by P. Stormcrow
A family was the first to come out of the arrival doors. The dad carried the little girl while a little boy dragged his feet as he walked beside the luggage cart the mom pushed. Dark rings encircled all their eyes. It was a long flight, and Emma sympathized.
Another family, an elderly couple… More people trickled out, but no one matched Elliot’s coloring and age. As the flow of people increased and slowed again, she grew more anxious. Did I miss him somehow?
Then he walked through those frosted doors and it was as if someone punched her in the gut and all the air in her lungs vanished.
He sported a leather jacket and dark jeans, almost like an identical outfit to hers. But while she looked grungy, his outfit ranged more toward deliberate punk. He had swept back his midnight curls with gel, exposing a chiseled jawline covered by short stubble and high cheekbones. But it was those piercing emeralds that she remembered, except shadows lurked and dimmed their once-brightness. ‘He’s had a rough go of things.’ Now she wondered what Mr. Carmichael had alluded to.
Emma debated on waving him down, but she was no eager schoolgirl, waiting for him like she used to. She was his father’s employee, and she would remain professional. So, she made her way to where the bars separating arrivals and the waiting area ended and stood to intercept him.
He stopped with his suitcase and a large canvas bag slung over one shoulder and stared at her with no recognition on his face. Of course, why would he recognize her? She was a far cry from that freckled blonde girl he used to play with.
“Emma.” She stuck her hand out at him.
Elliot stared at the hand, then back up at her, narrowing his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
It was not the response she was expecting. Emma sucked in a breath. “I’m here to pick you up.”
His expression didn’t change, nor did he take her hand. “I have a rental.”
Oh. Mr. Carmichael hadn’t mentioned that. She should have known, though. Emma dropped her hand and jammed it into her pocket. “Do you need me to drive you to the rental place then?”
He studied her, as if taking in every detail, then shrugged and walked off. That was it. No, ‘thank you’. Not a single ‘sorry’. Not acknowledging her offer. Her face heated, and she caught how she had grown as red as a tomato in the reflection of the glass on one wall.
That asshole. That fucking jackass of a douchebag.
She counted to ten then she counted again. Emma’s first instinct told her to chase him down and demand an apology, but pride stopped her from running after him. Instead, she stared at his fading figure, then gathering herself, she turned and walked back to her own car.
On the drive home, she blasted her music as if it would sate her fury. But by the time she turned off the driveway and opened the garage door, her mood hadn’t improved. And when she saw a shiny black BMW motorbike sitting smack in the middle of her usual spot, she let out a growl. How that jerkface had made it home before her was beyond her. How fast did he have to drive to accomplish that?
Emma parked her own car in the spot next to him then turned it off. The door leading inside hung open, and she groaned at the thought of having to clean that area now. The implications of having someone else living with them dawned on her.
Once inside, the house remained quiet. Emma made her way to the kitchen first and poked her head in. Her mother was no longer sitting there, so she moved next to her bedroom and opened the door, taking care to not make a sound. Ah, there she was, sleeping in her bed. Good. She needed more rest.
That was all she cared about. Emma glanced at her watch. She needed to prepare dinner as she had to leave early tonight for her shift at the bar. Okay, pizza it was. She refused to make anything special for Elliot.
Still, she ended up making a simple marinara pizza with Italian sausage, mushroom and mozzarella cheese, one of Elliot’s childhood favorites. But by the time she realized that, it was too late to change the toppings.
Emma looked up from the last touches just in time to see Elliot stalk past the kitchen. She gave the pizza a baleful glare, ignoring the fact that the current reason for her foul mood had once more gone off without so much as a hello.
Salad. She’d make the salad.
However, it didn’t take long for curiosity to get the better of her. One peek. One little one wouldn’t hurt. She finished chopping the small tomatoes, threw them in with the lettuce and stepped out to the hall but she didn’t have to walk far to find him.
There he was, a Scotch glass on the bar table as he poured the amber liquid out from a bottle that cost more than what she earned at the bar in a month, tips included.
He lifted the glass to his lips, parted them and tipped its contents in. But his gaze met hers and held it as he set the drink down. He smirked at her, and Emma’s cheeks burned.
Damn you, Elliot. Damn you, you arrogant jerk.
Chapter Three
Dear Elliot,
Your adult self is a life-sized jackass—an arrogant, self-absorbed jerk who doesn’t have any manners.
I wish you’d never come. I didn’t need to see this version of you.
With love,
Emma
Later, she would write that in her diary, but for now, Emma remained where she stood, not leaving but not taking a step into the bar area either. She stood her ground instead by the open door and glared at him. Still, his smirk didn’t falter.
Without his jacket, Emma spied tattoos starting at his wrists and crawling up beyond his plain white T-shirt sleeves on both sides. Black ink with just a hint of color swirled around muscled arms, but at the distance, she couldn’t quite make out what they were of. A part of her wanted to study them, but she stamped out that desire with haste.
“Mom should be up in about an hour, and she’ll put the pizza I made in the oven. If there’s anything you need that we don’t have, make a list and I’ll do a run tomorrow.” Emma didn’t wait for an answer but turned to leave.
“You’re not eating with us?” For once, Elliot showed her something other than disdain.
“I’ve got work,” she answered. Emma didn’t have time for banter. She still had to change still. It paid to dress up a little. And it was fun.
“Work? What work?” Elliot abandoned the bar and, in five long strides, crossed the small area to stand in front of her.
Damn, he was tall. It didn’t help that she was only five feet four, but he loomed over her—at least six feet one, maybe two. She sucked in a breath but remained rooted in her spot, even if she had to crank her head back to meet him eye to eye.
When she didn’t speak but just tried to glare him down, impatience flashed across his face. “Doesn’t Dad pay you enough?”
“I’ve got tuition and bills to pay,” Emma snapped then shook her head. “It’s none of your business.” She pushed him with one hand.
Instead of giving her room, Elliot caught her hand in his and kept his eyes on her. There were no words, just an expectant silence.
Emma spluttered. Not even his parents questioned her when they stayed here. “I work at a bar close to the university.” To pretend he didn’t rattle her, she shrugged, yanked her hand out of his grip and spun around. “Don’t worry. It won’t affect your stay here. Good night.”
She walked on, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, but her pace quickened until she entered her room and slammed the door behind her. With a groan, she leaned against it and slid down until she was holding her head in her hands, braced against her knees.
How could the gentle, caring boy she’d known have grown into an angry, demanding man like that? Emma remembered the hand that had touched hers. Callused strong fingers. What has he been doing all these years? What has happened?
Emma’s temper flared. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with her—and he didn’t need to take it out on her either. Resolved to tell him off the next time, she got up and moved across the small room, around her bed and to her closet.
The first thing she pu
lled out were her fishnet stockings, as Emma gave in to the sudden desire to dress to look hot. She tugged off her T-shirt and jeans and donned the stockings before she retrieved a short, pleated skirt made of black canvas.
Next was a simple tank top that just reached her belly button. The bar grew heated and the last thing she needed was to sweat off her makeup. Not that she wore a lot… A touch of mascara and a nude-colored lipstick completed her look.
She threw the makeup into her messenger bag where she had already stowed away her headphones and Between Spaces, a re-read by E. A. Jones. Not that she ever had time to read on the job—not on a Saturday night and not on the first weekend of Spring Break in particular—but she always liked to keep a book on hand.
Emma slung the bag over her shoulder and opened the door a slit to peer outside. No sign of Elliot. She wasn’t sure if that relieved or disappointed her. Now why would you feel that way? It’s not like you dressed for him. And that was the story she was sticking to.
Out of habit, she made her way through the game room to the mud room, pulled on her leather jacket and laced up her boots there. She circled outside to the garage and glared at the bike as she got into her car. Just drop it. Without sparing another thought on Elliot, she pulled out.
It wasn’t a long drive before she reached the bar and swung into a parking spot on the street. She grabbed her bag, locked the car and half ran to the old wooden doors covered with stickers. No posh glass doors for this place, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t popular. Their wide selection of beers and cocktails ensured that.
“Damn, Emma, looking fine tonight.” Andreas—or Andy, as everyone called him—wolf whistled and held up a fist.
Emma laughed and bumped his fist with hers as she walked past the bar. Her coworker was a six-feet Adonis with all his muscles in the right place and a smile that could charm the panties off any girl. Damn this city and its beautiful and ridiculously healthy people.
When Emma had first started working here, Andy’s good looks had intimidated her, but soon she instead found a friendly coworker with no judgment. It had been three years since.
“Thanks.” Emma ducked into the back room to take her jacket off and stow her stuff before she returned to help Andy set up for the night.
“Why can’t this weather make up its freaking mind?” Graham, another bartender, stumbled in, his darker hair dripping water over his Asian complexion.
“It’s spring in Vancouver. What do you expect?” Andy called out.
Emma held out a towel for him, and Graham swung around to grab it with a wicked grin. “Ah, Emma, you are always the best to me.”
“I thought you weren’t coming in tonight,” Emma grinned. As much as Andy was the charmer, Graham was the heartthrob. Together, the two of them always rang in record tips.
“The boss called and wanted extra muscle for the start of Spring Break,” Graham explained.
“Well, get those muscles moving and come help get ready,” Andy called out.
By the time the doors opened, the three of them stood behind the bar, braced for the crowds.
It was slower than she’d expected at first, but once the first party comprising of five guys drifted in, others followed. And soon, all three of them were rushing around to fill drink orders while groups of various men and women, college-aged, crowded the bar. The guys left the fancier drinks to her, but she didn’t mind, as everyone who worked there recognized it was her specialty.
“Hey, sweetheart, can you get me three tequila shots?”
Emma cringed at the unwelcomed endearment but plastered a smile on her face as she turned toward the latest in a long line of men trying to flirt with the female bartender, though she wasn’t sure why. With a slicked-back hairdo and clean shaven, he wore a cocky smile that was coming off more like a sneer.
“Sure thing. Coming right up.”
Emma turned to grab the bottle mid-shelf—he hadn’t asked for the expensive stuff—then put the spout on before pouring. She brought the three over in front and placed them on a wet mat. Before the guy could thank her, she rang up the drinks and pushed the receipt toward him. Perhaps that was a little rude, but she had a feeling.
“Mind running a tab for me, hon?”
Of course, he wants a tab. “Sure. I’ll need a credit card, please.”
He chuckled and glanced at his friends, who all laughed with him. “Come on, sweetheart. You know I’m good for it.”
That was the last thing she needed on a busy night like this. “That’s the thing… I don’t know you from John Doe over there.” She gestured and tried in vain to keep the irritation from her voice. “So, credit card or you can pay for those drinks now. Your choice.”
Instead of backing off, he leaned forward over the bar and narrowed his eyes. “Look, sweetheart. I don’t think you understand. Just because you’re a hot piece of ass doesn’t mean you get to be a bitch, if you know what’s good for you.”
A quick subtle glance in both directions told Emma that both Graham and Andy hadn’t noticed the exchange. They were too busy covering the two ends of the long bar while she handled the middle. Emma took a deep breath and stared at the douchebag straight in the eye. “What’s your name?”
Surprised by the question, he gave her a strange look. “Tim.”
“Okay, Tim.” Emma placed both hands on the bar and leaned in, unafraid. “I think it’s time you leave. Go find another bar.”
“Oh, yeah?” Tim grinned. “Make me.”
A hand clasped Tim’s shoulder and pulled him back. “The lady asked you to leave.”
Emma gasped. Corey hovered over both of them, his lips set to a thin line. Tim’s friends looked up at him, shuffled and backed up until only Tim remained.
He patted Corey on the hand that gripped his shoulder. “Corey McMaster, the big shot. So nice to meet you. Why don’t I buy you a drink?”
Big shot? Emma wondered in what way he was a big shot.
“I don’t think you’re welcome here anymore. Get out.”
Tim let out a shaky laugh. “Sure, man, whatever you say.” He slid off his seat and vanished into the crowd.
“I had it under control,” Emma muttered as Corey turned back to her.
“I know,” Corey replied and grinned at her. “But I thought I’d save the lady some headache. No need to dirty your hands with guys like that.”
Emma opened her mouth but closed it again without speaking as Corey leaned over the bar. She flushed but shook her head. “Does that line usually work with girls?”
Amusement danced in Corey’s baby blues. “Well, did it work with you?”
She had plenty of patrons who flirted with her, but this was the first time someone had gotten under her skin. Instead of answering, she grabbed the untouched shots of tequila and set them aside for now.
“Hey, Emma.”
She spun around once more and found herself surprised by his sunny smile, enough that her lips curved upwards of their own volition. “Yeah?”
“What’s this ‘Emma Special’ I keep hearing about?”
Emma laughed. “Let me make you one, on the house.”
It was the hidden item on the menu and she always varied the cocktail from time to time. Tonight, she had decided on her own spin of the Tequila Honeysuckle, and she worked in front of him until she finished a tall glass full of green liquid with specks of gold along with a sugar rim and thin wedges of lime arranged like a flower.
“Wow, that is a work of art,” Corey exclaimed, staring at it.
“I’d like one as well.”
Emma jerked toward the voice, finding an odd familiarity in it. Her heart skipped a beat, and she grabbed onto the bar for support as her body stiffened with shock.
Corey turned, ready with another one of his friendly smiles, but the other man paid him no heed.
As shock receded, Emma became all too aware of what she was wearing, and her cheeks heated further. But Elliot just watched her with one raised brow, as if he had all the patience
in the world for her to deliver him his drink.
Instead, she blurted out the first question that came to her mind as it restarted. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter Four
“Love is beautiful. Love is infinite. Love is—”
“Did you read that in the back of a cereal box?”
“What? Too cheesy for you?”
“Words are easy. They’re cheap. Now buy a girl a drink and maybe, just maybe, that’s a start.”
Elliot couldn’t fathom why the scene he had written almost two years ago crept back into his mind. He didn’t buy Emma a drink. He wasn’t trying to flirt with her. And yet, his own words played over and over in his head.
Perhaps it was the way she stared at him, disbelief mixed with all that spitfire and sass. Or perhaps it was that goddamn outfit of hers. She wasn’t the same scrawny wild kid, but nowhere in his imagination did it allow for this fair-headed beauty, oozing with punk and sensuality with every movement.
“Elliot!”
Her call of his name jolted him from his trance. Elliot. Not El. No, he didn’t deserve El.
He raised his shoulders and let them fall again. “Ordering a drink.” He nodded toward the one she’d just made for the guy. “That one.”
Emma stared at him as if he’d grown two heads, but he stayed still until, with a huff, she stalked off.
“Hi, I’m Corey.” The man who Em had made the drink for extended a hand to him.
“Are you the boyfriend?” Elliot cut in.
Corey dropped his hand, blushed and turned to watch Emma instead with an embarrassed chuckle. “No. No. She doesn’t have one, I don’t think.”
But you want to be. “I see.” Elliot followed his gaze. Damn, how short is that skirt? A growl rumbled in his chest, but he suppressed it.
“So, how do you know each other?” There was an edge to Corey’s voice.
He’s trying to scope out the competition. Elliot had written characters like Corey often enough.
“I live with her.” It was a truth. Still, Elliot failed to keep the smugness in his voice.
