Julia

The next week starts as usual: me handing out samples and wondering when I can see Bastian again. After he dropped me off at my place, I basically did nothing the rest of the weekend except think about him. I’d laugh at myself if I weren’t so freaked out by how much I’m falling for him.

I don’t want to think I’m falling in love with him, but I know that things are getting deeper than I ever could’ve imagined.

On my lunch break, I watch a Seinfeld rerun on the old TV in the break room, slowly chewing my ham and cheese sandwich. I have only a half hour for lunch, so I usually bring something to eat and hang out in there. It’s a dingy little place in the back of Cooper’s, with worn plastic chairs and a few stained tables with wobbly legs. The TV is definitely older than I am and gets service for only one channel. But I’m by myself, and not handing out samples of coconut curry chicken wings (Joe sent in a request via customer service that we serve them again), so I consider that a small victory.

Inevitably my thoughts lead to Bastian. Bastian kissing me, touching me, laughing with me. His words from that night haunt me, about going back to school. I’ve thought about the same thing so many times, but the thought of returning to finish makes me feel like I’m dying. It’s almost become a sort of phobia, like if I return to school everyone from before will know what I did and I’ll be ostracized again.

Not to mention, what if I fail a second time? I couldn’t bear it.

So for now, that means eating ham and cheese sandwiches in the break room of Cooper’s and hoping that Joe doesn’t eat all of my chicken wings this time around.

You’re just afraid. You’re playing things safe, my mind whispers as I return to work.

I don’t deny it. I hate my job, and I dislike my apartment, but they’re safe. Normal. I know how they work. I know how She-Hulk will react if I’m late returning from lunch, and I know how the shower at my apartment runs out of hot water after exactly six and a half minutes.

I know these things, and they’re comfortable. The thought of changing them, going back to school, upending my boring little life?

Not comfortable at all.

At the end of my shift—which luckily did not involve Joe inhaling all of my samples, as I made sure to hide some in my stand when he walked by—I’m heading out to get my bike and ride home when I get a text. I assume it’s Bastian, but to my surprise, it’s Ryland.

Wanna go out Saturday? he asks. We’ll be going to Gary’s Pub for some happy hour nachos and beer.

It was fun jamming with him that one time and he’d said nice things about my talent. But I have to admit, I’d forgotten about Ryland completely after that. It’s not very flattering to him, but Bastian has filled my thoughts—and other parts of me, I think with a shiver—completely. Part of me wants to tell Ryland I’m busy. Bastian hasn’t asked me to do anything with him this weekend, though, and the thought of hanging out in my apartment all by myself isn’t very appealing. Plus, it sounds like Ryland is going with a group, so it isn’t as though we’re going on a date.

Sure, what time? I finally reply.

6:30. I hope you like lots of jalapenos on your nachos!

I don’t, but I don’t tell Ryland this. Maybe we can actually play music together again. Besides, although I’d like to see Bastian, it’s probably better that we spend at least some time apart. In order to keep our relationship casual and all.

But no matter how hard I try to keep my feelings casual, I know I’m not succeeding. It’s almost as if I’ll take anything I can get from him.

Bastian and I text off and on the rest of the week. I can tell he feels badly about ghosting on me last week, and it makes my heart warm. Our texts are flirty and sometimes naughty, and I’m always anticipating his reply with excitement.

On Saturday, I almost forget about agreeing to meet Ryland at Gary’s; it’s 6:00 when I remember. I throw on jeans and one of the few clean tops in my closet, grab my phone and run out the door. I’m barely wearing any makeup, but it’s Ryland and his friends, so who cares? I get to Gary’s at 6:40 and look around for a large group of people. I spot some guys at a table in the back, but no Ryland.

“Julia!”

I turn, and there’s Ryland, walking toward me. He’s not in his rocker gear, but still wearing what I know is an expensive jacket with tight jeans.

“Can I get you a beer?” Ryland asks.

He leads me to the bar itself, and I sit on a stool next to him. I keep looking around, wondering where everyone is. Are we just earlier than everyone else? Maybe his friends aren’t all that punctual.

“Are you looking for somebody?” he asks as he hands me a beer the bartender gave him.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Everyone else, who? It’s just us, babe.” He laughs, slinging an arm around my shoulders.

I stare at him. Then I realize that I had made the assumption about this being a group outing. And that in Ryland’s mind, we’re on a date.

I freeze. His arm seems unnaturally heavy across my shoulders, and I gently shrug him off. He gives me a hurt look, but I don’t care. I’m debating whether I should be angry or not. Did he deliberately mislead me, or am I just an idiot for not realizing his intentions?

I sip my beer, wondering what I should do. I’m about to tell Ryland that there’s been a misunderstanding when I spot a gleam of dark hair about five seats down. My heart beats wildly as I realize it’s none other than Bastian.

And he’s seen me with Ryland. Based on his thunderous expression, he’s not happy about it.

I’m about to jump up and tell Bastian this isn’t what he thinks it is, when Ryland pushes a plate of nachos in front of me. “Eat up! I asked for no jalapeños on one side, since I wasn’t sure if you liked them.”

Guilt fills me. Ryland is treating me like he would any girl he likes, while the man that I like is thinking I’m cheating on him. My mind is whirling and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to make a scene, especially since people recognize Ryland and are watching him with me. I wonder if me going on a date with him will end up on some gossip blog. I groan inwardly.

Could this night get any more disastrous?

“Look, Ryland,” I begin.

“Here, have some. They’re my favorite.” He acts like he’s trying to feed me, bringing some nachos close to my mouth. The nachos, I have to admit, look amazing.

I let him feed me to appease him, but the cheesy goodness turns to cardboard on my tongue. Bastian’s looked away now, but I can see him hunched over his drink, probably convinced I’m the worst sort of woman.

“Look, Ryland,” I try again. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“About what?” He shoves a chip inside his mouth, crunching it loudly. “Do you not like nachos?”

“Yes—I mean no, I like nachos fine. But I was under the impression you were bringing a bunch of people. Not that we’d be…alone.”

His brow furrowed, he asks, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I didn’t know this was a date.” I swallow, knowing I have to say it. “If I’d known,” I say quietly, “I wouldn’t have accepted. I’m sorry.”

He stares at me, and then a red flush crawls up his handsome face. I can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or angry—or both—and he eats more nachos before he replies.

“So you were just leading me on?”

Now it’s my turn to stare. “What are you—? I wasn’t leading you on!”

“Then why text with me, agree to play music with me, and now go out with me? How does that not look like you were leading me on?”

I don’t know how to reply to that. From his perspective, it does look like I was leading him on. The nachos I’ve eaten congeal in my stomach, and I wonder if I can run to the bathroom and hide there until Ryland leaves.

“Is there a problem here?”

I almost fall off my stool, I swivel so fast when I hear Bastian’s voice. Ryland, though, just sets his beer down and gives Bastian a disgusted look.

“Are you following me now?” Ryland asks.

“I’m too busy to chase you around.”

Bastian’s attention turns fully to me, and his gaze burns through me. I haven’t done anything wrong. I know that. It feels like I have, though. Bastian’s definitely thinking that I’ve done something wrong, and that gets me to sit up straighter. He has no right to judge me, especially without hearing the full story!

“Ryland,” I say as I get down off the stool, “I have to go. I’m sorry—for everything. Talk to you later?”

He curls his lip. “Whatever.”

Bastian takes my hand, and although I’m tempted to stomp on his foot, I follow him to the back. We’re in a hallway that leads to the kitchen, and I can hear people talking and food being prepared. It smells like cheese and grease.

“Mind telling me what that was all about?” Bastian’s got his arms crossed, and his expression is thunderous.

If I weren’t so irritated with him, I’d think he was sexy as hell.

I’m not in the mood, though, to indulge him. “Since when are you my keeper?” It sounds defensive, and I wince inwardly.

He uncrosses his arms and steps toward me, pushing me against the wall. “I’m not your keeper,” he says in a soft voice, “but I sure as hell have a right to know why you were on a date with my client.”

Now I really want to stomp on his foot. Is that what this is about? That I’m breaching some kind of work code? Looking at his face, though, I know it’s not that. He’s jealous; he looks like he could throw me over his shoulder and run off with me into the night like some caveman.

“It’s none of your business,” I hiss.

Julia, my mind whispers, you’re making this worse.

Now Bastian has stepped so close to me I can feel his pelvis pressing up against me and the warmth of his breath on my face. His chest rises and falls in quick breaths, his eyes narrowed.

“I’ll ask you again. What were you doing with Ryland Masters?”

When I feel his hardness press against my belly, my initial anger fades away. I realize that I’ve gained power over Sebastian Rich, and it’s heady. Not to mention? Part of me is shocked by his reaction. Who knew that this man would lose his head over little old Julia Rominger?

I slide my hands up his chest onto his shoulders. “Are you jealous?” I arch upward slightly, my breasts rubbing against him.

“Why won’t you answer the question?”

“Why won’t you?”

“Julia,” he growls in warning, “you’re playing with fire.”

I don’t think. I just say, “Then I want to get burned.”