We haven’t mentioned the kiss since that first night. Every once in a while, I get a flash of Karissa looking at me that way, but I hardly ever see her anyway seeing as she works most nights at T’s, which is a super-appropriate name for a transgender strip club.
My mom has called several times and we’ve gone through our usual routine. She nearly had a cow when I said I’m staying another week.
Shit, am I just going to keep telling her every week that I’m staying another week?
Truth is, I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I’m just feeling things out. I hate the heat down here. Not to mention the arrogance of some of the people. It’s a different kind of arrogance than back home. Up there, it’s a hoity-toity upper crusty arrogance. Down here, it’s a swarthy I’m-so-gorgeous-and-everybody-should-worship-me arrogance.
Bogart is actually a fun place to work, though. Decorated like Rick’s Café Américain from Casablanca, appropriately. My nametag reads Jayd. I’m no longer Abigail here. Abigail was a stuck-in-the-mud people pleaser. But Jayd is sexy. Jayd gets a job on the spot by “shaking her thang.”
Trevor has called to check up on me a couple of times, too. I love Trevor. He’s my family’s employee, an ex-Navy SEAL my dad hired when my sister was kidnapped for ransom when she was eight. He got Addison back, “disappeared” the kidnapper (or so the legend goes . . . he doesn’t like talking about it), and then stayed on as the family’s bodyguard/chauffeur/personal assistant. But in many ways it was Trevor who brought me up because my dad spent so much time at work. I swear I spent more time with him than either of my parents. He would always be the one who picked me up from school, drove me to band camp, and helped me with my homework.
Now, it’s two weeks since I arrived and I haven’t seen Lukas Thorn since. It’s like he doesn’t exist anymore. Did I imagine him?
I gotta admit, I’m getting a little desperate. I’ve thought about taking Karissa up on her offer to join her and Jaxon, but something keeps me from diving in. Maybe it’s hope that I’m going to run into Lukas Thorn.
I’ve had a few offers, but guys down here are lame. There are a lot of hot ones, but they’re either a) too scared to hit on me, which kills all sexual desire; or, b) they hit on everything that moves which makes me feel like a blow-up doll. Where are all the normal guys? Jeez.
I’ve even considered fucking Javier, who has become a good work friend. But that would make work weird, not to mention Javier has a jealous girlfriend and cheats on her constantly. Not cool at all. Yeah, Javier is out.
So, are we all caught up now? Um . . . yeah, I think so.
Let’s go back to today on Ocean Court looking for the submission school with the same address as the publishing company in the front of Lukas Thorn’s book.
I show up early for work. Fernando says I can start instead of just waiting around, so I log in and put on my apron.
It’s a rainy Wednesday as I take care of the early-evening crowd, which is sparse today. Way too sparse. One is a middle-aged man in a Panama hat who sits in the same spot every day by a corner so he can watch the skirts go by. He’s creepy because he only smiles, never says anything.
The other is Lorena. She’s the same old woman who was sitting alone in the restaurant the night Lukas Thorn Heimlich-ed the piece of meat from my throat, saving my life with his masculine hands, his solid muscular chest surrounding my back in a hard heat that I can still feel if I close my eyes.
The old woman seemed strange to me that night, because it seemed she paid way too much attention to the incident, but I’ve grown to like her. She comes in almost every day and orders a whiskey sour, sipping the one drink for two hours. Sometimes she returns for dinner.
I turn to see Javier counting out. I like Javier. He’s cool, fun, and flirty. We’ve become fast colleagues. I walk over to the table and plunk myself down in front of him.
“Hey, Javier.”
“Sí, the answer is sí. Right now. You and I. Let’s go. Supply closet.”
“Shut up! Listen, remember the first night I was in here and that guy saved my life.”
“Oh, the rich cabron, Señor Thorn. Ooh la la.”
“Yeah, does he come in here often?”
“He used to. Not so much since you started.”
“Figures.”
“What? The young chica has the hots for the dirty old man?”
I play-hit him with a menu, feeling my face flush. “Shut up!”
“Oh, she do like him. Sí, she do!”
“Why did you call him a dirty old man? I know he’s old, like twenty-eight, maybe thirty. But what do you mean dirty?”
Javier stops counting. “Ay, díos mío. I not know how to tell you.” He laughs.
“What? Come on!”
“He into some sick shit.”
I decide to play along. “Like what?”
“I mean some really sick shit. A girl I know met him at a club one night. You better stay away from him seriously.”
“Tell me!”
“He bad news. He wanted her to take lessons from him.”
“Lessons?”
“Yeah, sick twisted shit. Like what’s that book all the girls love? The one that was just made into a movie? I can’t think of the name of it.”
“Fifty Shades of Grey.”
“Yeah, that one. He into sick shit like that. Bad news. Stay away.”
“Oh my God, really?” I try to put on a disgusted look, but my pussy quivers. “You said he wanted to give her lessons?”
“Sí.”
“What, did he just blurt out, ‘I want to give you lessons?’”
“I don’t know. Look, I gotta finish counting out.”
“What club was this?”
“I don’t know, okay? Jeez.”
“Okay.”
I’m dying to ask who Javier’s friend is. Maybe she could give me the deets, but Javier seems to be getting annoyed.
“Your old bat wants you,” he says, glancing behind me.
I turn to see Lorena waving at me. I get up and walk over.
Lorena looks like a movie star from a bygone era. She could be sixty, or she could be a hundred. Always dressed in black flowing outfits that look expensive. Always with a ridiculous long black cigarette holder with no cigarette. Weird.
“How’s it going, Lorena?” I say.
She stares at me as she takes a puff of nothing, igniting a dramatic pause. “That’s a beautiful name you have. Jayd with a y. Is it short for Jayden?” Her voice is deep, the sound of a million cigarettes inhaled over many years clearly audible.
I stifle a giggle. “Yes.”
Her eyes flicker and her nostrils flare. “Like Jayden James.”
I feel my mouth open a little.
How the fuck does such an old woman know who Jayden James is?
She smiles a knowing smile. “What’s your real name, dear?”
I’m not sure that I should answer but I hear myself say it anyway. “Uhm, Abigail. How did you–”
“I know many things, dear. I’ve noticed you around here. You’re new to this place. You’ve run away from something. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not psychic or anything. I just recognize a fellow traveler when I see one. See, the thing is, I know you, Abigail. I know you from a previous life.”
“Okayyyyy.” A chill dances up my spine and I back up a little.
“Oh, don’t be alarmed, dear. Not in a spirit or reincarnation way. I don’t believe in any of that bullshit. All I mean is that I was once you. I once traveled a long distance and came here looking for answers, just as I believe you have done.”
God, how does she know that?
“You said you’re from Massachusetts, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve been here for two weeks and you got a job. I think this is more than a vacation now, isn’t it?”
I chuckle. “Probably.”
“You don’t have to wait tables, you know. In fact, I’d like to make you a job offer, something that would pay a lot more than this.”