Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3)

by Veronica Larsen

  It's fun to watch her attempts to show me she isn't uncomfortable around me. Even while it's obvious that she isn't comfortable living with a man. Watching the shyness show on her face, despite the sharp edges she tries to flaunt, is the reason I don't even bother putting on a shirt in the mornings until she's left the house.

  Julia has an edginess about her exotic looks. An unintentional type of confidence I've never seen before. It's not the blatant, openly flirtatious kind that demands attention. It's an unassuming confidence in the way she's always fresh-faced, her hair down in natural dark waves and parted in the middle. She's the type of girl who doesn't try too hard. Not exactly a tomboy, but not far from it, either. She doesn't dress to accentuate her curves the way girls with her body type can when they want to. Yet, sexiness creeps out of her anyway, despite her efforts to the contrary. But never more than when she's pissed. She lights up from underneath and all around, on fire. Daring me to touch her.

  Ava snaps a finger in front of my face, like she knows my thoughts are wandering somewhere dangerous. "Seriously, you're pissing me off with your inability to keep it in your pants. I've had to deal with the aftermath of you hooking up with my friend. I'm not dealing with that under my own roof, okay? I get that you're heartbroken and somehow…screwing your way out of it—"

  "I'm not heartbroken," I correct.

  She straightens her apron in a way that makes me dread where this conversation is going.

  "Look, I know the anniversary of uncle Finn's death is coming up," she says. "I know how—"

  "Don't go there, Ava." My tone grows icy.

  "I'm just worried—"

  "Don't be—"

  "—that you bottle it all up, refuse to talk about it, and think being a manwhore is somehow going to—"

  "Ava."

  She falls silent at my definitive tone then shakes her head as I get up, declaring this conversation over.

  "I'll see you at home," I tell her.

  "She's off limits, Giles."

  "Sure she is," I say, without looking back.

  I wake the next morning with a dull headache, which I find strange because I barely drank last night. Searching my nightstand for some aspirin proves pointless. There's none in my bathroom, either. I'm half asleep as I make it out into the hall. The place is quiet and I'm not sure what time it is, but I think everyone's still asleep.

  I head down to the girls' bathroom, turning the knob and pushing inside before I register how damp the air is. The shower curtain is drawn and Julia stands just outside of the tub, hair soaked and clinging to the sides of her head.

  We both freeze, eyes going wide. Except mine are powerless to stop from following one of the water droplets as it rolls down her collarbone, between her full breasts, down the concave of her flat stomach to the smooth, shaved skin between her parted legs.

  Holy shit.

  The towel she snatches from the rail obscures my sight. She pulls it tight over herself and snaps, "What the fuck, Giles?!"

  I look up at her face, which I haven't glimpsed since walking in. She's enraged, her entire expression twisted by fury.

  "Get out!" she yells.

  "Hang on," I say, turning leisurely to the medicine cabinet.

  I'm already here, might as well get what I came for. I find a bottle of aspirin and, shutting the cabinet again, I catch her reflection. Her mouth is half open as she continues to pull the towel tighter around herself, deep lines between her brows.

  "Just needed these," I say, pretending I don't notice her expression. But, as I turn to the door again, I glance back over my shoulder. "Nice tits, by the way."

  She hurls toward me and I duck out of the room laughing and close the door behind me. Two thundering booms mark her banging her fists against the door.

  "Asshole!"

  Fuck. What a tight little body. And those breasts? Man, I can already see what they'd look like bouncing around during a good pounding. I run a hand over the front of my boxers, smoothing out the beginnings of a hard-on. Then I head back to my room, because the last thing I need is for her to come out of the bathroom to witness what seeing her like that did to me.

  Julia, off limits? Yeah, I don't think so.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Julia

  THE MIRROR REVEALS THE mortified expression still on my face, five whole minutes after Giles left the bathroom. I've never wanted to strangle him as bad as I do in this moment. Any decent person would've immediately shut the door, apologizing for walking in. But not Giles. No, that asshole just strolled right in, after helping himself to a full-on sweep of my naked body, and then rummaged through the medicine cabinet as if nothing had happened. Like he had every right to be in here with me. Like he didn't care I was practically shaking with anger behind him.

  The door to my room is just a few feet away from the bathroom's entrance. I want to make a dignified walk in my towel, but I hurry, instead, and slam the door behind me.

  In the dim morning light of my room, shades drawn and my skin still burning with anger, I dress in silence. My hair takes a while to towel-dry to damp. I squeeze my fingers between my thick locks, scrunching them into waves as an unrelated countdown commences in my head.

  I've been living here for just six days. That's it. Not even a full week and he's already seen me naked.

  Nice tits, by the way.

  I can't believe he said that. He's treating the whole thing like a big joke and I'm the punch line. I'm tempted to storm back out there and give him a piece of my mind, draw a line in the sand, and show him I'm not going to be messed with. But I know better than to face his mischievous grin when rage is coursing through my veins. I'm borderline homicidal at the moment and stabbing him in the eye is probably not the best way to handle this. Still, I need to get back at him for…for being him. For being such an ass.

  I sit on my bed and pull my laptop closer to check my emails. The last one is from my sister, Cassandra. It's just another one of the random health articles she sends me every once in a while. The ones with titles like, Ten Ways To Know If You're Getting Enough Sleep, and Three Symptoms You Should Never Ignore.

  I used to find these emails annoying, but now? They're like the tiniest of threads still holding us together. I'm closest to my younger sister, Lola. But as the oldest, Cassandra has always been very maternal and overprotective. After she found out I'd had sex for the first time, she practically dragged me to get tested and have the birth control implant. She told me that as a nurse at a parenthood clinic, she'd seen more STDs and unwanted pregnancies than she ever cared to admit.

  It was an uncomfortable experience for me, going to that clinic. I understood why it was necessary, and having my sister there with me somehow made it bearable. Even though I had used a condom, it was still a deep relief when my tests came back clean. I'm reminded of the implant whenever I run my fingers over the right spot on my arm. I don't regret getting it, I hardly ever remember it's there, and it does beat having to take a pill every day, but whatever hormones it distributes to my body seem like a wasted effort now.

  Just as I go to close the laptop, a ping alerts me to a new email. The simplest of glances at the sender's name makes my blood run cold. It's from him. The email is from my ex—Andrew. I should delete it. I've promised myself I would not read any other messages or emails from him. But, as though it has a life of its own, my hand moves the cursor and clicks open.

  For the last time…it wasn't me, Julia. I didn't do it. And why did you block my number? I need to see you.

  I shut my laptop, blood rushing to my ears and making my head hurt. The same lie, repeated a thousand times, wouldn't make a dent in the truth. It was him. He knows it. I know it. Everyone knows it. Yet he keeps trying to find a loophole, some alternative that would render him blameless instead of owning up to what he did.

  I have to make the effort of taking deep breaths, determined not to allow this situation to control my emotions. The time will come when I will face this asshole. But right now I'm trying
to build my present, not sift through my past. I'm so goddamn sick of feeling like a victim.

  My line of sight lifts to my closed door. Standing up, I straighten my posture and march out of my bedroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen. I'm ready to look Giles in the eyes. Because big fucking deal, right? He saw me naked. Well, you're welcome, asshole. Hope you got a nice long look, because it's all you'll ever get.

  But Giles isn't in the kitchen.

  I keep myself cool and collected, preparing my own breakfast and expecting him to enter the room at any moment. He doesn't. Ava does, though.

  She walks in from the hall, half dragging her feet along the floor, still clinging to sleep.

  With effort, I pull a smile to my lips. "Wow. I was starting to wonder if you even really lived here."

  She gives me a halfhearted smile, reaching into the cabinet for instant oatmeal. "I know, I know. I'm never around. I'm sorry. It's been a crazy week. I'm trying to get as many hours in now that finals are over. I barely have time to breathe."

  "No worries," I say with a shrug.

  She watches me for a few seconds, her expression softening. "I feel kind of guilty."

  "Why?"

  "I mean, we're the only two girls here and I've just left you out in the cold."

  "I'm a big girl."

  Again, she eyes me with intense curiosity.

  "Are you and Giles getting along? Has he serenaded you yet?"

  "Serenaded me?"

  She raises an eyebrow. "It was his lame way of seducing girls when we were in high school. He'd sing to them. He's got a pretty good voice, actually."

  I laugh, unable to imagine Giles singing. "I've been spared of any serenades, thankfully. And we have yet to murder each other, so I guess it could be worse."

  "Don't let him get to you. He likes to play with boundaries."

  Play with boundaries? This phrase catches my interest, but I mask this by rifling through one of the kitchen drawers.

  "Do you like him?" Ava asks. I tilt my head as though not understanding her meaning and she amends her question. "Are you two screwing already?"

  "What? No." My face crinkles in disgust a bit too dramatically. "No way. He's an asshole. I mean, no offense because he's your cousin and all. But a huge, huge asshole."

  Ava laughs and I somehow know it's not at what I've said but at how I said it. My own reaction brings warmth to my face.

  "He's not really that bad. But yeah, don't get too comfortable, either."

  Her friendliness falls short of bridging the awkwardness of us still being strangers. Despite being roommates, for the past week I've seen her maybe three times, always headed out of the door.

  "And…your mom?" I ask, taking my plate of food to the table as she follows close behind with her own.

  I'm not sure how to ask, but I know I should. It's not something I should ignore; it's the giant elephant hanging off her shoulders.

  Ava settles in her seat across from me, avoiding my eyes for a moment. "She's, uh, she's okay. Still not good, but not worse."

  I nod, noting her vagueness as a reluctance to speak on the subject. My stomach ties in knots as I eat my breakfast, unable to control where my thoughts go. An awful part of me wonders if her mother is even really sick. I know this is a horrible thing to think, but when someone you barely know has shown a proclivity to being untruthful, it casts a shadow of doubt over her as a whole. One lie has the power to taint a thousand truths.

  Don't get me wrong. I like Ava, I really do. She's friendly and welcoming, and my gut tells me her intentions are good. My conscience, on the other hand, weighs heavy with a warning to not get too close.

  The people you meet aren't simply good or bad. There's a whole lot of gray; layers upon layers that sometimes don't even match each other.

  "Did you invite anyone to the party tonight?" she asks, after a lull.

  "I didn't. I work late tonight and…well, I don't really know anyone I want to invite."

  Ava eyes me as she eats.

  "What?" I prompt.

  "Nothing, it's just…I don't know. You act like you're only here temporarily. Like you're trying not to set down roots."

  I don't know how to respond to that. Actually, I do. I want to say, what do you know? We've had, like, three full-blown conversations and two of them were before I even moved in. But there's something keen about her gaze that gives me pause, making me wonder if she's one of those people who just sees more than others. Some people are intuitive that way, seeing things you haven't even showed them. Things you wouldn't even know were there to begin with.

  "I've been busy," I say. "Haven't had a lot of time to meet people or hang out."

  "Well, you'll have lots of choices for hanging out tonight." She winks at me and the smile that pulls at my lips is mechanical. Her glance flickers to the neckline of my t-shirt before she adds, "Show off those boobs a little, girl. They're fantastic."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Julia

  IT'S RARE I WORK a truly busy night at Callistro's Bar and Grill. I'm still technically the new bartender and the two existing ones have established their own schedules. But every once in a while, like tonight, I score a Friday closing shift for one reason or another. The restaurant is abuzz with activity. Finals week is officially over and it seems that everyone is in a celebratory mood. The dining room full, patrons opt to sit in the bar area, which includes half a dozen, circular tables skirting the bar.

  "If one more person asks me where the C in my name went…," Derik says from beside me, his threat hanging in the way he trails off.

  I'm focused on punching in an order on the screen. His nametag isn't what gets him attention; it's his faint, but still discernible, German accent, prompting customers to ask where he's from. Inevitably, what follows is an array of questions that derail his mission to serve the other intoxicated people demanding more alcohol as though it's time sensitive medication.

  "I don't understand why I get all the chatterboxes and you don't."

  "It's your eyebrows," I offer. "You've got friendly eyebrows."

  They do have that upward tilt, as if he's about to ask a question. Derik's tall and lanky, his kind face inviting of conversation with strangers.

  He shoots me a sideways look and grabs a pair of glasses from under the bar. I get busy making a few drinks, Derik and I work around each other like synchronized swimmers despite the area behind the bar being relatively small.

  "Jules?"

  I freeze at the sound of the nickname that no one here calls me. Three guys settle in at the bar, only one of them I recognize.

  "Steven." His name comes out in choked surprised. And while he's smiling widely, I can't pretend I'm even remotely happy to see him.

  I don't like Steven Franklin. Never have. He's Andrew's best friend, but I've always seen him as a snake. And now this snake slithered all the way from Newport Beach in Orange County to my restaurant, in University Village, San Diego. What are the fucking odds?

  "Well, well. What a surprise. I heard you moved down here." His slimy gaze drags down my body, a faint smile still on his lips.

  The other two guys are standing near him, no room for them to sit. They are caught up in their own conversation, but Steven slaps one of their arms and nods to me. The guy turns distractedly, thick eyebrows raised in question, until he focuses on me with a sense of recognition. I've never seen this guy before. Ever. But he's seen me. My stomach tightens because I know the most likely way that could be the case.

  "Remember her?" Steven asks.

  The guy looks a hair embarrassed by the question, scratching his nose before nodding.

  "Can we get three beers, dark ale, whatever you have on tap?" the third guy asks, obviously oblivious.

  I turn and grab the glasses, dreading the fact that the beer taps are on their side of the bar. From my peripheral, I watch as Steven leans into the third guy and says something in his ear.

  "Get the fuck out of here," the guy says. "Show me."

&
nbsp; My fingers grow numb and I nearly drop the first glass of beer as I set it on the counter in front of them. I rush to fill the other two glasses, wanting desperately to abandon this side of the bar for a few seconds so that I can gather myself again. But when I set the rest of their drinks down, not one of them looks at me. Steven has pulled out his phone and they are huddled around it. Even through the clinking of glasses and silverware, the hum of chatter and laughter, the sound coming from his phone speakers reaches me.

  Moaning. Me moaning.

  The sounds trail from Steven's phone speakers and wrap around my neck, squeezing hard until I can't breathe.

  I should snatch the phone from him. I should slam it straight into his face and crush his nose underneath it. But what floods me isn't the anger I need to do just that. It's mortification so potent it planted me to the spot. Like the tiled floors have sprouted roots that bind me all the way up to my knees. All the while the room seems to swell, then churn, fixing my focus to the three guys in front of me, watching, with wide-eyed fascination as I lose my virginity to a camera I had no idea was sitting on a bookshelf.

  My lips part as I try to speak and my eyes burn furiously as I hear my ex-boyfriend, calling me sweetheart and urging me along.

  "Julia?" Lex's voice pulls me back, bringing with it all the noises around me.

  Concern etched on her face, she follows the spot my gaze just left, and the male groans must reach her too, because her reaction is immediate, snatching the phone from Steven's grip.

  "Are you watching por—" She cuts off when she catches sight of the screen. Jaw suddenly lax, she glares at the three guys. Then without breaking eye contact with Steven, she says to me, "Julia, we need you in the back. Go."

  My legs move again, on their own, as I make a beeline for the kitchen doors and rush past Derik, furious with myself for the hot tears now rolling down my cheeks.