Positively Pricked

by Sabrina Stark

  Technically, this was only half true. Yes, I was off the clock, but insulting the customer was – How shall I put it? – strongly discouraged.

  He made a forwarding motion with his hand. "All right. Go ahead."

  I gave him a perplexed look. "Go ahead and what?"

  "Say it."

  "Say what?"

  "Whatever you want."

  It was an obvious trap, and I refused to throw myself into it. "Oh sure," I said. "Like I'd fall for that trick."

  "It's no trick," he said. "I wanna know what you think."

  I almost laughed in his face. "No, you don't."

  "Try me."

  I was dead on my feet and beyond ready to leave. In a moment of utter insanity, I heard myself say, "All right. I think you're an asshole."

  Startled by my own stupidity, I clamped my lips shut and waited for the fireworks. But none came.

  Instead, he gave a slow nod. "And?"

  "And what?"

  "What else?"

  I hesitated for only a split second before saying, "And a jerk."

  "And?"

  During the last three hours, the night had grown even colder. I wore no coat, and the icy breeze should've had me shivering. Funny, I had been shivering until he'd shown up.

  But now, under the weight of his gaze, I felt myself growing warm, and not only in my extremities. If I were being totally honest, an embarrassing amount of heat was settling somewhere just south of my stomach.

  How humiliating.

  But in my own defense, there was something about him that was drawing me in. It wasn't his money, and it wasn't his looks. And – this was a biggie – Lord knows, it couldn't be his personality, because let's face it, he was the biggest prick I'd ever had the misfortune of meeting.

  And yet, there was something.

  Suddenly, I was almost afraid – and not because it was the middle of the night or because it was just the two of us, standing alone in the near darkness.

  It was because, for the first time, I detected the faint hint of laugh lines around his eyes and dwelled on the sweet fullness of his lips. My heart gave a traitorous flutter. Oh yeah. There was definitely something about his mouth. It didn't look like it was made for frowning. It looked like it was made for kissing – I swallowed – kissing me?

  I blinked. What the hell?

  I felt my gaze narrow. If this was some sort of game, I didn't want to play it. For one thing, I didn't have the time. And for another, he had to know exactly what he was doing to me – what he'd do to almost any girl with a pulse.

  He might be a prick, but he wasn't stupid.

  So, what was this, anyway?

  The silence stretched out between us, crackling as our gazes locked and held.

  I couldn’t read his expression, and maybe that was a good thing. For some reason, I thought of him with Tiffany – a.k.a. the future Mrs. State Senator.

  They'd been caught in the coat room with her dress hiked high, and his hands heading for ground zero. I hadn't seen their encounter, but I'd heard plenty from my fellow catering assistants as well as from all those party guests who didn't mind gossiping in front of the help.

  The help.

  That was me.

  And Zane was… well, trouble, that's what.

  I mumbled, "I've gotta go." And yet, I made no move.

  He said, "I've got a question."

  "What?"

  "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

  "Tell anyone what?"

  He flicked his head toward his estate. "What you heard."

  Obviously, he meant the ugliness I'd overheard from inside the van. No doubt, it would've made for a good story, and yet, I hadn't told a soul.

  But that was no big mystery. I said, "I don't gossip."

  "Why not?"

  I stared at him. What kind of question was that? It was like asking why I didn't eat soup with a fork. I wasn't an idiot. No, I used a spoon for the same reason I resisted the urge to blab about things I'd overheard by mistake.

  Who needs a mess, right?

  When I made no response, he frowned. "And why'd you walk out alone?"

  I glanced around. "You mean out here? To my car?"

  He gave my car a dismissive glance. "If that's what you're calling that thing."

  Well, that was charming.

  I gave him an annoyed look. "Oh, so now you're insulting me?"

  It shouldn't have been a surprise. He insulted everyone – or so I'd heard.

  "I wasn't insulting you," he said. "I was insulting your car." He spared it another glance before saying, "Don't tell me you like that thing."

  I felt my jaw clench. "Hey, that 'thing' got me here just fine, so maybe you should show it some respect."

  Why on Earth was I sticking up for my car? I absolutely hated it, probably even more than he did, because I was the one stuck driving it. The car wasn't just ugly. It was practically useless. The heat was iffy, the upholstery was ripped, and its gas mileage seriously sucked.

  Still, the car wasn't his to insult.

  And why was I still here?

  His frown deepened. "You make a habit of this?"

  I wasn't quite sure what he meant. "A habit of what?"

  "Being careless."

  My jaw dropped. "You're one to talk."

  After all, I wasn't the one who knocked over the serving station.

  His gaze shifted, as if taking in our surroundings. "And where's your partner?"

  "What partner? You mean Naomi? She's driving the van back."

  "And the others?"

  "You mean the other catering assistants?" I gave a bitter laugh. "They left an hour ago."

  "And you didn't?"

  "No, because I got stuck trying to clean that stupid rug, not that it did any good."

  To add insult to injury, it wasn't even my idea. Naomi and I had been all packed up and ready to leave when Ms. Hedgwick marched up to tell us that we couldn’t go anywhere until we'd cleaned up all of our mess, including the rug.

  It was so unfair. I mean, it's not like we toppled the table.

  Again, I felt my gaze narrow. In fact, the table had been toppled by Zane, who apparently, wasn't done making my night miserable.

  His cool voice interrupted my thoughts. "Fuck the rug."

  And there it was – another dose of déjà vu. It was just like his comment about the crab cakes, but only worse, because it was three hours later, and I felt so damned grubby.

  I gave him my snottiest smile. "I can't, because I'm too tired from 'fucking' the crab cakes."

  My words hung in the air, and I felt color rush to my cheeks. I didn't seriously just say that. Fuck the crab cakes? That sounded weird and stupid, and yes, obscene in a truly disgusting way.

  Plus, now that I thought about it, he hadn't said "Fuck the crab cakes." He'd said, "Fuck the candles."

  Totally different.

  Worst of all, I swear, I saw amusement flicker in his eyes until it was replaced by something else.

  Sadness?

  No. Contempt. Or something just as bad.

  Either way, I'd had enough. I said, "What do you want, anyway?"

  As an answer, he held out his hand, palm up. "Your phone."

  "What?" I gave him a perplexed look. "Why?"

  "I'm gonna key in my number."

  Okay, now I was really confused. "And why would you do that?"

  "So you can call me when you're fired."

  My stomach clenched. "What?"

  "When you're fired," he said, "call me."

  I was glaring at him now. "I'm not gonna be fired." I swallowed. Was I?

  "Or, if you want," he added, "you can key it in yourself."

  Key what in? His phone number? This had to be a joke. I gave him a stiff smile. "Gee, thanks."

  "You're welcome."

  I made a scoffing sound. "I didn't mean it."

  "Good."

  I studied his face. What kind of response was that? Looking at him, I had no clue, and I was in no mood to t
ry to figure it out.

  With a sigh of irritation, I turned away and yanked my keys out of my purse. With nervous fingers, I fumbled for the one that would unlock my car door.

  The car was so old, it didn't even have keyless entry, and my hands shook when I tried to insert the key into the lock.

  It wasn't even because of the cold. It was because of him – the prick standing just a few feet away. With my back turned, I couldn't see him, but I could feel his eyes on my back, watching and mocking as I yanked open my car door and hesitated as I remembered the side-view mirror.

  Reluctantly, I looked down. And there it was – or what was left of it. I tried to think. Would it be cheaper to have it repaired, or to just get a new one?

  The thought of scooping it up was beyond humiliating. And yet, I'd feel like a slug if I just left it lying in the gutter like a discarded condom.

  Heat flooded my face. A condom? Where on Earth had that thought come from?

  Trying not to dwell on it, I crouched down and plucked the mirror pieces off the pavement, and then tossed them onto the passenger's side floor. Afterward, I slid into the driver's seat and yanked the car door shut behind me.

  My car started on the first try – thank God. Still, I wasn't taking any chances. As fast as I could, I shifted into gear and slammed my foot on the gas. My car lurched forward with an embarrassing amount of clunking and rattling.

  But at least I was on my way.

  Against my better judgment, I snuck a quick glance in the rear-view mirror. Zane Bennington was still standing there, looking like every girl's impossible dream.

  But so what? Dreamy or not, he was living proof of everything that was so unfair in this world. The guy had it all, and what was he doing with it?

  Tormenting me of all people.

  And thanks to him, I now had something else to worry about. Was I going to lose my job?

  No. I wasn't. I returned my attention to the road and kept it there. As far as the job thing, he was just toying with me.

  He had to be.

  Right?

  Chapter 7

  From my open front doorway, I stared down at the small decorated cake that my sister held out in front of her. On the cake, in small scripted letters, was a single word, written in festive pink icing.

  I read the word out loud. "Congratulations?" I looked up. "To who?"

  Charlotte gave an exaggerated eye-roll. "To you. Who else?" She was standing on my front doorstep looking ten times more awake than I was. "Now, c'mon," she said. "Let me in, so we can celebrate."

  I rubbed at my aching eyes. It wasn't yet noon, and I'd gotten only a few hours of sleep. I loved my sister. And I loved cake. I should've been delighted.

  Damn it. I was delighted. Charlotte still lived with my parents and was attending nursing school an hour south. I hadn't seen her in weeks.

  Still, I would've been even more delighted if only she'd surprised me a few hours later. After my odd encounter with Zane Bennington, I'd slept like crap and was feeling the effects.

  Still, I tried to smile as I stepped aside and held the door open wider to let her in. "What are we celebrating?"

  She didn't move, and her gaze dipped to my clothes, as if noticing them for the first time. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

  I was wearing a long T-shirt and my comfiest sweatpants. The outfit was, sadly, my jammies. Reluctantly, I admitted, "Actually, you did."

  "Oh." She lowered the cake. "Sorry. But I just figured…" She paused. "I mean, it is noon."

  It wasn't quite noon, but I wasn't going to quibble. I motioned for her to come inside. "Yeah, I know. So it's a good thing you showed up, huh?"

  She hesitated. "Are you sure?"

  My eyes felt like sandpaper, but I tried not to show it. I really was glad to see her. "Definitely. I mean, I can't sleep all day, right?"

  Finally, she laughed. "Well, not alone, anyway."

  I tried to join in the laughter, but the comment still made me think. Zach and I had broken up how long ago? Five months? Or was it six? Either way, I'd been sleeping alone for so long that I'd started wearing sweatpants to bed. They weren't sexy, but they did keep me warm when the nights grew cold.

  And last night had been particularly chilly.

  Finally, Charlotte stepped into the house. "So what happened?" she asked. "Did you oversleep?"

  "I guess. Maybe."

  She gave me a perplexed look. "You did get my message, right?"

  "There was a message?"

  Charlotte sighed. And then, as if shaking off a minor irritation, she smiled. "Never mind." She began heading toward the kitchen, and I trudged behind her, trying my best to shrug off my grogginess.

  When we reached the kitchen, Charlotte placed the cake in the middle of the table and said, "You wanna grab some plates?"

  Obviously, there was something she wasn't telling me, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what. "Let me guess," I said. "You called the landline, and got Paisley. Am I right?"

  Paisley was my roommate, or at least, she was supposed to be. But lately, she'd been making herself scarce, and I knew why. The rent was due five days ago. Coincidentally, it had been exactly five days since I'd seen her last.

  Nodding in answer to my question, Charlotte pulled out a chair and sat. As I put on a pot of coffee, she went on to tell me that she'd called my place yesterday. I hadn't been home, but she'd caught Paisley, who'd grudgingly promised to pass along Charlotte's message that she'd be stopping by.

  Charlotte concluded by saying, "You know, you really need to get a cell phone."

  "I have a cell phone."

  She perked up. "So you found it?"

  "No." I forced a smile. "But I will."

  In the meantime, I was using the landline, which oddly enough was one of the few things included with the rent – excluding long distance, of course. So thanks to an old cordless telephone, I could still make and receive calls.

  In theory, anyway.

  I glanced at the charging station, where the cordless telephone was supposed to be. The station was empty.

  Well, this was just perfect.

  No phone. No message. No rent.

  And I just knew that if I opened the pantry, I'd also find practically no groceries, even though I'd been buying far more than my share.

  Charlotte's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Just accept it. Your cell's gone."

  I gave the charging station another glance. The way it looked, my cell wasn't the only phone that was missing. I looked back to Charlotte and said, "It's not really gone. It's somewhere in the house."

  Hopefully.

  Charlotte looked unconvinced. "If you say so."

  Finally, I was feeling more awake. "But wait, you said you called yesterday?"

  "Yeah. Around five."

  My gaze narrowed. "So she was home."

  "You mean Paisley? Yeah. Why?"

  I made a sound of annoyance. "Because she hasn't been around."

  Charlotte laughed. "You say it like it's a bad thing."

  I knew what Charlotte meant. Paisley was a little on the dramatic side. And I hated drama, just like I hated it when Paisley cranked up the thermostat, even when she was on her way out the door.

  Still, I had to catch up with her. It was, after all, my best shot at snagging the rent money. I looked to Charlotte and explained, "I've been calling her for days, but she hasn't been answering. And of course, I know why."

  Charlotte's eyebrows lifted. "Because she's too busy boning her professor?"

  "No." I hesitated. "Well, yeah, probably. But that's not what I meant. I mean she's avoiding me because the rent's due."

  Charlotte was frowning now. "So she stiffed you? Again?"

  I tried not to look as worried as I felt. "Well, technically, she always pays, so I'm sure I'll get it eventually."

  After a lot of begging, pleading, and yes, occasionally stalking.

  Charlotte gave a derisive snort. "Yeah. Like two months late."

  This was only a
slight exaggeration. "So anyway," I said, "yesterday, I get so desperate that I call her cell phone from this catering gig – meaning a number she wouldn't recognize – and she finally answers."

  "So you tricked her, huh?" Charlotte gave a slow nod. "Nice."

  "Oh yeah, she just 'loved' that," I said. "But anyway, she tells me that she's out of town."

  "Really? Where?"

  I gave a dismissive wave of my hand. "She didn't say. But the point is, she tells me that she'd just love to give me the rent money now, but she can't, because she's gone 'til Wednesday."

  Charlotte made a scoffing sound. "And you actually bought that story?"

  "Not really," I said. "But it's not like I've seen her around, so I can't really call her on it." I felt my jaw clench. "But then you tell me that she was home just yesterday, maybe right here, in this kitchen."

  "And you seriously didn't know?"

  "How would I?" I asked. "I was at work."

  "But if she's not home, where does she sleep?"

  "Well, not at the good professor's house, that's for sure."

  The professor was married. According to Paisley, he and his wife had some sort of understanding. I wasn't buying it. Not only was the guy a total cheater, he was a pompous, smarmy ass.

  "Yeah," Charlotte said. "I'm sure his wife would just 'love' a big ol' sleepover."

  My gaze drifted to the fridge. Taped on the front of it were both of my work schedules, written on two separate index cards.

  I stalked to the fridge and yanked both of them off. I crumpled up the first one and tossed it in the trash. After all, I'd finished that job just yesterday. The other card, I folded up and set aside, with plans to put it someplace less visible.

  Obviously, I'd been making it way too easy for Paisley to know when I was coming and going. And, during the last few weeks, my schedule had been particularly hectic.

  Until just yesterday, I'd been holding down two jobs – a part-time job at a donut shop and the catering gig, which had only recently been converted to full-time. Now, finally, I had one full-time job instead of two part-time ones.

  Thank goodness.

  My gaze drifted to the cake, and I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. I'd been so lost in my griping that I'd completely lost sight of the fact that this was apparently supposed to be some sort of celebration.

  I gave Charlotte an apologetic smile. "Sorry."