, fielded the five men, total, that came into the bar once everyone cleaned out. By closing time, the bar was swept, mopped, vacuumed, and scrubbed from top to bottom and Aullie had Eric clock her out.

“How was your night?” he asked, not looking up as he flipped through the pile of receipts in her checkout.

“Another night in paradise,” she said with a weak smile.

“Did you want this?” he asked, holding up a receipt.

“Want what?” she asked, but looking closer she saw it was table fourteens receipt. “Oh that, no thanks.”

“You sure?” Eric said jokingly. “You’re just gonna ruin poor Mr. uh…” he squinted through his glasses, “Weston’s night.”

Aullie’s eyebrows shot up. “Is it actually Weston’s number?”

“That’s what it says.”

Aullie snatched the slim sheet of paper away from him. She honestly hadn’t even read what was on the back, and she couldn’t believe that Brittany may be right.

But there it was; a note and ten digits in a very traditionally male chicken scratch:

Weston had 2 go but wanted me to leave u his #

Chapter 3

“You should call him.”

“I’m not gonna call him.”

“But you should.”

“But I’m not gonna.”

Aullie smiled. She and Brittany sat together in two oversized, worn leather chairs inside their local Starbucks. The air smelled pleasingly of coffee and all around them, people of varying ages, genders, and nationalities tapped away on MacBooks and sipped from white cardboard cups. The seasonal flavors were back and Brittany had practically begged Aullie to go get her first pumpkin spice latte of the season. Aullie wasn’t much of a Starbucks fan usually, but she had wanted to tell Brittany that she was right about Weston. Plus, a peppermint mocha had sounded pretty good.

The receipt with Weston’s number scrawled on it was wrinkled slightly and sat on the tiny end table between them. Despite herself, Aullie couldn’t help staring at it as though it was magically going to start talking to her.

“But you have to call him,” Brittany whined.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Aullie said, sucking down some creamy, mint-chocolatey goodness. “Why would I want to go out with some guy who can’t give me his number himself? Ten bucks says the number is actually his weird-ass friend, pretending to be him anyway.”

“But what if he really had to leave? What if he’s like, a surgeon or something? Running off in the dark of the night to go save lives.” Brittany, with her usual dramatic flair, placed a hand over her heart.

“Good, then I’m definitely not interested,” Aullie laughed.

“Oh yeah.” Brittany’s face soured. “I forgot you’re weird and don’t like rich guys.”

It was true. When Aullie’s mom, Evelynn Greene, was in her twenties, she had wanted nothing more than to be an actress. She worked hard slinging coffee and eggs at a diner in the mornings so then she could spend her afternoons on stage, doing plays for small local theatres.

During her moving performance as a schizophrenic in The House of Blue Leaves, she had caught the eye of a man in the audience. The man was Charles Wohrl, a tall, dark, and handsome stereotype with family money who didn’t have to try hard to win her heart.

Two years later, they ended up with the lovely baby; Aulora Jane Wohrl. From the time that she was born to the time she was fourteen, Aulora had lived a wealthy life of big houses, private schools, and nice cars. She hadn’t known anything different until her mother came into her room one day, in tears, explaining that her father had gone.

As it turned out, Evelynn had been so enamored with Charles, that she had accepted his plans to never marry. When it turned out, after fourteen years, that having a family was too much of a financial inconvenience and her father had simply walked out. Some say he moved, some say he just kept himself cleverly hidden but either way, he was gone and Evelynn and Aulora were left penniless.

The women had pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and got Aullie through public school in a tiny apartment. She and her mother were able to make do. But ever since, she had harbored a bitter dislike for rich men. She had even changed her name. Aullie was determined to never depend on a man. Financially or otherwise.

“Well, what if he’s like, a plumber or something? Yeah, like a sexy British emergency plumber who saves people from late night septic tank disasters.” The excitement in Brittany’s voice was endearing, even though the idea was ridiculous.

Aullie appreciated Brittany’s vested interest in her love life, but she really hated dating. Plus, that guy was way too sexy to be a plumber.

“Seriously Britt, it’s probably just his dumb trashy friend. I’m not letting that guy have my number.”

“Well fine,” Brittany said, snatching the receipt off the table and swiping open her phone. “He can have mine.”

“No!” Aullie shouted, springing up from her seat and reaching for the little device as Brittany brought it up to her ear and blocked it with a girly little giggle.

Aullie sat back heavily in her own chair with a resigned sigh. She was fully aware Brittany was unstoppable, once she got moving with an idea.

“It’s ringing,” Brittany hissed, an ecstatic twitter in her voice. Aullie dropped her head into her hands. She was embarrassed for Brittany who, now that she thought about it, had probably never even felt embarrassment before in her life.

Suddenly, Brittany gave an excited little cry and slapped her hand over the microphone. She squealed, “British! Take it.” She tossed her phone at Aullie.

She barely caught the sparkly pink phone and shot a giggling Brittany a death glare. “Hello?” she asked lightly, bringing the phone to her ear. Her heart hammered in her chest.

“Hello? Is someone actually there?” There was a hint of a smile in the smooth British voice and Aullie’s hammering heart was soon met by a flutter of butterflies in her stomach.

“Um, yeah, hi,” she stammered. Brittany looked on, wide eyed with glee, and Aullie turned herself sideways a bit, so she felt she had some semblance of privacy. “It’s, um, Aullie. From the bar, last night? I think your friend left me your number.” She was fully aware and swollen with instant regret for how utterly stupid and ridiculous she sounded.

“Oh, Aullie! Great, I was pretty bummed out when I had to step out and didn’t get a chance to speak with you again. I was somewhat worried that you wouldn’t call.”

“Yeah, well, here I am,” Aullie said with a forced laugh.

He returned the laugh politely. “Yes, here you are. Now I know this is a long shot but is there any chance you’re free tonight? I’d love to take you out to dinner.”

“Oh, shoot, um, I actually have to work tonight.”

“NO, SHE DOESN’T!” Brittany yelled almost directly into the mouth piece.

Aullie covered it and shot her a dirty look. “Can you hold for just one second?” She didn’t wait for a reply, just stuck the phone on mute.

“Britt! What are you doing? I, one hundred percent do actually work tonight.”

“Not anymore,” Brittany leered, with a Cheshire Cat grin. “I’m taking your shift and you’re going because he is hot and British and you haven’t had a date, or even a night out, in how long?”

“I can’t, come on, you know how badly I need the money.”

“No. Stop. You’ll make money on both your doubles this weekend. You’ll be fine. What you need is some time for you. You’re going!”

Brittany was right. It had been a while. She un-muted the phone and brought it back to her ear. “Well, I guess I got the night off tonight. I’d love to go to dinner with you.”

Weston chuckled and said, “Great. I’ll pick you up at say, half past seven?”

“Sounds great. I’ll text you my address from my real number, this phone isn’t mine.”

“Excellent. I’m glad to have heard from you Aullie.” The way her name rolled off his tongue made her feel weak. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Bye,” she squeaked. She hung up the phone and tossed it back to Brittany. “Well, I hope you’re happy.”

She smiled back, her full, flawlessly-lined lips twisted devilishly.

“I’m thrilled actually. And one of these days, probably tomorrow, you’re going to be thanking me.”

“Whatever,” Aullie rolled her eyes but she knew Brittany was probably right. If she was being honest, she was pretty excited. “What am I gonna wear?”

“Let’s go shopping and find out.” Brittany winked. The girls tossed their empty white cups in the trash can, gathered their purses, and headed out to Aullie’s groaning little Accord.

Chapter 4

‘This was a mistake’, Aullie thought, once again straightening the hem of her dress. Her raven hair fell stick straight halfway down her back, her straight-cut bangs brushed her freshly plucked eyebrows. Her fair skin was subtly made up and her steel-colored eyes lined with subtle little black wings.

She wore a high-cut, sleeveless dress the color of an eggplant that hugged her slender body, with an asymmetrical skirt that showed a little more of her long, porcelain thigh on one side than she was used to. Since she was already bordering on tall for a girl, she had tried to convince Brittany that flats were a better option. Britt had simply said, “In a dress like that, heels are the only option.” So there Aullie was, teetering slightly on a pair of strappy black wedges.

She stood outside her apartment complex, hoping to spare poor Weston the chore of finding her cramped little studio apartment. Her nervous eyes watched the traffic, worrying that he either wouldn’t show or worse, that he was going to show up in some flashy, rich-boy car.

The seconds ticked by painfully slow. She checked the time on her phone in her small black clutch for the hundredth time and it was still only seven twenty-four. Why had she come out so early?

Suddenly, a car rumbled to a stop near the curb in front of her. The beaten Volkswagen bug looked like a bulbous little dinosaur. It quite possibly could’ve been one of the first bugs ever made. The exterior was dinged up and painted sunset orange. The artist in Aullie fell in love with the unforgettable little car immediately, the rest of her soon followed suit when the passenger window rolled down and Weston ducked his head to look out and greet her. He reached across the interior of the car and pulled the handle, the door swung open and he tapped the passenger seat, inviting her in.

Her heavy shoes clicked against the pavement as she trotted over and climbed in. The worn, sun-bleached brown leather covering the seats was soft and had been well maintained. The whole car smelled hearty and delightfully old. Then, there was Weston.

Even in a simple navy striped button down and crisp dark jeans, he looked like a living, breathing GQ cover. His hair was swept back neatly but didn’t look too heavily gelled, which Aullie was happy with. Nothing grosser than trying to push your fingers through a sticky mess of gel, she thought. His almost inhuman golden eyes flashed in the last bits of evening sun, up this close, Aullie noticed a ring of green around his pupils. And his smell, boy was it heady. Warm, musky and manly. His lips were set in an easy-going smile as his eyes took her in, from her metallic purple toenails all the way up.

“You look amazing,” he said.

‘God, your voice is like honey’, she thought to herself, suddenly desperate to taste his mouth. “Thank you,” she said, bashfully looking down into her lap. “You do too, seriously.”

“I knew I’d have to be standing next to you all night, so I did my best.” He set his wide hand, with its long delicate fingers, on the gear shift and wiggled it around. His knee jerked as he pumped the clutch and with a low groan and a pungent blast of diesel smoke, the ancient bug shifted into drive and then merged onto the street.

“I do have to say, I really love this car,” Aullie said.

“Thank you,” Weston said with a wide, genuine smile. “I actually rebuilt it myself. Always had a thing for VW beetles. My brother and I were big into the ‘slugbug’ game when we were younger. I always told him I was going to get one when I was older so that I’d always see at least one in the morning so I’d have a head start.”

Aullie laughed. “That’s cute.”

“When I saw this one it was basically a pile of rust, but I saw it’s potential and, well, here it is. Up, running and all.”

“So, you painted it bright orange?”

“Yes,” he said, abashed. “I thought it would be fun. Don’t see many orange ones anymore do you?”

“Haha, no. It’s funny, though, orange is one of my favorite colors. It’s just so… I don’t know. Happy.”

“Happy,” he said, nodding as he considered it. “Well, I guess that’s the perfect word for it. I’m honestly just happy that it runs.” As if to illustrate his point, the car screeched as they pulled up to a stoplight, the brakes clearly weren’t as happy as he was that the ancient car was running.

“So, where are we going?” Aullie asked. The ice still hadn’t quite been broken. She was definitely nervous. Weston was not the usual caliber of man she went out with, physically at least. He was so good-looking that she almost wondered if she was dreaming.

“Actually, we’re not going anymore,” he said with a smile.

Alarm exploded through Aullie. “What do you mean by that?” I knew he was too good to be true. I feel for this attractive little trap, and now he’s some kind of serial killer. He’s kidnapped me. I’m going to die in this little orange bug!

“Because we’re here.” The slyness in his eyes acknowledging that he’d heard the mild panic in her voice and that his little joke had been a success on his end.

The adrenaline that had surged through Aullie’s veins seemed to instantly dissolve. She gave a shaky laugh, feeling an embarrassed blush stain her cheeks.

Weston worked the vintage bug into a parking spot on the side of the two-lane street. As it turned out, he was not a very adept parallel parker. Thankfully the bug was small, so he was able to maneuver it in without hitting the parked cars in front of and behind them.

“Wait here a sec,” he said, opening the door and stepping out. Aullie watched him curiously as he walked around the front of the bug. It was only when his hand touched her door handle that she realized what was going on. He was opening the door for her.

Who says chivalry is dead?

She had a fairly active dating life, although not quite as much in the last few months with her heavy school load and ever-increasing financial demands that kept her practically living in the bar to get by, but no man had ever done this for her. She was thoroughly impressed, and still a little blown away as he took her hand and helped her out of the low little car.

Aullie stumbled slightly on her heels but wasn’t sure whether the wedges or Weston’s warm smile that was making her knees wobbly.

‘Those are some straight, white teeth’, she thought, alarmingly aware of how smitten she was with this man that she knew almost nothing about.

Weston had parked in front of a local strip mall, a block long congregation of small local businesses. Taking Aullie’s arm in his, he guided her to a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant that she had never been too. Making for an interesting first date location.

He pulled open the door, which tinkled a little bell. He gestured for Aullie to enter before him and she gave him a small nod, an involuntary smile playing at her full lips. She caught Weston’s gaze, resting hungrily on her mouth and knew the deep red lipstick had been a good choice.

The decor was tacky and colorful. Big, flashy sombreros, rough oil paintings of Aztec warriors, landscapes dotted with small adobe buildings, and beautiful handmade clay plates covered most of the wall space. Bright fake parrots hung from the ceiling on little metal swings. The paint behind them was deep, golden yellow with ornate white trim along the ceilings and floors. The air inside was warm and smelled heartily of spice and meat, and Aullie immediately felt her mouth water.

Weston pulled her chair out for her, earning him, even more, brownie points. He took his seat across from her and said, “I love this place; it’s a little, under-credited gem. The family migrated here from Mexico about fifteen years ago, if I remember correctly, and they’re very cultural. Their food is also all totally traditional and amazing. Best refried beans I’ve ever had.”

“Well, I’m definitely excited to try them then,” Aullie said, her nerves beginning to relax a bit. The atmosphere there was so welcoming, so full of life, she couldn’t take her eyes off the eccentrically decorated walls. “I love the little parrots,” she said, pointing to the plastic birds.

“They’re something, aren’t they?” He chuckled. Lowering his voice, he said, “I’ve actually named them.” He pointed from bird to bird, first a green one, then a blue one. “That’s Miguel, that’s Juan.” Then to a red one. “That’s Rosalita.” Lastly to yellow one. “And that’s Steve.”

Aullie couldn’t help a burst of laughter. “All those traditional names, then Steve?”

Weston shrugged and gave her a wink. “Why not?”

Aullie couldn’t fault that logic, she thought with a giggle. She shook her head at him with a playful smile. He was just so charming and funny too, and she could listen to that smooth, lilted voice all day.

A short, squat Mexican woman in a frilly red blouse, tight black skirt and flesh-colored hose with clunky black shoes approached the table. Her hair was scraped back into a severe bun and she wore a large fake flower behind one ear.

“Hola,” she greeted them, placing a large one-page menu in front of each of them. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked with a heavy accent.

“You a margarita fan?” he asked Aullie.

“Oh yeah,” she replied.

“Make it dos margaritas,” he said, no shame in his broken Spanish. The little woman nodded with a toothy grin and scampered away as quickly as she had come.

“So, Aullie,” The way his beautiful mouth said her name still really got to her. “Tell me about yourself.”

So, she did. Just the bare bones, that she was a waitress full time and enjoyed it well enough, that she lived alone with a fat gray tabby cat named Bruce, and that she was going to art school.

“Art school huh? That must be fulfilling. Interesting too, I bet.”

Aullie batted the comment away, still nursing disappointment and doubt after the show last weekend and not really wanting to talk about school or her art. She hadn’t even been able to paint for a week, she’d been so distraught. Usually, she did two or three a week. “It’s alright, not quite what I’d imagined it would be.”

Thankfully, before he could probe further, the waitress set two massive margarita glasses in front of them. ‘Good thing I’m not driving’, Aullie thought.

“Are we ready to order?” the waitress asked, wide smile firmly in place.

Aullie wasn’t, she actually hadn’t even touched the laminated menu the woman had set down before. She was about to say no, when Weston asked, “You trust me? I could order for you.”

Surprised again at his gentlemanly manner, she nodded and agreed, “Sure.”

His ability to pull off a take-charge attitude without being oppressive really impressed her. She felt like a woman in good care, not smothered. Something she wasn’t sure that she had ever actually experienced with a man but she was definitely a fan.

“How about that plate with a bit of your best dishes, Senorita?”

With a nod, the waitress scurried away and Aullie’s eyes fell back on the handsome man who sat across from her. “Your turn,” she said. “Tell me about yourself, Weston.”

“There’s not much to tell, honestly,” he said with a semi-shy smile. But, it turned out he had plenty to tell. “I work for an internet start-up my dad created, which is wonderful because I get to do most of my work from home. I won’t bore you with the details about that, though. In all honesty, it isn’t a very exciting job. I have a thirteen-year-old chocolate lab named Titan. He’s my little buddy, and quite possibly the coolest dog who’s ever lived. We play fetch in the park twice a week. You already met my mate Dylan.” He rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I sure have. How did you two meet? You seem, um... very... different,” she said, struggling not to sound offensive.

He laughed. “Yeah, you could say that. We met in school. I spent my younger years in England, with my mother. My parents split when I was little. Dad moved here to chase some ‘American Dream’ fantasy. Mum passed when I was fifteen. I’ll stop you right there, don’t apologize. Unless you’re responsible for cancer, I really don’t need to hear it,” he said with a genuine smile. “But once I moved here, I struggled for a while. I was always quiet and not very quick to make friends. Long story short, Dylan befriended me and we went through a lot of our wilder years together, and a couple of tough times too. Hard to break a bond like that, even if you’ve matured faster than the other person, you know?”

“I understand that,” she said, nodding. The guy was deep, and she was entranced by him. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how old are you?”

“I’ll be twenty-nine in a week,” he replied. “How old are you?”

The difference in their ages didn’t bother Aullie much, she actually preferred older guys, though seven years was a decent gap. “Twenty-two,” she answered. “I hope the difference doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all, though I would’ve pegged you to be a little older. Twenty-four or five. But no, it doesn’t matter. You’re mature for your age, though.”

“Thank you,” Aullie responded with a grateful nod. It wasn’t the first time she had heard that.

The conversation flowed; relaxed, comfortable, and Aullie had so many more questions. She wanted to learn everything she could about the gorgeous man. Before she could, however, two steaming plates were placed between them. Her empty stomach took over. There was hunger in her stare as she took in the assorted plate of glorious Mexican food that the waitress had placed in front of her.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, but now you’ve got options,” Weston laughed. He pointed to the food as he described it; one cheese enchilada, one small chicken burrito, a chile relleno, and a beef empanada all slathered in various sauces and arranged next to a mountain of refried beans topped with a sprinkle of yellow cheese and red Mexican rice. It looked and smelled divine, and Aullie thanked him as she dug in.

The tastes, the textures, the spices, the stretch of the stringy melted cheese, every single detail fired up her senses and she couldn’t help the delighted moan that slipped out. Weston smiled, digging into his food with nearly the same enthusiasm. Their conversation comfortably stalled as they ate, the vocal silence punctuated by the clink and scrape of silverware against plates.

As the wolfing and chewing began to slow, the conversation resumed. The amicable conversation covered their tastes in music, TV, and books. It turned out Weston was an avid reader and, as they pushed the cleaned plates to the edge of the table, he detailed his specific love for Shakespeare.

“I don’t know what it is about his work,” he gushed. “The man was a genius, really. He managed to capture every human pain; jealousy, greed, betrayal. And managed to make it all into art, you know?”

“Yeah,” Aullie said, dreamily. She was lost in his voice, as smooth and sweet as melted caramel. The fact he could speak so beautifully was nothing compared to the passion behind the voice. She had finally met someone else who understood the power and majesty of art, of creation.

The waitress approached, taking the plates and offering dessert. Weston insisted on an order of fried ice cream despite Aullie’s complaints that she couldn’t possibly handle even one more bite. She narrowed her eyes playfully, shaking her head at him.

“You’re trouble,” she accused.

“Why do you say that?” he asked, with a laugh.

“You know exactly why,” she said, slyly.

Before Weston could reply and hopefully continue the flirtation, a massive sphere with a beautiful crispy golden crust drizzled in zig zags of runny chocolate syrup was placed on the table between them. Despite her bloated middle, she couldn’t help the rush of saliva to her mouth. Two spoons rested in the white porcelain dish, and before long the two warred with their spoons, vying for the bites with the most chocolate and laughing hysterically as they did so.

A few minutes later, crunchy bits of fried crust floated in a rich, white puddle of melted ice cream. Weston locked spoons with Aullie, his flashy hazel eyes enraptured her.

“You know, I have to say, Aulora…” His use of her full name sent a shiver down her spine, “I am quite bewitched by you.”

Aullie dropped her eyes, wishing she could come up with anything to say that would have half the suave or class that he did. “Thank you.”

Weston paid the tab, which Aullie was grateful for, given that she’d had to take the night off work to be here. Though on the other hand, she wouldn’t have traded the night for anything in the world. He walked her back out to the car and opened the car door for her, yet again. As she sat alone, in the dark, waiting for him to walk around the car, she took a deep, contented breath.

The air was cool, the car smelled like old leather. Aullie truly couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so ethereal, almost as if she were floating. He hopped in the car, started it up, and after a few semi-concerning pops from the engine, and a humble smile from Weston, they were off. Entirely too soon, they were back to a row of short, ugly brick buildings, one of which happened to house Aullie’s one room box of an apartment.

Weston jerked the ancient bug to a stop on the side of the road. The engine grumbled as the heat built between them in the tiny car. That Margarita had been strong, Aullie thought. She felt a pleasant buzz, enriched by the fact that she was with a man she didn’t need to keep her guard up around.

“So,” he mused

“So,” she replied.

She had thought he was just being coy but one of his wide, warm hands was on her jaw and he pulled her in for a kiss. His lips were soft, the intensity behind it was flaming. She could’ve melted into his arms just then. She was no stranger to sex on the first date, but this guy was different, and as his tongue began to sensually push its way through her plush red lips, she knew she had to bring a stop to it. Make sure he wanted to see her at least one more time before she gave it up. She pulled away, regretfully, and couldn’t help a little shiver of delight. Every nerve in her body was overloaded, especially the ones that mattered.

Weston blinked a few times, as if regaining his composure. “I said it once and I’m more than happy to say it again,” his silky voice was deeper, huskier. “Absolutely bewitching.”

Aullie smiled back shyly. “Good night, Weston.”

“Good night, Aullie.”

Getting out of the little orange bug was one of the hardest things Aullie had done in a while but she did it. She felt the heat of Weston’s watchful gaze until she rounded her neighboring building, the only one visible from the street. As she did, she heard a metallic screech and then a rumble as the little bug shifted and drove off into the night.

Chapter 5

The date had ended at a logical place for a first date, Aullie thought, though it was only ten. Without work, she had nothing to do with the rest of her night, but she felt more inspired after her night with Weston than she had in months.

She peeled off the tight dress, which was tighter now after all that food. Digging through the dirty laundry pile on the floor near her bed, she found a pair of wrinkled, striped pajama pants and a baggy spirit shirt from her college, both of which were spattered with dried paint. The light fabric was soft against her skin, allowing for great ease of movement as she pushed her bright paisley couch up against the back wall to open up the sitting area for her easel.

Once set up, she selected a twelve by twenty-four-inch canvas out of the pile of blanks she kept stashed in her storage closet. She prepped it, propped it up in the easel tray, and then it was time for paints.

She was feeling very… warm. Very red. She squeezed and squirted tubes and her palette was soon covered with little piles of yellow, orange, purple, and different shades of red. Using her palette knife, she scooped and mixed different colors together, waiting as usual for the color that perfectly fit her mood to appear. Then, it did. Crimson and violet, with a huge glob of white, she had mixed them and the perfect shade of fuchsia was born.

Once the ball was rolling, she couldn’t stop. She played music on a low volume, hoping not to disturb her neighbors, and the classical notes swirled around her.

Before she knew it, the canvas was covered; a beautiful first layer of fuchsia and red, with little yellow and white sunbeams. Though it was beautiful, it had emotionally exhausted her and she eventually realized it had been almost three hours since she started. Time always flew when she painted, but not quite like that.

Tired, and covered in paint, she began to pack her things away when she heard a buzz from her phone on the counter. Must be Brittany checking how her date went, Aullie thought, taking the time to wash the thick oil paint off her fingers to avoid staining her phone screen. Once they were more or less clean, she scooped up the device and unlocked it. But, it wasn't a text from Brittany.

It was Weston!

-I can’t stop thinking about you. When can I see you again?-

Aullie grinned and blushed, happy to know he was feeling the same way she was. She considered her schedule, and the next night she had free was Monday.

She typed a quick text back

-Good, glad I’m not alone :) My next night off is, Monday. We could do something then?-

He replied that was great, and that he couldn’t wait to see her again. She said she couldn’t wait either and to have a good night.

His last text came in, making her heart race.

-I’m sure it’ll be a great night, considering I’ll probably be dreaming of you :)-

On that note, tired and aware of her long work day coming up, Aullie stripped down to her panties and fell into bed. Curling up in her soft sheets, she was still smiling as she quickly fell asleep.

The weekend passed in a blur. It was a busy one, thankfully, so Aullie at least made some good money on her back to back twelve hour days. When she could, which wasn’t often, she had exchanged flirty texts with Weston and it was clear that they were both excited for date number two.

That night, she opted for more casual attire. She wore a pair of medium-waisted bell bottom jeans, with a lace pattern she had bleach dyed herself down the front. The deep fuchsia peasant blouse she wore hung off both shoulders, accentuating her long neck and pronounced collar bones. The color reminded her of the impassioned painting she had done after their first night together, still drying on the easel in her living room.

She’d pulled her hair back, neatly braiding it down her back in a perfect fishtail. Around her neck, she wore a wire-wrapped amethyst on a thick black leather cord she had made in her jewelry class at school, and a pair of silver hoops adorned her ears. Aullie was excited for him to see more of her true style, and she was also eager to share her art and things she had made with him.

Hurrying out to the curb after a text from Weston, she scanned the empty street for the beaten down bug. It was nowhere to be seen, the only car that stood out was a shiny silver Aston Martin that looked wildly out of place on her weedy, crumbling, low-income block.

‘Spoiled asshole’, she snipped in her mind. Even just seeing the car called up memories of her snake of a father, his equally snaky friends and their awful fake wives.

The selfishness, the obsession with image, the toxicity that came with wealth, they were all represented in this gaudy, environmentally-unfriendly car. It was disgusting!

Suddenly, the window of the shiny car rolled down. Aullie’s stomach twisted uncomfortably when she saw Weston in the driver’s seat. As she closed the distance to the car, she did her best to justify the car.

Her mind spun a yarn to cover for the man, she thought she knew. Maybe it’s not his. Maybe he borrowed it from a friend or relative. He’s probably just trying to impress me, he doesn’t know about my family or my money issues. It’s all fine.

As before, he reached across the car, though this car was definitely wider, and popped the door open from the inside. His smile was wide and excited, he was formally dressed again in a silvery gray button down and a dark pair of trousers. Aullie tentatively sat down in the seat; the car reeked of expensive leather and premium carpeting. The smell was almost nauseating to her, reminding her of her father.

“Hey!” Weston sounded very excited. “Sorry about all the flash, I had to spend a few hours in the office today.”

Aullie’s brow furrowed. “Where do you work, exactly?”

“Ever heard of the Calloway building?”

Boy, had she. It was a massive skyscraper in the heart of downtown. One of the biggest trade and marketing companies in the nation. “You work there? I thought you worked for your dad.”

Another sly smile. “I do, my dad is James Calloway.”

Aullie’s stomach dropped into a free fall. His dad was worth a few billion dollars the last she had heard. If Weston was his son, he probably wasn’t worth much less. She suddenly felt suffocated in the fancy car, desperate to get out.

At her lack of a response, or maybe trying to remedy the panic in her face, he asked, “So, what do you wanna do tonight? I booked us a table at a formal restaurant downtown. Based on your dress on Friday, I figured you’d be dressed a little more formally. It’s not really a jeans type of place. Maybe we could go bowling?”

The mention of her jeans was the last straw. Aullie felt silly, like a child, sitting there in her informal clothes. “No,” she said firmly. “No, thanks. In fact, I’m not feeling well. I think I have to go.” She opened the door and made a move to step out, but Weston lightly grabbed her arm to stop her.

“No, wait,” he begged. “What happened? What's wrong? Let me fix it.”

“Maybe I’m just coming down with a lack of class,” she said, snidely. Pulling away from him, Aullie marched away from his desperate cries for her to wait.

Rich men were cheaters and liars, she wasn’t about to waste her time!

* * *

Chapter 1

A deep, mechanical buzz sounded and Aullie Greene rolled her eyes. Her phone vibrated hard against the dull, Formica counter top in the tiny closet she called a bathroom. She lined her eyes, some called them blue but she’d always thought they were more of a gray color. The dramatic, thick black liner coupled with her blunt, straight black bangs made her eyes glow like moonstones.

In the mirror, she caught sight of the infuriating painting. The pinks and reds and yellows mocked her, mocked the passion and hope she’d felt after their first date.

‘Fuckin’ Weston’, she griped to herself. Ever since she’d stormed out of his car, he’d been reaching out to her every five minutes. Or, at least it felt like it. She’d considered answering up to the seventh call after she initially marched away, but after that, she just felt too pressured.

Aullie wanted to tell herself that ‘damn, if he was this clingy after one date then you probably dodged a bullet there’, but she didn’t feel it. Sure, she hardly knew him but every time he called or texted, she felt a little stab in her chest. After four days, she still couldn’t help but see the sickening Richie-Rich kid side of the man she’d thought she might like.

Checking her watch, and realizing that she was running late and frowning at the mirror one more time, she clicked off the bathroom light and headed out the door. Aullie struggled with the zipper on her fuzzy jacket, bright and yellow like a baby chick, as she shuffled down the stairs. Her nonslip shoes clanged noisily on the cold metal stairs. A chill wind ruffled her dark bangs as she searched the lot behind the building for her rickety old Accord. She found it, rattled the door open and dropped heavily into the driver’s seat.

‘Another night at work’, she thought, forlornly. Her day of classes had been long, she was still smarting from her Color Theory teacher’s lecture that her shades were consistently too dark. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and brooding?

The dinged-up silver Accord let out a raucous screech as it came to life but it started, so that was something. As she rumbled down the street to work, Aullie said a little prayer to her own agnostic God that she would finally make some money. To cap off her struggles with Weston, the bar had been slow, tips had been low and her rent was due in a week.

Yeah, see? I definitely have more important things to think about than some boy.

She jerked to a stop in the depressingly empty parking lot behind the bar. Bundling up, Aullie headed into the bar. She said hello to the young blonde host, turned out her name was Calli, and made her way to the back, where the smell of rancid fry grease hung heavy in the air.

Clearly glum, she nodded and grunted hellos to her various co-workers as she shrugged out of her coat and hung it up. As she secured her apron, a nasally voice dropped her low spirits into the gutter.

“See you’re going for the depressed goth-girl look. Again.” Eric wore his trademark sly, demeaning grin. “Yeah, you got that brooding look down to a T.”

“Guess it’s hard to ignore the hunger pains, being a starving artist and all,” she smarted off, meeting his smug little eyes with a steely glare. ‘I need to start selling some art’, she thought, ‘if for no other reason than to get away from this tiny prick’.

Eric chuckled at her dry joke, though she hadn’t meant it to be funny. Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Aullie turned to walk away from him. Before she could, he said, “You gonna be grumpy all night? Cause that might affect your tips. Wouldn’t want you to have another bad night.”

How could a person be so insensitive and infuriating?

She strode away, not dignifying his bloated ego with a response. She furiously tapped at the POS computer, clocking in, for what she had already accepted was going to be a long night.

One slow hour later, Brittany walked in the door in a flamboyant faux-fur jacket. It was what Britt charmingly referred to as cheap-chic and she actually pulled it off rather well.

Aullie nodded a hello, felt like her first in ages. Brittany had been upstate, visiting her loud, lovable Latino family all week, so Aullie hadn't even had anyone to vent her boy woes to.

After Britt ditched her stuff and clocked in, she made a beeline for Aullie, an anticipatory gleam in her dark chocolate eyes. “How’s it going?” The simple question was clearly not intended to glean information about Aullie’s current state.

“I don’t know. How are the cold, dried up piles of shit in your yard?” Aullie said, sarcastically. Britt lived in a tiny townhome with a tiny yard that was constantly littered with tight coiled little waste piles from her massive pitbull mix named Tinkerbell.

Brittany’s face fell. “What happened?”

Aullie appreciated her empathy but could only muster a shrug. “Well, he came to pick me up Monday. In an Aston Martin.”

Brittany’s jaw dropped, she was obviously thinking about the crappy car Aullie had described the first night and looked as confused as Aullie had been. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what my face did too. So, I tried to play it off, got in the car and he proceeds to tell me that he’s a Calloway.”

She let that sink in. Brittany’s brows knitted, and she suddenly blurted, “Wait, like the Calloway building?”

“Yep! So, he’s not some fancy surgeon or anything like you guessed, he’s actually way richer than that!”

“Only you would sound disgusted by that,” Brittany laughed. “That is really big, though. That’s like… A lot of money. So, let me guess.” She tapped a finger to her full lips. “You got the hell out of dodge didn't you?”

Aullie sighed. “I tried to stick it out. I really liked this guy. And I was all decked out in some of the clothes I made.”

“You should really sell your stuff on Etsy,” Brittany interrupted quickly. “It’s really cute. Anyway, go on.”

“I’m getting a table, shit,” Aullie glanced at the back of a lone man, Calli was guiding to one of her open booths. “Long story short, he made a comment about my clothes not being nice enough, I got mad and stormed off like a child. Felt bad at first, but then he called me eighty-seven-million times and I just haven’t answered. So, that’s that.”

“God, I just can’t stand it when they’re too dirty stinking rich.” Brittany winked. “I am sorry, though. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Aullie snagged a few coasters in case her new table occupant had some joiners. She was powering up a phony megawatt smile, but it dropped almost immediately.

“What are you doing here, Weston?”

His unkempt hair hung loose, it was longer than Aullie thought it was and the floppy cut made him look younger, a little softer, and almost more human somehow. He smiled, bitterly, “Obviously, you didn’t listen to my last voicemail.”

“Yeah, I didn’t listen to most of them,” Aullie snapped. She was furious that he was there. It wasn’t going to be any easier to get over him if she could see him, especially since she had spent so much time trying to forget him that she had forgotten just how attractive he really was.

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?” he repeated.

Because hearing your voice would’ve made me want to call you back. “Does it matter why not? I didn’t want to because I don’t want to. I’m not interested, ok? You’re not my type. I’m sure it won’t be hard for you to find another woman who wants to slobber all over you and all your money, so I would appreciate it if you would just leave. I have a job to do.”

“But I don’t want to leave. And, considering that you’re a waitress and I’m seated at a table in your section, why don’t you go get me a beer?” he said, smiling like a fox.

In lieu of a response, Aullie stormed away. Hot rage burned down to her fingertips.

How dare he? What an entitled prick!

She’d meant to find someone else to take the table but found herself angrily jabbing her fingers at the POS screen, ordering him a stout. In the midst of cursing him, she cursed herself for remembering his order from his previous visit. Once the beer was rung in, she printed the elderly men’s tab, she’d also been waiting on just to waste more time.

Striding over to the bar, she drummed her short nails against the metal grate. Recognizing her nervous habit, Brittany appeared behind her. “What’s wrong?”

Still seething beyond the point of words, Aullie jerked her ponytail backward toward her table and waited while Brittany scoped out the table.

“Oh, shit! That’s him, isn’t it?” she replied, appropriately surprised.

“Yep,” Aullie spat. The rhythmic clackety-clack of her nails against the metal did nothing to soothe her agitated state.

“I’ll take him if you want.” Brittany’s eyes were still fixed on Weston.

Aullie was suddenly prickled with a very surprising and unwelcome jealousy. “No, it’s fine. I’ll deal with him.”

The bartender, a blonde named Teri with a tragically crooked boob job, set the frothy glass on the well. Aullie grabbed the dark beer and thumped it on the table in front of Weston. She had a new table and, anxious to walk away anyway, she asked impatiently, “Need anything else?”

“Not presently,” he said, that smooth British accent sounded even better than she had remembered. “Seems as though you’ve gained another table of customers, peach. Attend to them, I’ll still be here. You can come check on me later.” Then he winked.

Infuriated, she hissed, “Don’t count on it… Wait, why do you know my section?”

“Checked the host stand when I got here. Wanted to know when you were busy and had valid reasons not to be talking to me.” His grin was sly enough to make her fury grow.

“Any reason not to talk to you is valid,” she snarled, stalking away.

Thankfully, in her years of waitressing work, Aullie had learned to fake a good mood and quickly. She cheerfully greeted her table, a foursome of preppy college boys and checked their IDs. When she brought them their pitcher of beer, she could feel the warmth of Weston’s gaze upon her back, which she purposely turned to him. It sent a shiver down her spine. Despite being thoroughly creeped out that he was there, she was actually a little flattered that he cared enough to show up.

The Friday evening drinking crowd began to filter in. The more bodies that packed into the tiny bar, the hotter it got and the muggy air began to smell more like body odor and beer.

Cooks yelled at each other in the kitchen while fryers sizzled, waitresses bickered and shoved each other around. The bar was in chaos but Aullie was actually grateful, not only for the distraction from Weston but from the high-income potential.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Weston typing swiftly on his phone with his thick brows furrowed. His glass was empty, save for a thick layer of tannish foam. Hoping that whatever he was doing wouldn’t be easily interrupted. Aullie stopped next to the booth, arms laden with dirty dishes, with sweat beginning to bead under her thick bangs.

On her next trip to the computer, Aullie printed a tab and slapped the flimsy scrap of paper down next to Weston’s finished beer.

Before she could walk away, he asked, “What’s this?”

“Your tab,” she replied. “Shouldn’t you be going?”

“Actually, no,” he smarted off. There was that sexy, devious little smile again that made her heart beat a bit harder. “I’m actually fairly hungry. Can you bring me a menu?”

“You’re not staying.”

“As a matter of fact, I am. I’ll be here until you crack and talk to me.”

“What’s there to talk about?” she asked, exasperated. “You’re not my type, ok?”

“You’re intimidated by my money,” he stated with a flat expression which told her he was well aware of why she’d run.

“No!” Well, yeah. “Personally, I’m just not a fan of the whole flashy car, fancy dinner, entitled men thing. Plenty of women are, though. I bet you could pick up any of the other waitresses, or patrons, in this building and they’ll be all about it.”

“I’m not here for them. I’m here for you.” The sincerity in his eyes, mixed with a little bit of hurt and sadness and slight desperation, softened something in Aullie but she did her best to shake it off.

“Why me?” She was surprised by the way her voice broke as she asked it.

“I already told you,” he said with a heart-stopping smile. “I’m bewitched by you.”

Chapter 2

Aullie sighed, defeated and speechless. “Do you want another beer or something?”

“Yes, please,” Weston gave her a wicked smile. “Flattered that you remember my beer, by the way.”

Aullie rolled her eyes and walked away. She couldn’t believe the boldness, the audacity, the clearly crazy man was displaying. However, she’d wasted too much time talking to him and had some catching up to do.

Weston moved quickly to the back of her mind as she made her rounds through the bar. Food, beer and, liquor orders were taken and delivered, credit cards were run and returned. Weston ate and Aullie wished he would leave, but he didn’t.

Over an hour later, she brought him his third beer. “So, when are you leaving?”

“I don’t know. Depends on when I get to see you again.”

“You’re actually just going to sit here until I agree to go out with you again?”

“Yes. I have emails to catch up on anyway.”

“Oh, from your little work from home job?” Aullie glared as she mocked his lie-by-omission he’d told on their first date.

“Hey, I do actually work from home most of the time,” he defended himself. “So, when’s it going to be?”

“Ugh. Fine. I’m off Monday night again. I’ll text you or whatever if you just leave.”

“Why? Am I distracting you?” he asked, wickedly.

“Ugh, whatever, yes. Go,” Aullie urged.

“Good, I’ll see you Monday then.” He looked smug as he slipped a bill from his wallet under his glass and stood to leave. Before Aullie could protest, he put a hand up and said, “Before you get all huffy about the money, I occupied your table for hours and that’s a fair amount, considering. Now, you have a good night. I look forward to hearing from you.”

Oh, that purr in his delightfully foreign voice. He stood so close, even in the packed, stinky bar, she could smell his musky scent. It took everything Aullie had to maintain her aloof air. “Yeah. Bye.”

Torn between relief and disappointment as he left, Aullie went back to work. She wasn’t closing, which she thanked God for. Her feet ached but she still had a few hours left to go, so she sucked it up. Rent, rent, rent, she chanted to herself as she picked up other people’s trash. Her job wasn’t a source of pride in her life, but the mundane nature of the work left plenty of free space in her mind to ruminate over Weston.

Was she really going to text him? If she didn’t, would he come back? Did she want to see him? Yeah, kinda, she internally admitted.

The last two hours at work dragged painfully by. Men whooped and hollered, glasses clinked, and chairs scraped the floor. The noise died slowly as drunk patrons stumbled their way out the door.

The music was almost overbearing in the quieter bar, and Aullie caught the bartender’s attention. She made a twisting motion with her fingers to mime adjusting the volume.

“So, how was your night?”

The chair across from Aullie squawked as Brittany sat down across from her. Two large gray tubs full of forks and knives, a mountain of napkins, and a box of sticky tabs occupied the table surface between them. With a clink, a swoosh and a stick they fell into the tedious rhythm of rolling silverware together. This nightly ritual had become prime gossip time among the girls at Tackleman’s. As each of them joined in to finish up their side work, everyone got filled in on the Weston saga as Aullie vented out her frustrations.

“Ooo, British accent huh?” a chubby redhead named Tasha asked, as she wore a dreamy expression.

“Yeah, but I don’t know. Isn’t this all kind of stalkerish? Seems like a red flag.” Aullie usually didn’t care to open up to her co-workers but it felt good to get it off her chest.

“I don’t know. I can’t even get a guy to text me back. That sounds way better. Plus, again, British.” said Janelle, the whippet-thin mom of a darling two-year-old boy.

Brittany nodded. “His accent is nice.”

The gaggle of girls clucked away, and before long the mountain of silverware before them had been rolled and placed in baskets. The general consensus had been that, at the very least, she should give him one more chance because he was so committed, and yes, the British thing came up a lot.

Aullie considered this as she wrapped up her night. After she shrugged into her coat, she took the plunge.

-Hey- was all that she texted to Weston. Aullie plunged the phone into her pocket and bundled out into a dark, freezing rain.

‘I won’t look at it the whole way home’, she promised herself. ‘I’ll make him wait’. Despite her promises, her phone burned a hole in her pocket. Every red light and stop sign she almost justified checking it, but instead turned up the radio and powered through.

The roads were slick and shiny under the dingy yellow streetlights and rain rhythmically drummed against the windshield. Thankful to finally be safely home, Aullie parked her car and trotted up the stairs to her cement box of an apartment with a white-knuckle grip on the slick rail.

She flicked on the switch and her tiny haven came to life. The light, coupled with the bright variety of colors, were a stark contrast to the melancholy world outside. Any wall space that wasn’t occupied by a painting or a pinned-up sketch was draped with colorful tapestries. Her full-size mattress, dressed in paisley sheets, sat atop a bunk bed type piece of furniture with a cluttered, messy desk underneath.

Instead of a living room, Aullie had built a small variation of a dining room. She wasn’t much into TV, so she didn’t own one, not that she could afford cable anyway. Instead, a massive turquoise dining table that Aullie had bought from goodwill and spray painted herself, dominated the space across from the bed.

On one side sat a bright yellow couch printed with Aztec-style flowers, where her massive gray cat Bruce lay curled up on his favorite corner. On the other side sat two clunky chairs that came with the table. The table top was littered with random art supplies and pieces of various sculpture and ceramic projects Aullie had been required to do over the years. Anyone that opened the door could tell an artist lived there, and Aullie loved it that way.

She hung her wet jacket on a coat rack made of real broken branches wrapped in rugged rope. As she slipped out of her work shoes, she pulled her phone out of the pocket and illuminated the screen.

A hearty rush of breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, flooded out of Aullie. There it was.

Or rather, there they were. A -Hey!- and a -How was work?- both from Weston, four minutes apart. Though she was happy to hear from him, she wanted to remain standoffish.

-Fine. How was the rest of your night?- She typed back.

She left the phone on her counter next to the fruit bowl and stripped down to shower all the restaurant off her. Under the warm drizzle, the crappy shower didn’t really get hot as she scrubbed at the grease, beer, and ketchup that always seemed to stain her worse than her paints did.

Thanks to her quick bathing session, she burned off a few more minutes which kept up her intended aloofness. She changed into a pair of oversized, black and white checked flannel pajama pants and a baggy university shirt stained with red, white, and yellow paint. Aullie scooped her phone off the counter and checked it again, giddy to see the two text notifications.

-Not nearly as good once I couldn’t see you anymore :)- followed seven minutes later by -Sorry, was that too much?-

Aullie smiled. Her little game was working. She decided to make him wait a few more minutes, filling an old metal teapot with water and putting it on the stove to boil. Grabbing a yellow mug with a black smiley face, she dropped in an herbal tea bag from the stack of boxes on the counter. She picked up her phone and typed back just two little words, -It’s fine-

Minutes passed, long enough for the water to boil. Aullie pulled the whistling pot off the burner and poured the hot water into the mug, the tea began to steep and a cloud of steam rose. She wondered idly what she was going to do with her night. Bedtime usually wasn’t until two or three in the morning, she did her best work at night, so she had a few hours to kill.

She checked her phone, but there was nothing. Surprised and a little disappointed, she booted up her laptop on the desk under her bed. It was her fault anyway, really, for toying with Weston the way she had.

It was late, most normal people were in bed. After a few beers, and assuming he actually didn’t do anything else after he left, it made sense that Weston would have fallen asleep.

At least, that’s what Aullie told herself as fifteen minutes without a response became thirty. She scrolled through her Facebook feed, got distracted by a couple of random news stories that had been shared by her friends. She sipped her tea and the warmth and familiarity of her nighttime routine helped relax her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her phone, willing it to light up with a text.

To no avail, unfortunately. She grabbed a weathered sketchbook and a pencil off the desk, took a hearty slug of her cooling tea, and climbed up the ladder to her bed.

Her mattress was worn-in and soft and a massive mountain of pillows adorned the head. Aullie scooted into her padded little nook and thumbed through the graphite stained pages in the sketchbooks until she found a blank one.

She tapped the screen on her phone, pulling up a free music app. An edgy, modern classical music underscored by techno beats, flooded out of the tiny speaker. Music like that, dynamic and free flowing, was Aullie's favorite art music. The ever-changing beat was great fodder for ever-changing inspiration and ideas.

The inspiration, however, wasn’t coming. Her blank, dark phone screen had her feeling very distracted. She finally turned it over, willing herself to focus.

She started by scribbling. Just scribbling. Slowly, as she began to lose herself in the music, the erratic lines began to take form. The raw sketch took the shape of a deer, a beautiful, thick chested stag with a wide set of antlers. His noble face, and the collar of light flowers that seemed to just appear around his regal neck occupied her entire mind.

It was over an hour before the spell was broken and she jerked away, breathing heavily. She loved getting lost in her work and she shamelessly admired her newest creation. She’d finished the head and the body down to the fluffy tail, but the beefy stag stood on little outlines of unfinished legs. Suddenly exhausted overwhelmed by the music volume, Aullie picked up her phone to turn it down.

She broke into a grin.

-Do you still want to see me? You can pick what we do- Forty-five minutes earlier. Then, twenty-two minutes later. -I’ll bring the bug, I promise-

Maybe he’ll assume I’m asleep too, Aullie thought as she turned out the light and wriggled under the covers. She was too tired to respond anyway and happy to keep the rich boy waiting until morning.

Chapter 3

The next morning, Aullie was thankful for her indigo curtains. Not only was the dark color beautiful but the thick silky fabric blocked out all the blaring sunlight that came through her East-facing window. Since she was such a night owl, and her job rarely required her to be up before eleven, she enjoyed her ability to sleep in.

After she rolled out of bed around ten-thirty, she brewed a cup of coffee. While the dark liquid trickled slowly into yet another eccentric mug, Aullie pondered what she should say to Weston. She still wasn’t one hundred percent sure that seeing him again was what she wanted, but she was probably up to about eighty percent and figured that was enough.

-Sorry, I passed out early last night. As long as you bring the bug, we can do whatever you want :)-

As soon as the send button was pushed, she instantly regretted it. Not only was her hard-to-get game ruined but she had meant to come across as flirtatious, not sexual. The way she had worded that could totally be taken that way.

‘Shit’, she thought, wondering if maybe she should just drop the whole thing. Until recently, Aullie wasn’t really the dating type. She liked to meet guys, befriend them, have sex with them and then keep it that way. It wasn’t that she was a slut, she just usually preferred to keep things low stress.

With her ever-climbing mountain of student loans and their subsequent pressure, it wasn’t like she could afford the drama, and all this unnecessary stress with Weston was exactly why.

“This isn’t who I am,” she grumbled to herself as she choked down the bitterness of cheap black coffee. Perching her perky little butt on top of the huge turquoise table, she considered the painting she had done the first night she had really met Weston. She reminisced about their time together; his fun little slug bug, the unique hole-in-the-wall place he had taken her to, his names for all the plastic birds.

Aullie had thought she had an idea about the man. He was smart but quirky, down to earth and working hard to make his own way, just like she was.

He was not only rich but practically famous. She wondered what he actually did for work, if anything, considering how loaded his family was, what his house looked like, and if his Aston Martin was even his only fancy car.

She had let herself feel, so strongly and recklessly, that she had attached herself emotionally to a man she hardly knew. Stupid, stupid, stupid, was becoming her mantra.

It was time to shower if she was going to make it to work on time, and she didn’t even bother checking her phone. After her little rumination, Aullie was no longer so sure about what she really wanted. She thought and brooded through her shower, scrubbing her body clean and working her rosemary-mint shampoo into her long black hair. After she dried off and blew her ebony mane dry, she stared at herself in the mirror.

Aullie could admit that she was pretty, but more like waitress-in-a-bar pretty not pretty-pretty. She had pretty, slightly hooded eyes and full lips, but her nose was a little small and she hadn’t quite kicked her acne yet, so she was usually adorned with a few noticeable blemishes.

Why me?

If this man, this rich, sexy, accented man, wanted any woman in the world, he could probably have her. Exotic beauties, waif-like supermodels with extreme cheekbones, or curvaceous centerfolds. He had said something about liking her for not being interested in his money but she just didn’t understand why he was so fascinated with her.

As she fastened the buckle on her belt, Bruce emerged from whichever of his many hiding spots that he had been enjoying all morning and came to rub against her legs and purr like a little Diesel engine. While his concern that her jeans weren’t covered in enough cat hair was touching, she shooed him away.

As she gathered her keys, coat, and wallet, she also grabbed her phone. There were two texts, one from Brittany, asking if she wanted anything from Starbucks, the other was from Weston.

-Well I have a few ideas :)- he had typed, Aullie was grateful it was a smiley face and not a wink. -I’ll call you on Monday, we can work out a time. However, I’m about to catch a flight, I may be out of cell range through tomorrow night. Have a great weekend.-

Aullie was actually grateful to have a few days to herself, to decide if pursuing a relationship with a man so far out of her league, who apparently also traveled for his fancy-schmancy job, was a good investment of her time and effort.

Problem is, she thought with a sallow smile as she walked out the door, we artists aren’t known for being especially logical thinkers.

Chapter 4

The weekend passed in a blur of work, coffee, and sore feet. Monday morning broke, and Aullie was actually happy to get an email that her Monday class had been canceled. Though she usually resented any stolen opportunities to create, but she was so tired and achy that she almost hoped that Weston wouldn’t call so she could just lay in her blanket burrito all day.

Of course, the sexy Brit was a hot topic of gossip with the Tackleman’s crew. Aullie was so thankful that Brittany had known better than to tell everyone about his money too. If she had, Aullie imagined that most of them would fall in love with him right then and there, then she’d never get them to shut up. However, their encouragement had built up her confidence in her choice to see Weston again.

Around noon, semi-surprised she hadn’t heard from him at all yet, Aullie finally decided to get up. She brewed some energizing tea and lit some incense, happy that she had a little break to do some yoga. She powered up the yoga app on her phone and spent half an hour bending, lunging, stretching and moaning for the first time in weeks.

As she lay in savasana, consciously relaxing from her toes to her fingertips, she turned her mind inward. She realized how many parts of herself, of her life, that she loved and that she wasn’t making time for lately. No wonder I’ve been so moody, she thought.

Standing up, with a heady rush of endorphins, Aullie wandered into her little excuse for a kitchen and checked her fridge. There wasn’t much there; she really needed to go get some groceries. Her hunger overrode the nagging voice in her head that reminded that she really should try to eat better, though, as she nuked a frozen dinner in the microwave. It’s just a chicken breast and some mashed potatoes, how bad can it really be? She justified to herself.

Bruce stood up and stretched, his stripy gray back arching up toward the raw concrete ceiling, as Aullie plunked down next to him on the couch. The soft plastic slid and bent as she cut her food into bite size pieces and mixed it all together into a brownish, gravy soaked pile.

She ate, her lazy, exhausted body thankful for the bland food, and checked her phone. It was just past one, and still nothing from Weston. She wondered if she should call him but immediately dismissed the thought. This whole thing was his idea, and he had been almost too insistent.

Hmm, what to do now, she thought. There was a home painting project due in her class next week that she foolishly hadn’t even started yet. Her medium of choice had always been oil paint, the texture, and depth it provided was unmatched, but it was infamous for its incredibly long dry time. She’d have to do a quick drying base background layer in acrylic, then layer the wetter paint on top in order to finish it.

Once her easel was set up, over a tarp to prevent staining the floor, Aullie selected a medium-sized canvas from her stockpile. Often, she took advantage of art sales, she usually bought tons of them at a time and never seemed to be out of them, which suited her just fine.

The theme of this painting was structural abstract, which meant a lot of free reign. She thought back to her recent deer drawing; if she kept it more vague, let the missing legs fade into a colorful background, that could work.

Standing back, considering the canvas, Aullie considered how she felt. A color came to her, and then two. Yellowy green and a warm relaxing blue. Before long a pallet was mixed and the oceanic colors faded into one another, the bleak white surface coming to life in full color. The plastic-like scent of the acrylic paint infected the air, she was really on a roll.

An entire hour passed before the creative spell was broken, she had done what she could. Probably the most frustrating part of creating art was the dry time, when the inspiration and drive to bring a vision to life needed to be halted for hours or days at a time.

Just gone two hours, and still no call.

Slightly disappointed, but sure there had to be a valid explanation, Aullie accepted she probably wasn’t going to see him that day. ‘He’s probably busy with his big billionaire job’, she thought bitterly.

However, just as she began to get herself worked up with doubt, her phone began to ring. There he was. Feeling stupid, she swiped the screen to answer with a polite, “Hello?”

“Hey Aullie,” he said, his accented voice punctuated by heavy breaths, “Sorry to call so late in the day. I hope you haven’t given up on me and made other plans.”

‘So he’s beautiful and psychic’, she mentally mused. “No, not yet,” she teased.

“Good, glad to hear it.” Aullie could hear the smile in his voice.

“So… What are we doing then?” she asked, uncertain little butterflies beginning to prickle in her stomach.

“Well, I have a surprise for you if you’re up for it.”

Aullie hated surprises, but at least he was trying. “Sure, what time?”

“How close to now can you be ready?” he asked.

“Probably about…” she trailed off, considering her un-showered state. She still wasn’t totally sure about the whole thing and decided it wasn’t worth washing her hair for. “Half an hour?”

“Great, the bug and I will see you then.”

Aullie smiled. “Okay. Bye.”

After she hung up, she sprayed dry shampoo into her roots and brushed it through. As Aullie weaved her short bangs into a tight braid, she considered the decisions she was subconsciously making. She was choosing to show him her whole face, to see him at less than her best so early in their relationship. It was almost as if she were daring him to change his mind, to break whatever spell she had on him.

She decided that she was okay with it.

Chapter 5

Aullie dropped herself onto the rustic old seat in the bug. Weston smiled at her from the driver’s seat, hair casually swept back, hazel eyes adoring, and very un-British straight white teeth. Even in a red and white raglan t-shirt and jeans, he looked like a million bucks. ‘Or a billion, I guess’, she thought.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Yep,” she replied, doing her best to keep her nerves and uncertainty out of her voice.

Weston fumbled with the gear shift, and the rattly old bug lurched and groaned as they rolled away. The heater clicked and whirred loudly, filling the car with hot, dry air.

The small talk between them, as he drove, was generic and somewhat awkward. The weather was indeed getting colder, winter was on its way, it was outrageous how early some places put out Christmas decorations, and yes, all the sounds the bug made were pretty much normal.

As they approached downtown, Aullie couldn’t wait anymore. “Where are we going, Weston?”

“Well, I might as well tell you. There’s a touring Wassily Kandinsky exhibit, and according to Wikipedia, he’s credited as being the first real abstract painter and a genius art theorist who revolutionized expressive art. I don’t have any idea what any of that means, so I figured you could teach me.”

Aullie was suddenly overcome with excitement. Kandinsky was one of her all-time favorite painters, one of her biggest inspirations, and when she and her friends from class had tried to get tickets to the exhibit they had all been almost instantly sold out. She should probably wonder how he got them, but she was truly too excited to care.

“Are you serious?”

There was that devilish smile again. “Yes, I’m serious.”

He pulled the bug into a parking spot outside the art museum. The gray clouds, and the silvery sunlight that broke through them reflected off the beautiful mirrored building. It was such a unique building, specially crafted by an edgy, modern architect, the work of art itself was the perfect place to house other masterpieces.

Still bubbling, Aullie resisted the urge to jiggle restlessly as they waited to have their tickets checked. Once they had, she secured a tiny square museum pass sticker under the left lapel of her burgundy cotton button up shirt.

“Where would you like to go first?” Weston asked, standing close. Their shoulders almost brushed each other, but Aullie didn’t feel invaded.

“Well, you were the one asking for a lesson, so why don’t we hit the exhibit first and then I can show you around some more since I do come here a lot.”

“I can imagine you would,” he said with an endearing smile. “Lead the way.”

Aullie was almost sure her leader status was just so he could walk behind her. She wore a pair of dark, hip hugging jeans and she had printed a pair of wide, white eagle’s wings across the back pockets, almost like a tramp stamp. Suffice to say she had gotten compliments on them before, she felt his eyes on her lower half and added a little more sway to her step. The desire she was almost sure he felt, that sexual power she had established over him, boosted her confidence and she became significantly more relaxed.

The temporary exhibits were on the third floor, and they hustled up the three flights of stairs together under a rain of silvery things dangling from the ceiling. The stark white stairs glittered with reflections of cool sunlight off the mirrored adornments, it almost felt as if they were in a snow globe. It really was beautiful.

“Here we are,” Aullie said, pushing on the door to the traveling exhibit. Right in front, there was a huge picture of Wassily Kandinsky, in an aged sepia. A plain looking man with a narrow chin, round wire spectacles and an expressionless face. Underneath, in a neat typewriter font, was a short biography detailing the life of the Russian artist.

The first painting on display, frameless against a beige wall, a single soft light illuminating it from above, was a four by three grid of square shapes with circles of descending size in various colors.

“This one’s interesting,” Weston commented, though he sounded unsure.

“Hilariously enough, it’s actually just called Square in Concentric Circles,” Aullie replied.

“What a fitting, clever name,” he joked.

Most of the other visitors in the exhibit were elderly women in semi-formal dress which quickly changed Aullie’s mind about her jeans. Discreetly keeping her hands over her butt, the two moved through the maze of walls art museums always built to maximize the surface area of the room. Keeping their voices and giggles low as to not disturb the ladies, they stopped in front of a new painting, an interesting piece of geometric-esque shapes on an off-white background. It was titled The Rider, and Aullie pointed out the vague shapes in the middle that represent a horse’s head and the jockey riding him.

“It’s really amazing,” Weston said, a tone of wonder in his voice. “I mean I have no artistic ability, none, so it always amazes me to see things like this. To see the way that other people see the world.”

“That’s why I love it so much,” Aullie gushed. “So many different views, so many different ideas and visions and mistakes and passion. Like, here.” She pointed to a dark, brownish abstract that was alive with colored streaks. “Composition 6. There’s no structure here, no subject. These colors, these patterns, the way this all fits together is one hundred percent emotion. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yes,” Weston said, eyes not on the painting but firmly on her. “It really is.”

Oh, how that voice got to her. Aullie blushed and dropped her eyes, almost wishing she’d left her bangs down so that she could hide behind them. Slowly, gently, Weston stepped closer and slipped an arm around her waist. She stiffened at his touch initially, but eventually she softened into his side. He was warm, so tall the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and his dark, musky scent was exceptionally heady. She didn’t know what it was about him but she was beginning to feel like he had said before: bewitched. Almost as if a spell had been cast upon them.

The pair wandered through the rest of the Kandinsky exhibit, Aullie exceptionally moved by his work and Weston extremely moved by her passion. The strange young bond between them became even stronger, even more magnetic. By the time they’d finished, their fingers were loosely entwined, and Aullie felt surprisingly comfortable and happy.

They made their way back down the stairs, taking time on each floor to appreciate different exhibits; bold Native American art done in earthy colors, bright expressionist classics, and gigantic rooms packed with portraits that were hundreds of years old. The conversation flowed between them, light and easy until Weston rolled up his sleeve.

For a few moments, Aullie had been able to distance herself from her trepidations, but the chunky Rolex adorning his wrist was a quick reality check she wasn’t expecting. Almost involuntarily, she let her fingers drop and became quiet and resigned.

Weston wasn’t stupid, she had to give him that. He picked up on her shift in behavior right away and tracked her gaze to his watch.

“Shit,” he grumbled, rolling his sleeve down to cover the gaudy timepiece. “I forgot I had this on. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, it’s fine,” she lied. The mood was broken, even though she really wished it wasn’t.

“This whole money thing is really going to be an issue, isn’t it?” Weston asked, disappointment shining in his goldish eyes.

“I don’t know,” she said, exasperated under the pressure of his sad expression. “I don’t want it to be, but I guess I have some pretty deep-rooted biases. And, if I’m being honest, your money is really intimidating. I’m an artist. The chances that I’ll ever see a small fraction of your wealth are so low…”

He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, his eyes meeting hers. The pull between them was so magnetic, and Aullie wished it was an easy thing to ignore.

“I don’t care about any of that,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” she shrugged, “because I do.”

Aullie wanted to turn away from him, to walk away again, but he was her ride and it was a long walk from the museum. She wasn’t sure what to do.

“Can we at least try?” Weston asked, gently tilting her head up.

Before she could respond, he put his mouth to hers. The kiss started soft but quickly intensified. As the heat built between them, Aullie was almost embarrassed to be experiencing such a passionate moment in public. He pulled her body close to his; his size, his warmth, his smell engulfed her and made her feel safe.

Weston pulled away. Aullie leaned forward, involuntarily guided by her lips that weren’t quite ready to break the kiss yet.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked. “You’ve given me quite a lesson today, now I’d actually like to see some of your art.”

Still dazed, she said, “Yeah, sure.”

Chapter 6

By the time the bug was parked in front of her building, Aullie was drowning in panic. Sure, she shared her art with her friends, her mother, her brother, but rarely with guys that she was dating. They usually didn’t care, and she was ok with that. Especially after her flop at the last art show, her confidence in her work was wavering and her confidence in her place was even less.

Had she put all her mugs in the sink? Or were they littered throughout the tiny apartment like Easter eggs, like they usually were? She knew she hadn’t made her bed. Her easel was even out.

Dammit, she thought. All Aullie wanted was an excuse to keep him out of her space, to keep the super-rich, super-gorgeous man away from the shoebox of an apartment where she lived. Nothing came to her, though, they were already there, and what could she really say? Well, she convinced herself, you wanted to see if he wanted the real you. Here’s the first real test.

Weston opened her door for her, with a perfect, charming grin. Aullie hoped the smile she gave in return didn’t look as strained as it felt as he gently gripped her hand and helped her out of the low seat.

“Lead the way,” he said, gesturing at the squat concrete building. Aullie walked ahead of him, around the side of the front buildings.

She lived in the far left building in the back, in the back corner on the second floor. The walk felt as though it took forever, as her involuntary shame built up with each step. The metal stairs rattled noisily as the pair climbed, a testament to their lack of quality and cheap construction.

“Well,” she said, taking a deep breath as she jiggled her key in the lock on the weathered door. “Here we are.”

Weston looked happily expectant, almost excited, as she pushed the squeaky door open and they entered her colorful, personal little world. Just as she had dreaded, Aullie’s place was a mess. Her eccentric mugs were scattered all over every surface, her work jeans were pooled on the floor where she had stepped out of them the night before, and her crazy patterned comforter hung off the side of her lofted bed. Little red dots of embarrassment and shame bloomed on her cheeks as Weston followed her inside.

“It’s very, um… colorful.” His eyes tracked up and down the art covered walls. “Are these all yours?”

“Yeah,” Aullie replied. “Some of them are school projects, some of them are my own stuff. I’ve tried to sell them at shows, but for now, they just live here.”

“They’re beautiful,” he remarked, awestruck. “I can’t believe you really did all of these. Why haven’t any of them sold?”

His question slid like a knife into her gut. Aullie tried to keep her face passive and shrugged. “Don’t know,” she answered, curtly.

Weston was oblivious to her reaction, his gaze trailing up and down the walls. His eyes were wide and he at least seemed to be genuinely admiring the paintings. “I love your place too, it’s really interesting.

That’s one way to describe it, Aullie thought. Her entire place was probably the size of his bedroom. Her entire place technically was her bedroom since she couldn’t even afford a place with walls. What had she been thinking bringing him there? Why let him see again what completely different leagues they were in, what completely different lives they led?

When Weston turned to face her, Aullie’s arms were crossed loosely over her chest self-consciously. Her face must’ve betrayed her inner turmoil because his brows furrowed and he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, shrugging again with a non-committal gesture.

He didn’t buy it. Weston came closer to her and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, bending to meet her downcast eyes. “What?” he asked again.

“Just the same things,” she said, shaking her head. “This place must look ridiculous to you. My entire apartment could probably fit in your closet. Plus all my cheap, crazy, colorful crap…”

“Hey,” he said, looping his arms gently around her waist. She had to admit it felt good, though she still felt the urge to shy away from him. “First of all, none of that matters to me. It really doesn’t. And secondly, how big do you think my closet is?”

His joke made her laugh.

“Plus, I like you. You. And this place is very perfectly you.”

His hazel eyes were warm, his voice was so silky, and his smile was so sexy. When he leaned down to kiss her, Aullie reached up and met him halfway.

He had said all the right things, everything she needed to hear, and she was happy to put her lips on his. Weston pulled her tighter around her waist and Aullie looped her arms around his neck as the kiss intensified, an impressive heat built between them. Their bodies moved together, almost swaying in a slow seductive dance. His hands ventured lower, cupping her perky little butt in his wide hands and she rocked her hips and ground against him.

It was so different, she realized, to be kissing him in a more intimate setting than it was in public as their previous kisses had been. His body was solid, he definitely spent some time in the gym, and Aullie trailed her hands down his firm, swollen pecs. His tongue explored her mouth in slow, sensuous strokes.

When he broke away, she sighed. Aullie wasn’t ready, but when his mouth pressed to her neck, her knees practically buckled. Things heated up even quicker as his kiss trailed down to her collarbone. Weston’s hands roamed back up to her waist, where he lifted her shirt.

When his lips brushed her stomach, just above the waistband of her jeans, she felt a flutter a little lower. It was so overwhelmingly erotic, she couldn’t restrain the tiny moan that escaped her lips. Aullie bent over him, securing her fingers in his dark golden hair. He kissed her once more, before pulling away suddenly.

The rush of blood and endorphins to Aullie’s head left her dizzy and disoriented. All she could think was, where are you going and why?

He stood, casting his eyes away from her and adjusting the waistband of his jeans, hopefully, to hide his mutual excitement.

“Why did you stop?” she asked, breathless.

“Look,” he said, running a hand through his mussed up hair, “I like you Aullie. Really, really like you.”

He paused for a moment and her self-conscious mind ran wild; dreading him saying that he wasn’t sexually attracted to her or something else to wound her sudden vulnerability.

To her immense relief, he said instead, “I’ve managed to already mess this up once. I don’t want to do anything else to put you off or make you think this is an entirely sexual thing. I don’t want to jump into anything.”

God that accent, she could listen to him talk all day. Her head agreed with what he was saying but the wave of heat in her core didn’t.

“Yeah,” she nodded, still panting gently. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Weston chuckled quietly, an adoring smile accentuated his beautiful face. “You’re even more beautiful when you’re… flustered like that.” His voice was sweet and smooth, like honey. Aullie wanted to drizzle it into her tea and drink it up.

“I should go,” Weston said. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Still speechless and breathless, Aullie turned in a daze and watched him walk toward the door. Just then, Bruce hopped out of a kitchen cabinet, tail erect and eager to sneak out the door when Weston left. He perked up his ears and meowed a little greeting to the stranger, no doubt trying to be cute for the potential pity of being let out.

“Well hi, kitty,” Weston bent his knees, squatting down to scratch Bruce’s soft, gray little head between his pointy ears. Seeing him then, his sweet nature and his tenderness toward her pet, Aullie began to consider giving him a real shot.

In her experience, rich guys were shallow but the more time she spent with him, the more she recognized he really, truly wasn’t. She enjoyed the sight for a moment before she called the cat.

“C’mere Bruce,” she clapped her hands and clicked her tongue. “You can’t go outside right now, baby.”

“Listen to your mommy, kitty.” Weston gently grasped the cat by his sides and turned him to face Aullie. He gave his furry little butt a pat and the disgruntled cat meowed in protest and made his crabby way back to his giggling owner.

Weston placed his hand on the doorknob and turned to face her. “I had a great time with you today, Aullie. I really hope you’ll consider giving me the chance to spend more of it with you.”

“Yeah.” Aullie nodded. With a sheepish smile, she said, “I think I’d like that.”

In his sexy, accented voice he said, “Good.” He turned the knob and let himself out, folding his tall frame through a narrow crack in the door to mind the cat.

Once he had gone, Aullie locked the door behind him, feeling like a silly rom-com star as she leaned against it and smiled.

Chapter 7

Tuesday meant two early classes, followed by a shift at work. Those shifts were usually pretty slow but Aullie had a surprisingly good night. Still on cloud nine by Wednesday morning, she decided to treat herself.

Things with Weston were still good, he texted her the appropriate amount with the right level of flirtatiousness and just a touch of sensuality. For the past thirty-six hours, Aullie had been thoroughly satisfied with her choice to give the handsome Brit another chance.

Digging through her chaotic closet, she found her favorite pair of shoes; a pair of ratty white converse she had colored with sharpies when she was in high school. She tied them onto her feet, slipped a wad of cash in her pocket and decided to go for a walk.

The weather was nice, it was probably one of the last nice days left before winter took over completely. The air was crisp, but not chilling, and clumps of crunchy brown leaves littered the sidewalk.

Aullie zipped up her baggy concert hoodie and wandered down the street. There was an art store there, more of a specialty place than your typical big craft stores. They sold good pencils, higher quality paints, and brushes, and Aullie’s school definitely did a big part of helping keep them in business.

As her rhythmic steps carried her down the sidewalk, Aullie made a mental list of things she needed and little side list of things she wanted. She wondered if the sudden metaphorical sunny sky in her life, her sudden boost of confidence and happiness, completely had to do with Weston.

If she was being honest with herself, she’d spent most of her dating life selling herself short; settling for hooking up with whichever guy she happened to spark with and never really building a connection or commitment.

She knew it was entirely too early to believe she loved him, but for the first time in a long time, she actually felt the potential for her feelings to grow. There was a real possibility of loving him one day in the not-too-distant future.

The shop she was destined for occupied a small, square space in the local strip mall, flanked by a cheap nail salon that Brittany frequented for her gaudy acrylics she adored so much and a tiny post office and packaging company. On the very end, there was a small, locally owned coffee shop with big, open wraparound windows. Aullie went there to sketch sometimes, they had big leather chairs, the air always smelled like coffee and vanilla, and the atmosphere was so much more relaxed than Starbucks.

As Aullie rounded the corner, she swept her gaze through the windows of the coffee shop, passively curious about the eleven o’clock coffee crowd. Seated at one of the tall stools at the high-top tables near the back, she could’ve sworn she saw Weston. Upon closer inspection, she could see it wasn’t though, just a man with vaguely similar dark blonde hair.

Aullie shook it off, laughing at herself. What, was she turning into some dreamy little girl now? Seeing the guy she liked all over town because she couldn’t stop thinking about him? It was so out of character for her, she wasn’t used to it, but oddly she didn’t mind it. I deserve it, she assured herself. It was about time her recently bleak life finally afforded her something to smile about.

Before she passed the shop all the way, a stunning woman with generous hips and big, firm buttocks sashayed over to the table with the guy who looked like Weston. She had long, beautifully strawberry blonde hair that tumbled down her back in the kind of beachy waves that took hours of styling to look that effortless. She was dressed in tight jeans, pointy-toed high-heeled boots and a silky peach blouse that accentuated a narrow waist and hefty chest.

The man turned to her, his handsome profile revealed a coy smile as the gorgeous woman placed a coffee cup in front of him. She put her hand on his knee to help boost herself into the tall stool. ‘What a beautiful couple’, Aullie thought.

Wait a minute.

She stopped in her tracks, resisting the urge to lean against the glass to get a closer look. When the man turned to face his stunning partner, Aullie realized she had been wrong before.