Girl in Luv

by Jay Crownover

Maybe I’d just have to beg one of my girlfriends to fly in for the weekend to balance out Camille’s precious table, because this plan was obviously the dumbest idea in the history of dumb ideas. The jerk got one thing right, the desperation was making me act crazy and reckless.

  “Where are you going?” Kyle called out as I made my way to the door.

  I blew past the bouncer and headed around the corner into the parking lot, cursing my Louboutins with every step.

  At this point, I was thinking that even Craigslist would have been a better option. What was I thinking, propositioning some guy at a bar like my life was a rom-com on Netflix?

  “Hey, sugar, why the hurry?” Kyle’s voice reached me at the same second his fingers wrapped around my arm.

  Panic froze the breath in my lungs.

  He spun me around, that smirk anything but reassuring. There was something wrong in his eyes, a hard glint that the darkened interior of the bar hadn’t allowed me to see inside. He was easily a foot taller than I was, faster, too—especially with my heels—and the parking lot had shit lighting. He was no longer cute or a viable option.

  He was a threat.

  This was pretty much the opening scene of every woman’s self-defense video I’d been shown my freshman year of college. I should have paid better attention.

  “I thought you had a business offer for me?”

  “Let me go.” I tried to yank my arm free, but he only held on tighter.

  “Come on, now. The night’s just getting started. Why don’t you take a ride with me, and we can talk about business?” The other two guys he’d been seated with silently appeared behind him.

  “No!” I yelled as he pulled me closer.

  “Come on, we know you’ll like this kind of transaction,” he promised.

  I stomped down on his foot as hard as I could with my heel, and he shouted, but didn’t let go. Stupid combat boots he was wearing. What was I—

  A second later, a fist slammed into the jerk’s smirking face, and I was free.

  My heel snapped as I stumbled backward, landing hard on the pavement.

  “She said no.”

  It was all my savior said, and all he apparently needed to say as he let his fists do the talking for him.

  “What the fuck?” Kyle hissed from his position on the ground, touching his crooked, bloody nose. Oh yeah, that was definitely broken and well-deserved.

  Good.

  “She. Said. No,” My rescuer repeated, taking a threatening step toward Kyle.

  One of Kyle’s friends charged, and my savior walked right into the advance, hitting him with another right hook. I gasped when the new guy took the skeevy friend by the throat and put him to the ground in one smooth move.

  “You next?” he asked the third, his hand still gripping the second’s neck. He wasn’t even breathing hard, sweating, or anything. Calm as could be while my heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest.

  “Nope,” the last guy said, backing away with his hands up.

  My savior let go of the second asshole and stood up, putting himself between me and Kyle. “Like I was telling you, in case you didn’t hear her or me each time you were told. She said no.”

  Kyle and his friend got to their feet while leaning on one another, and headed toward the third. Kyle’s friend was definitely limping, and both of them were obviously bleeding.

  “Fuck it, man. She’s not worth it,” Kyle muttered as the three disappeared back toward the entrance of the bar.

  My rescuer turned toward me, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d just traded the frying pan for the fire. Holy shit, he’d just put two guys on the floor without breaking a sweat and now his gaze was fixed on me. I was still in the same parking lot with bad lighting… alone and unarmed. Why wasn’t I scared out of my mind right now?

  The dim parking lot lights didn’t do much for revealing his face, but as he dropped down to face me where I still sat on the asphalt, I saw the arms—the muscles and the holy-shit-look-at-all-that-ink.

  It was the dark-haired guy who’d been sitting next to me at the bar. The first one who had caught my eye but I’d not seen his face since he was turned away from me. The one I pegged as military from the jump.

  “You okay?” he asked, all business. His voice was low with a little rasp to it. I really needed the shadows to shift so I could get a good look at him. If his face was half as nice as his voice, the guy had to be gorgeous.

  “Yeah. Thank you. I just... Thank you.” My voice shook, and so did my hands as I reached for my broken heel. I lifted my hand, studying the trembling fingers.

  “It’s the adrenaline. It’ll wear off, don’t worry. Let’s get you some coffee. The shop right there is still open.” He pointed to the opposite end of the parking lot.

  “That’s okay. I’m fine.” There was zero warmth in his voice, and like hell was I going to escape one attack to only replace it with another.

  “You’re shaking, and it’s not fine.” He sighed. “Take out your cell phone.”

  “What?”

  “Cell. Phone.”

  When I just stared at him, he took my purse, fished out my phone, and handed it to me.

  “Open it.”

  Bossy!

  I did, simply out of pure confusion, and maybe a little shock. At least I could call the cops if I had my phone in my hand. The thought was fleeting as he suddenly took it from me, snapped a selfie with the flash on, and then started tapping away with his thumbs. After a moment, he handed it back. Staring at the picture, I was stunned to see his face was even better than his voice. Gorgeous might not be good enough of a word to cover all the dark and dangerous swagger he was working with.

  “My name is Iker. Iker Alvarez. I don’t have a criminal record. I’m not going to hurt you, and you just told your”—he glanced down at the phone—“nine hundred and forty-two Instagram followers that we’re going for coffee right over there.” He pointed to the shop again.

  “Why?” I asked, my voice still embarrassingly shaky. Iker? What kind of name was that? One I’d never heard before, but it suited his distinct, dark, good looks.

  “Because you’re as white as a ghost. My grandmother would kick my ass if she heard I left you sitting on the ground outside of a dingy bar after having almost been assaulted. Plus, with the way my life is going, I could use a hefty deposit in the karma bank.” He handed my phone back to me. “You in?”

  I nodded slowly, still kind of dazed and thoroughly confused at the turn this night had taken.

  “Good.” He glanced at my heels. “May I?”

  I nodded again. Apparently, I’d gone from shaky words to zero words.

  His grip was gentle on my foot as he removed my unbroken heel...and then broke it.

  “And now you have flats. Let’s go...”

  I gawked at him, then my shoes. Who the hell was this guy?

  He arched a dark eyebrow at me and lifted his chin a little. “This is the part in the story where you’ll tell all of your friends you told me your name.”

  I blinked and stuttered, “Oh, Langley Vaughn.” I couldn’t believe the uneven tremble in my voice. I was never nervous enough I tripped over words or sounded shaky. I was an expert at hiding my emotions. Not in front of this stranger, apparently.

  “Okay, Langley Vaughn, let’s go.”

  I put on my butchered shoes and hobbled over to the coffee shop after him…because what else was I going to do?

  Moments later, I sat across from him, sipping on a caramel latte.

  He really was stunning. And not in a reasonably good-looking way. No, the man was may-I-climb-you-like-a-tree hot. He was maybe a year or two older than me with smooth, tanned skin, black hair cut in that telling high and tight style, dark eyes with thick, curling eyelashes, and lips I found more than a little distracting as he took a drink from the logo-embossed cup.

  “You drink it black?” I asked, motioning to his coffee.

  “Cream and sugar haven’t always been available, so I
got used to drinking it black.” His eyes locked with mine as an awkward silence descended on us. “So, what was that all about? I saw you fly out of the bar like your ass was on fire after talking to that guy.”

  “Oh, I came to the immediate realization that I was pretty much an idiot,” I admitted, proud that my voice had finally stopped trembling.

  “How so?” There was no judgment in his eyes, just curiosity.

  What the hell, right? I was more than embarrassed at my actions already. Who cared if he laughed me out of the coffee shop.

  “I figured I could waltz into the bar, find someone who wouldn’t mind fake-dating me for a week so I could make it through my stepsister’s wedding, and it would all go off without a hitch.” I laughed to myself before taking another sip of the latte.

  “You need someone to fake-date you? Why?” He looked genuinely confused. “You can’t find someone to go on a real date with?” He sounded skeptical.

  “I can find a real date, but that’s not what I need right now. My stepsister is marrying my ex-boyfriend in a wedding that’s pretty much taken over my entire life, and I’m supposed to stand there in a fancy dress with a smile while she twists the knife a little deeper. Oh, and I need to identify my plus-one by tomorrow so I don’t throw the head table off symmetrically.” My lips lifted in a sarcastic smile as I air-quoted that last part. “I need the kind of date who doesn’t mind ruining someone else’s big day. Someone who can ruffle feathers and cause a bit of a spectacle, and this sounds awful when I actually vocalize it, but someone I would never date for real.”

  “Okay, that’s all pretty fucked up.” He laughed, and the sound warmed up the parts of me that were still numb from what had just almost happened in that parking lot. It also revealed a lone dimple in his tanned cheek. Holy heartthrob Batman.

  “It’s not that funny,” I argued. “Ridiculous, I do admit, but definitely not funny.”

  “Okay, so you wanted that tweaker to take you to your sister’s wedding?”

  “Stepsister,” I corrected him. “And yeah. I wanted someone who would shock my family. Someone they wouldn’t ever picture me with. Consider it my own personal form of revenge.”

  “I guess I just don’t get it. You’re a smokin’ hot blonde with pretty blue eyes, who obviously favors the country club crowd, if the label on that purse and those trashed shoes are any indication. You should have dudes lined up around the block looking to help you out. Not be scouting out assholes in a grungy bar.”

  “It doesn’t work that way in my world. Everyone I know also knows Camille, my stepsister, and Richard, my ex. Their wedding is a huge social event. No one would dare put a damper on their über-special big day. I need an outsider. A stranger.” I didn’t dare say this part out loud, but also someone unafraid of both my father’s name and far-reaching influence and Virginia’s well-known wrath.

  “Got it.” He nodded. “So, your plan was just to ask any random guy.”

  I nodded and blushed a little at the full truth. “I was planning to pay him. It’s not like I was going to assume the pleasure of my company and whatever crab dish Camille finally agreed on serving would be enough to get someone to go along with my plan.”

  “How much?” he asked before taking another drink.

  “How much what?” That dimple and those glinting dark eyes sure were really distracting.

  “How much were you going to pay? I mean, how much does fake-dating run these days? Is it an hourly charge, a per diem charge, a flat fee?” He tapped his fingers on the side of his coffee mug and his eyebrows twitched as he watched me.

  “Ten thousand dollars.” I shrugged.

  His hands spasmed in reaction, and for a second, I was sure I was about to be covered in coffee, but he held it in.

  “I’m sorry?” he asked after he managed to swallow.

  I played with the rim of my cup. “Ten thousand dollars,” I repeated. “Seemed like a good, round number to convince someone to put up with my family’s level of bullshit for the week.”

  “When does this week start?”

  My eyes flew to his. “Monday, probably.”

  “When is this wedding that has taken over your life?”

  I watched the play of tattooed skin over muscle in his strong forearms as he lowered his cup to the table.

  “Next Saturday. But there’s the rehearsal, and the family barbecue, and I figured I’d have to go shopping with the guy for a tux, so... Monday, I guess.”

  “And where is this wedding?”

  “The Broadmoor.” AKA, the golf club and resort I’d practically grown up at. The place I’d dreamed of getting married myself. I guess Camille won that one too.

  “Holy shit. Your family’s loaded.”

  “We’re comfortable…” I repeated the phrase I’d heard countless times.

  “Yeah, that’s what loaded people always say.”

  “I guess that’s true.” Rich people only talked about how rich they were in the company of other obviously wealthy people. “It’s my dad’s money. Not mine. I’m a junior at Colorado College.”

  His eyes narrowed for a second, but not in an aggressive way. It was more of a thinking pose. “One more question,” he finally said.

  “Okay?” I wasn’t aware we were having an interview.

  “Did you love him? The ex?”

  I swallowed, thinking of Richard. His wavy blond Ken-doll hair, his practiced smile. His black, traitorous heart.

  “I thought I did, then. Now, I’m not sure if I honestly loved him, or if maybe my definition and scope of love wasn’t what it should have been.”

  He held my gaze for several tense, electric seconds. I finally broke the connection, taking a sip of my latte. The way he looked at me made me shift in my seat. It was like he was searching for something, and knew he could find it if he just stared long enough. Like he could see past every layer to my very—

  “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  Now it was my turn to nearly spew caramel-flavored coffee everywhere.

  It was a struggle, but I kept it down.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I’ll do it. I have most of the week off, ironically. Ten thousand dollars, a tux, and some decent food.” He shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Why would you? Not to use your own words against you, but you’re smokin’ hot and don’t need to fake-date anyone.” I said it with more bravado than I felt. Heat crept up my neck, no doubt leaving my face as crimson as my dress. I should be jumping for joy, not trying to talk this heroic super babe from helping me out.

  He leaned forward, pinning me to my seat with those eyes.

  “Because desperation takes all forms, Langley, not just pretty girls in red dresses slumming it at a shithole bar.”

  Well, that was slightly ominous, wasn’t it? I blinked, thinking about it—thinking about having him for the week. Suddenly, this seemed more dangerous than picking up the creep in the bar.

  “Or do I not seem like a bad enough guy for you?” he teased with the same grin he’d lit up my Instagram with.

  My gaze drifted to his tattoos—the ones that started just above his wrists and ended somewhere behind his sleeves—and back to the single dimple that flashed on his cheek.

  “Oh yeah, you’ll do,” I said softly. He’d more than do. He was perfect.

  “Then, Langley Vaughn, you officially have a date to the wedding from hell, with the devil wearing a tux.”

  Iker

  Thank God for pretty girls with money to burn and no common sense.

  I wasn’t normally much of a drinker, but today I needed something to take the edge off. It was pure luck I wandered into the closest, cheapest bar to the base the same night this lost, debutante diva went in search of her revenge. I noticed her the minute she walked into the dark, dingy bar. She stuck out like a sore thumb, and it was easy to see her only reason for gracing the patrons with her presence was because she was going to cause trouble.

  She looked nervous and unsure. Her eyes were
wide and innocent, clearly looking for something she couldn’t immediately identify. She was a rabbit who willingly walked into the center of a pack of hungry wolves, and it was only a matter of time before one of the predators lurking around tried to take a bite.

  I was in no mood to play hero, or to be her entertainment while she slummed it for the night. She might be looking for trouble, but I’d spent the majority of my life trying to stay out of it. So, when the tiny blonde slid into the seat next to mine at the bar, I purposely turned my back on her. I felt her gaze like a physical touch when it skimmed over me and had to fight the urge to turn and see what color her eyes were, and if the shade of that siren’s dress made them more vibrant. I was betting on blue. She had the whole girl-next-door thing going on. Well, as long as next door was located close to a members-only golf course and country club. The girl oozed money, which is why I’d inadvertently started paying attention when she said she had a business proposition for the tweaked-out metalhead sitting on her other side. I didn’t want to be curious about anything having to do with her, but there was no getting around the fact anything having to do with money, and a quick way to get my hands on a lot of it, had taken up almost all of my available brainpower the last few months.

  One of the scholarships my younger brother had been counting on to pay for college in the fall had fallen through, and now Gael was worried about being able to attend the school of his dreams.

  My younger brother was twenty-times smarter than I ever was. The kid had endless potential and was destined to do great things with his life… as long as he had the opportunity and the bankroll. I was bound and determined to make sure he had every chance possible to succeed in life. I never wanted him backed into the same corners and harsh options I’d had to face for my own future. I supported both Gael and my grandmother who raised the both of us since I was fifteen years old. I couldn’t remember a single day where I hadn’t been hustling and busting my ass to take care of my family, but needing to come up with the cash to cover what the lost scholarship had taken care of wasn’t something I’d managed to find a quick fix to. That is, until the tiny blonde walked into the bar.