by Nikki Chase
Aubrey
“That was crazy,” he says as he takes a seat by the bar. “A Macallan for me, and anything my lady luck wants.”
“Big winnings, huh?” the bartender asks with a big, opportunistic grin as he rushes over. Here in Las Vegas, every service provider who dreams of making a fortune learns to quickly identify lucky gamblers who are ready to celebrate.”So what does lady luck drink?”
“Um, a mojito, please.” I take my high leather seat and look around.
Is this a new restaurant? I haven’t been home for a while and things change so quickly here. The interior is dominated by the black, textured wallpaper and the dark-stained chunky wooden furniture.
“A mojito! Excellent choice,” the bartender says. Lowering his voice, he says, “I happen to have yerba buena from Cuba tonight, and I can use that instead of regular mint in your drink for a special winners’ version.”
Normally, I’d say yes to that offer, but I’m pretty sure it’s significantly more expensive, and I’m not paying for myself right now, so I turn to the guy who’s buying me this drink.
“Of course! My lady luck deserves the best,” he says to the bartender.
What was that? What did he just say?
My chest tightens. I thought that old wound has healed, but turns out it’s just hardened into a shell around my heart. The stranger’s words pierce through that armor and stab into me.
There’s something familiar about those words, and about him.
How can I feel this much attraction to a man I’ve just met? It doesn’t make any sense. I’ve only ever felt this way about one boy.
“I really shouldn’t be drinking,” the stranger says. “I just met a few old friends and had too many drinks already. But we’re celebrating, right?”
“Of course! You’re in Vegas! Do what you want to do,” says the bartender. Another self-serving suggestion.
I watch the stranger sitting beside me.
His sharp gaze, his chiseled jawline, the five o’clock shadow all over the lower part of his masculine face. This man can’t be him. My Aiden was a lanky kid who was adorably awkward; this man is built like a Greek god and a little cocky.
But then again, he was only sixteen when he left, and a lot of things could’ve happened in ten years. He could've gotten a gym membership, for example.
After the bartender puts both our drinks on the counter, the stranger leans forward to rest his strong forearms against the dark wood. With the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up, I can see the veins popping just under the skin of his forearms.
He turns his head to look at me, as if he’s expecting me to say something. Does he feel this strange aura, too? Does he feel like we know each other, too? He stares at me strangely, and a small frown appears on his golden skin.
My heart picks up its speed as I watch his lips part. The way he’s gazing at me so intensely… could this man really be him? Has he realized who I am?
Without saying anything, the stranger picks up his drink and holds it up. “Cheers?”
“Oh, right,” I say nervously. I realize I’ve been zoning out.
Of course he was just waiting for me to pick up my drink too.
Jeez, Aubrey. Desperate much? You’ve literally just met this guy a few minutes ago, and now you think you’ve mastered the kind of telepathic looks that Hannah shares with the father of her child?
There’s no need to read too much into a look.
I raise my glass of special, authentic Cuban mojito and clink it against his glass. I give him a smile as I crane my neck to look just outside the restaurant.
“Sorry,” I say after I take a gulp of the mojito. “If I seem a little distracted, that’s because I’m waiting for my family right now.”
“Family vacation?” he asks with a grimace.
I laugh. “No. A wedding.”
“Oh, one of those. I’m here for a wedding, too,” he says. “But it’s not like the couple decided to elope or anything. They just live here in Vegas.”
“Right.” I decide to get to the point. “Do we know each other?”
“We’re sitting at a bar having drinks together, lady luck, so I’d say yes. Yes, we know each other.”
“No, I mean… Have we met before?” I ask.
His lips spread across his cheeks to form a wicked smile, matched perfectly by the sinful glint in his eyes. “Is that a pick-up line?”
“No,” I say, irritated. I was trying to ask a serious question.
“Now that you mention it, you do look familiar…” he says as his intense gaze studies me.
I swallow my nerves. My body grows hot under his stare, even though the casino is air-conditioned and I’m wearing a light floral sundress. But I can almost feel the caress of his stare over my curves.
Could it really be you, Aiden?
“Bee!” a kid’s voice stabs my ear.
Oh, no.
Before I can twist to look at the source of the noise, I can already tell it’s Marcus. There’s no mistaking that piercing shriek.
“Bee!” A pair of little arms wrap around my thighs, and I melt.
Aww… Maybe it won’t be so bad, having Marcus here.
“What are you doing here, Marcus?” I ask. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Mom and Grandma?”
“Yeah, they’re done. Finally.” Marcus rolls his eyes. Despite his theatrics, he was asleep the whole time I was at Hannah's meeting.
“I feel your pain,” I say. “Where are they now?”
“They saw you walking in here, and they said I could come be with you while they meet another wedding lady.”
I ruffle Marcus’ fair, blond hair.
I look at the handsome stranger. “This is my nephew, Marcus.”
“I know him,” Marcus says.
“You do?” I ask.
“Yeah. He was at the parking lot yesterday.”
I frown. That can’t be right. We were still in San Francisco yesterday. I give the guy a questioning look, but he just shrugs.
“Are you sure?” I ask Marcus.
“Yeah. He told me to wear a helmet and he said you were irris… irristable… irrisponsive… irrisponsive-bubble?” Marcus asks.
“Irresponsible?” I ask, getting ticked off again at the rich guy with the expensive car from the mall parking lot. How dare he say something like that in front of my nephew? Now he’s repeating it in front of a stranger I’m trying to impress.
“Yeah!” Marcus says as he dramatically points his index finger to the ceiling.
The stranger laughs as he stares at Marcus. “He’s right. I did say that. How are you, kid?”
Wait a minute.
“You really were the guy from the parking lot yesterday?” I ask in disbelief.
“Yeah.”
“You mean in San Francisco?” I repeat the question with more detail. I can’t believe he’s not mistaken.
“Yeah.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” He chuckles, and then he cocks an eyebrow at me. “You must’ve followed me.”
“I did no such thing!” I say, a little too loudly.
“Eh, it’s okay if you don’t admit it,” he says. “But you should really pay more attention to your kid.”
What is it with this guy? Is he trying to make me angry? I can’t believe I thought he could be Aiden.
“Okay,” I say as I take a deep breath. “Firstly, he’s not my kid. He’s my nephew. Secondly, even if he were mine, it’s not your place to tell me how to raise him. I’m sorry if he damaged your car yesterday, but—”
“Whoa, hold your horses. This is not about the car. The car was fine. I just—”
“The car was fine? So you told him off and made him cry over nothing?” I ask incredulously as I put my hand around Marcus’ tiny shoulders protectively.
“I meant every single thing I told him yesterday. He almost got seriously hurt. He needs a helmet.”
Maybe he does. I don’t know. I’m not going to
pretend to be an expert on skateboarding gear. I’ve never touched a skateboard in my life, and I’m not the one with a kid who rides one.
All I know is, I’m not going to stand here and let this guy tell me I’m “irresponsible.” That “meant every single thing” comment was obviously a passive-aggressive way to bully me into complying with his own notions of how things should be done.
I’ve had enough of this kind of treatment from my dad. I don't need anyone else trying to shove his opinion down my throat.
“Listen, I’ve had a really bad day, and the last thing I need is some stranger telling me what to do,” I say as calmly as I can, keeping my anger tightly under a lid.
“It’s not my fault you didn’t win at the slot machine,” he says with a dismissive shrug.
But then, a wicked glint flashes in his blue eyes, and he leans closer until his lips are just inches away from my ear.
He whispers, “It’s not too late to turn this day around, though. You can still get lucky. I’ll show you. All you have to do is come up to my room.”
“Are you serious right now?” Lowering my voice, I say, “My nephew is right here.”
He grins, and again I smell alcohol in his breath.
What am I doing, arguing with a drunk guy? He's probably not even going to remember this when he wakes up tomorrow.
“I’m done here.” I hop down from my perch on the bar chair and sling my bag onto my shoulder. “Come on. Marcus.”
“Okay, Aunt Bee,” he says, thankfully cooperative for once.
“Bye, Marcus,” the stranger says.
He’ll remain a stranger forever now. I don’t want to see him again, and I definitely don’t think he’s Aiden anymore. Aiden would never be rude enough to ignore my waving or call me irresponsible to my nephew’s face.
I turn my back on him and start to make my way across the restaurant. From behind me, I hear Marcus ask the stranger, “What’s your name?”
“Aiden,” he says.
Aubrey
Ten Years Ago
You know the dad in 10 Things I Hate About You, who forbids his daughters to date?
There’s one scene where he puts a pregnant suit on his daughter and says, “Every time you even think about kissing a boy, I want you to picture wearing this under your halter top.”
That’s how my dad is. He’s overprotective to the point of madness. And if he knew I was working part time in a convenience store, he’d be furious.
Luckily, he thinks I’m at my French tutor’s house, when in fact, she’s overstayed her visa and has been deported because of that. I never told anyone, though. So every Tuesday afternoon, the family chauffeur would drop me off in front of Marie’s house and drive away, just like he always has.
If Marie were around, normally I'd go inside, work on my pronunciation, and maybe even help her prepare dinner and have the meal together. We’ve become pretty good friends, and I always looked forward to my Tuesday afternoons with Marie.
Except, Marie isn’t home. She isn't even in the country.
So instead of brushing up on my French, I now wait until the car disappears from view, then I take a walk around the neighborhood.
It took me a few weeks of secretly printing out a bunch of copies of my resumé and giving them out to all the stores in the area, but I finally got myself a job, even though I’m only available to work on Tuesdays.
Soon, I’ll have enough money in my secret stash to buy all the makeup I want.
I have a newfound appreciation for people who work in convenience stores. The pay sucks. I never thought it would take all afternoon just to make fifty bucks.
I mean, that’s just a tiny fraction of the limit on my credit card. It annoys me that I can’t use the card to buy mascara, all because dad doesn’t believe in makeup for teenage girls, and he’d tear through my room to find the contraband if he ever sees it on his credit card statement.
Ugh. I’m sixteen, for God’s sake. Some of the girls in my class are practically having a competition on who can bang the most guys. It's not that I want to join them, but it’d be nice to have enough freedom for that to be an option.
I’m not dumb enough to date any one of the arrogant guys who go to my private high school anyway. They’re all sheltered, weak whiners who wouldn’t be able to do anything without their parents’ money.
Movies and romance novels harp on about rich guys, but trust me, they suck. I should know. I’ve practically grown up with those guys.
But not all guys are like them. For example, there's this guy that I work with . . .
Oh jeez, I start smiling as soon as I think about him. My school friends have noticed the daydreamy look on my face lately, but they don't know the reason.
So this guy, his name’s Aiden, and he’s dreamy. He’s really cute and friendly.
He's tall and I have to look up to talk to him. When he smiles, my heart flips and I forget what I’m thinking. If our hands accidentally graze when he’s handing me something, tiny butterflies flutter in my stomach.
He’s my age, but he’s been working here at the convenience store for two years already. He’s constantly teaching me how to do stuff, like how to replace the bag of liquid cheese for the nachos, or how to toast the breakfast muffins.
One thing I can’t imitate, though, is how he interacts with the customers. They always seem happy to see him, calling him by his first name and asking about his mom.
There’s even one woman who brings him baked goods from time to time, just because she lives alone and she says baking for one is too sad. Sometimes, all of us will hang out by the cash registers and listen to this woman tell us the latest neighborhood gossip.
I love it when this woman comes to visit, because even though I want to talk to Aiden a lot more, I’m too chicken to do it. I don’t know what to talk about, and what if he doesn’t like me? I’m glad to hear more of his voice, even if he doesn’t address me when he speaks.
When there are no customers in the store, he’s usually talking to Leo, another guy who often works on Tuesdays, and I’m usually tidying up the displayed products.
Every Tuesday night, as soon as I get home, I pull out my diary and write about everything Aiden has done at the store that day, and all the little things that make him laugh.
Even though I wish we’d live happily ever after together, I don’t have the guts to do anything about my crush on Aiden. And I’m happy to keep things the same way. I can just watch him from my corner and that makes my day a little bit better.
But then one day, things change.
It's after work, and I’ve just changed back into my dress in the restroom. As I make my way to the lockers, I notice Aiden sitting in the staff room, wearing his jeans, a pair of beat-up white Converse shoes, and a smile. He’s about to put on his shirt, but for now his upper body is bare.
I gasp and avert my gaze, even though I’ve seen enough. His body . . . I mean , he's a skinny kid who’d never get mistaken for a fitness model, but I’m curious. I want to see even more of him, I realize with surprise and shame.
“Sorry,” Aiden says with a big grin. “Somebody was in the restroom.”
“Yeah. Me.”
God, why do I sound so grumpy when I’m feeling anxious?
“Any big plans tonight?” he asks.
I smile nervously. “I have a bunch of homework to do, but I don’t know if that counts.”
Aiden laughs—oh my God, I just made him laugh—and says, “I was just asking because we’re off early tonight, and I don’t have any big plans either.”
I stare at him with confusion, not getting his point. “Okay.”
“Do you have to go home right away?” he asks.
“No.” I should probably start asking him some questions, too, or he’s going to think I hate him. “Do you?”
“No,” he says.
“What do you do for fun when you’re home?” As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I hate myself. What kind of a lame question is th
at?
“I play games on my phone,” he says.
“Oh, do you like to play Wii games, too?” I ask.
Aiden gives me a strange smile. “Yeah, I play them sometimes. One of my friends has the console.”
“Oh.” I turn my back on him to hide my reddening face as I put my uniform in the locker.
I know Aiden’s family doesn’t have much, so that was an insensitive question. Ugh, I must come across as some clueless rich girl.
The room remains awkwardly silent for a few seconds. The only sounds I hear are the clangs of my metal locker and the music softly filtering in through the door from the store.
“So, uh, how much time do you have until you need to go home?” Aiden asks, breaking the silence.
I check my phone and mentally calculate the amount of time it would take to walk to Marie’s house. “About forty-five minutes.”
“Perfect,” he says.
“Perfect?” I ask, repeating him so I don’t accidentally blurt out something insensitive again.
“Yeah. Perfect amount of time to have some dessert. There’s a place not too far from here. They have great Devil’s food cake.”
“Are you—” I gather my courage as my heart thumps in my chest “—saying we should go there . . . together?”
“Yeah,” he says, laughing nervously. Is he . . . embarrassed? That’s adorable. I’m glad I’m not the only one.
“Now?” I can’t believe he’s asking me out.
“Yeah.” Aiden stares at me expectantly, barely blinking or even breathing. “So . . . you want to go?”
“Yeah.” I nod, then quickly add, “If you want to.”
Despite the rocky start, the conversation starts rolling effortlessly not long after we exit the convenience store.
We take a nice stroll to a cake shop two blocks away, where we share a generous slice of cake. Aiden insists on paying for it, which I find super sweet and gallant.
I’ve never had a boy treat me like this before.
But then again, Aiden is different from anyone I’ve ever known.
“This cake is really good,” I say as I swallow the first bite.
“I know, and that’s why I took you here. You deserve the best,” he says with a big, satisfied smile on his face.
