Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3) (12 page)

"You're clutching that knife a little tight, there," she notices.

I loosen my grip and shoot her a sideways smirk. "Sorry. He drives me nuts."

"Is he hot?"

"Of course he's hot."

"They have to be, right? To get away with being such huge douches."

A few minutes later, as though reeled in by the topic of discussion, the man I call Mr. Suit sits at the bar. He offers Lex a small smile, which she returns. I glance at the time again, surprised to see him in here this early. He's been coming in the evenings, every few days. He's dismissive toward me, as always. It's obvious Lex is the only reason he comes here. But I go over and take his order, anyway. Another Jameson. Shocking in no way, at all. He looks like the type who is specific and consistent.
 

I head back to Lex and spare a sideways glance at our lone patron. "I think he's here to see you again," I say to her.

"I know he is."

"So what's the deal with him?"

"He's a guy I've been seeing."

My eyes go wide and I don't catch myself in time to stop them. "Seriously?"

"What?" she asks, without looking up.

"He's…older." Intimidating, I almost say. Then I remember whom I'm speaking with.

"He's in his early thirties, just eight years older than me. That's not that old. He asked me out last time and I took him up on it. We had a good time, yada, yada."

"The 'yada, yada' involves penis, doesn't it?"

She laughs quietly, but keeps her attention on her pen scribbles. "Lots of yada, yada."

"Why don't you go over there and talk to him, then?"

"He can wait. I've told him to not come visit me while I'm working."

I get back to cutting fruit, my eyes cast down. "So, my roommates and some other people are getting together for the fourth of July. I guess one of the guys has a house in Point Loma where you can see downtown's fireworks show from the roof. Want to join?"
 

It's my first time inviting her to something outside of work. It's taken us this long to even get to the point where this would feel normal.
 

She tucks her hair behind her ear and seems to hesitate. "I can't. I'll be with my sister. Sounds like she'll be too young for the crowd."

"Ah, okay. Maybe next time?"

She nods, distracted, and I get the sense she feels guilty for declining. So I change the subject. "I could use your help with something else, actually."

"What is it?" She stops writing to look at me.

I tell her about the prank war Giles initiated—or that I initiated. But I start at the beginning, with him walking in on me naked. Though, I leave out the part where his eyes raked over my skin, taking in every inch of me, face clouded over with lust so thick, it doused my skin with fire. The air around me grows dense and I find myself running a hand over my face and resting it on the side of my neck.
 

"It's been days and I can't think of how to get him back for what he did to my deodorant. I want my prank to be better than his. I want him to realize I don't take these sorts of things lying down."

"I bet he wishes you did."

I snort. "Shut up."
 

Lex brings the end of the pen to her lips and says, "Okay, let me think on it for a minute. I'll come up with something…"

We absorb ourselves in our respective tasks. After a while, I notice the strawberries I'm cutting are staining my fingers pink. This observation prompts the wheels in my brain to turn a little faster as I look out toward the dining room. I don't see the restaurant. I see, in my mind's eye, the contents of a bathroom sink.
 

Mess with my stuff, I'll mess with your stuff.

A smile turns up my lips as I transfer the cut-up fruit into a container. I set the knife down and spin around to face Lex. "Never mind…I know exactly what to do."

That motherfucker has no idea who he's messing with.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Giles

F
OR
ALL
HER
ATTITUDE
and sass, Julia hasn't even tried to get me back for putting a breakfast condiment in her deodorant. I was sure she would and the days that followed were exciting and tense, as I waited for her response.
 

I've kept an eye out, careful to remember the way I leave my belongings so I can spot right away if anything has been moved. But so far? Nothing's happened and I'm starting to suspect she's opting to take the high road.
 

I have to admit, I'm disappointed. She doesn't strike me as the type that would let things go so easily. And though I've considered that she could be stewing up a plan, every day my own vigilance grows less effective with no clear signs of a genuine threat.

This morning, I use my shampoo without checking it first and freeze mid-lather, only to relax again when I'm certain it hasn't been tampered with. Of all mornings to deal with the unexpected, this one may be the worst. I'm interviewing for an internship with the UCSD Chancellor's office this morning. I've been looking forward to this opportunity for months.
 

This campus, like most university campuses, is like a small kingdom. Self contained, with its subjects and territories. Most people would think the university president is the king in this scenario. He isn't. He's just a face to represent the university, to sit at banquets and shake hands at ceremonies. The Chancellor wields the real power.
 

People with real power are too busy overseeing the turning pieces of their kingdom to pose for pictures. And that's what I'm interested in, real power. Not the illusion of it.
 

When I was younger, I would tell anyone who listened I was going to be a Marine, like my father. My mother, of course, hated the idea on principle, but my father would rub the top of my head and say to people,
You hear that? My kid wants to be a grunt
.
 

My dad was proud to be infantry but all I knew about his job in the Marine Corps was that he got to wear a cool looking uniform and, when he'd deploy, would send me pictures of seemingly giant trucks and impressive guns. I didn't understand the purpose of all that equipment, didn't grasp the death and destruction they evoked, both physically on the war zone as well as long after the marines returned home. I slowly caught on. I gradually saw the toll of deployments on my mother and the biggest toll of them on my father.
 

In my early teens, I decided I wasn't cut out for the military lifestyle. All I wanted was for my father to not have to deploy any more. But he lived for deployments, sometimes volunteering for them even when they weren't in his rotation. In my young mind, I saw my father being forced to answer to his duty. I saw the military life as one that couldn't afford me the power to change my family's situation. The Marine Corps is about following orders, selflessness, and sacrifice. None of those things seemed to be much help to keep my father home with me, out of harm's way. Away from the things that elicited his screams of panic in the middle of the night, waking me from my own sleep down the hall.
 

This internship is the first step in me reaching the type of influence I've craved since childhood. My ultimate goal is public office, but you have to start somewhere to gain the public's trust. This self-contained kingdom is as good a place as any.
 

I've got my eye on the Chancellor's chair. I want it. I just decided I did and now I've got to have it. Landing this internship is a long way from the top and it doesn't pay much, but it's a foot in the door. I'll wedge myself into that crack and blow it wide open.

By the time I get out of the shower, I'm energized beyond belief. I drag the towel over my body, soaking up the droplets of water, and check myself out in the mirror as I do so. Wouldn't mind Julia walking in and seeing this. I don't think she'd mind either.

Thinking of her makes me hesitate as I reach for my deodorant. I uncap it and, even though it's the right green color, I still give it a quick sniff to make sure there isn't anything strange added to it. It's fine. I put on the deodorant and reach for my toothbrush. Again, I feel the tug of hesitancy. I've been careful to hide my toothbrush over the last few days, but I accidentally left it out last night. Did she do something to my toothbrush? It looks fine and I doubt she'd stoop low enough to mess with it, but I can't be sure. Deciding I'm not in the mood for uncertainty, I throw it out. It's time to replace it anyway, so I grab an unopened one from the back of the vanity drawer.

Satisfied, I wet the brush under the running faucet and layer on a thick coat of the blue toothpaste. I doubt she'd mess with my toothpaste, the opening is too small to put anything in it without smearing the outside, but I give it a sniff just to be safe. Mint, pure mint.

My line of sight moves toward the closed door of the bathroom, as I start brushing my teeth. Wondering, as I do every morning, if Julia's retaliation lay in my bedroom. I'm less worried than usual, sure she considers herself too good to play these games. But as I refocus on my reflection, my jaw goes lax.
 

The toothpaste foam filling my mouth is blue. Bright, neon blue.
 

I wrench forward and spit into the sink. Blue, everywhere. Another glance at my reflection reveals what I fear. My lips, my teeth, my tongue. Blue. Everything is stained blue. I try to scoop water into my mouth, swirling it around and letting it out, only to see a stream of light blue liquid coating the porcelain and leaving a stain behind.

"Fuck!"
 

I slam my palm against the edge of the sink, feeling the burn of the impact on my skin. My interview is in two hours and I look like I just ate out Smurfette.

 
I tear out of the bathroom and storm into the kitchen. Julia is sitting at the table, just as I had been when I played the prank on her.

Surprise registers on her face as her eyes drag down my bare chest to where a towel clings to my hips. For a minute, I forget how angry I am because her eyes reveal an unrelated struggle I know she doesn't want to admit.
 

"Why so blue?" Her gaze turns down to the container of yogurt in front of her as if she might burst out into laughter at any moment.

My jaw tightens and I try to sound calmer than I feel when I say, "I have somewhere important I need to be."

I don't think she believes me. She shrugs, drawing a spoon full of yogurt up to her lips. Imitating Luke, she says, "Damn. That sucks, bro."

"What am I supposed to do now?"

Her hand flies to her mouth and she struggles to hold back a snicker. I can only imagine what I look like, bright blue tint all over my lips and teeth.
 

"Rub some cream cheese on it?" she offers, half laughing from behind her hand.

Ignoring her, I head into the kitchen and search through the cabinets until I find a box of baking soda. Washing my mouth out with this might be able to take out most of the color.
 

Instead of going back to the bathroom, I head in her direction, box in hand. She eyes my lips and even though I know it's because of tint, I get the urge to storm right up to her and kiss her, smearing her own lips blue. That would teach her.

I grab a chair and set it down right in front of hers. She eyes it with confusion as I plop myself onto it and lean toward her. I'm the one wearing nothing but a towel, but she's the one that scratches her nose and looks away.
 

"I'm impressed," I tell her.

She raises an eyebrow, but in a lazy way like she's thoroughly unconcerned by my praise. "How so?"

"For a minute there, I thought you were too pussy to get your hands dirty. But it's nice to know I have a worthy adversary. I never saw this coming."

"Too pussy? Really? Is that the weakest body part you can think of?"

"It's just an expression," I point out.

"How about this for an expression.
Your weak balls can't handle it.
"

"Fine," I say, running my hand over my mouth and chin. "I thought your weak balls couldn't handle it."