Celebrities have an image to uphold. No one wants the rep of a cheapskate. That shit gets around, as Cali and I know from watching entertainment news religiously.
A middle-aged man and his wife replace the offensive lineman at my table. They’re a nice-looking couple. She’s petite and blond, the man dark-haired and tall, with broad shoulders. He’s fit and too attractive to be anything other than another celebrity.
I immediately approach their table, because these people get cranky if they’re made to wait for more than ten seconds. “Can I get you something to drink?” I plaster on a wide smile, which I’ve learned results in better tips.
The man blinks, his gaze cutting to his wife before he clears his throat. “My wife will have the house white and I’ll have the special on tap.”
Okay, maybe not celebrities. The VIPs order top-shelf, not house wine.
“I’ll be right back with that.” I lay cocktail napkins on the table and spin around. My breath catches.
Drake is standing in front of me, inches from my face. “Genevieve, I need you in one of the suites.”
Throat clenching, pulse kicking into a sprint, it takes me a few seconds to find my voice. “Can’t, I’m swamped.”
He smiles blandly, wraps his long, thin fingers around my arm in a bruising grip, and proceeds to drag me from the table. “Let’s talk over—”
“Is there a problem?” The man at my table stands. He’s a foot taller than Drake.
“Of course not,” Drake intones, his voice a cultured murmur as he casually releases me. “How are you tonight, Mr. Kendrick?”
The man’s expression is tight. “Good, until you tried to take our server.”
“Well.” Drake’s cold eyes flicker to me. “I wouldn’t want to diminish your experience at Blue.” He bows shallowly, his shoulders taut along with his smile. He turns so the customer can’t see the glare he cuts me. “I’ll find another waitress. Enjoy your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Kendrick.”
I glance awkwardly at the couple and take off for the bar.
I’ve heard crickets from management about the sexual harassment claim. Filing the report didn’t stop Drake from grabbing me just now, and that’s bad. Very, very bad. He hasn’t touched me since his threats near the elevator, but tonight he tried to get me alone in another suite. Why would he do that after I told management about him?
Because he is in charge.
He’s testing me to see how far I’ll push back. If I push too much, I’ll lose my job. This mountain town is filled with people waiting for lucrative casino jobs to open up. The only reason Cali and I got in was because of Maddie’s connection. I’ll be back to relying on my mom and her money if they fire me.
I hate that. Hate that relying on my mom is my only option, but I despise Drake more. He seems to thrive on pushing me, testing me—scaring me.
I return with the wine and beer, my smile less carefree.
“Everything okay?” my customer asks, a concerned look on his handsome face.
“Yeah.” I swallow the lie. “Gets a little crazy on busy weekends.”
He glances at his wife, who returns his look with an encouraging smile. “Your name is Genevieve?”
I flinch at the use of my formal name. Fucking Drake. I hate that he did that to me. “Yes, but most people call me Gen.”
The man nods, pausing as if he wants to say something, but is unsure. “Have you worked here long?”
“Only the summer. I’m returning to school in the fall for a graduate program.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, his face otherwise expressionless. Too expressionless. Actually, he looks pale for a guy with black hair—and light skin. We have the same unusual coloring.
“What did you say your last name was, Gen?”
Wait, why is he asking these personal questions? I stare without answering, my brain attempting to process something niggling the back of my mind.
The woman smiles warmly. “You look like the daughter of someone we know. You wouldn’t happen to be related to an Elizabeth Tierney?”
My mother’s birth name.
Most people aren’t aware of my mom’s real name, unless they knew her from around the time I was born—when she decided to reinvent herself. How do they know her? I’ve never met these people.
The man looks like he’s about to pass out. His mouth is tight, a low indentation on the left side standing out in relief. It’s not a traditional dimple. It’s subtle, as if only visible under extreme happiness or stress. I have one … in the exact same spot.
No. No, no, no.
Thoughts tumble, dropping like an avalanche down a treacherous slope. A searing pain pounds a pulse behind my temple, clouding my vision, sucking the oxygen from the air—
“No.” The word comes out light, barely audible. My vision wavers …
Lewis smiles over me. Wow, I really love waking to him. A girl could get used to this. “Hey.” I smile. “I had the weirdest dream—”
Another face moves into view beside Lewis, and then I hear it. The noise. Voices, so many voices—bells, buzzers. The casino, not my bedroom. A security guard squeezes Lewis’s shoulder, talking into a walkie-talkie.
I rise abruptly and my head spins. Leaning over, I hold it in my hands. I passed out?
I remember now. The man. The one who—who—
“Are you okay?” Lewis shakes off the security guard, his expression annoyed.
I look around. The entire lounge is staring. I tuck my legs under me and Lewis helps me stand. “What happened?” I ask.
He looks at my customer accusingly. “I was on my way to pick you up after your shift and saw you fall.”
I wince. “I think I blacked out.”
The strain of Cali in the hospital, then taking care of her—I haven’t slept much. And now …
Lewis glances uncertainly at the man, who I notice sports a bright red mark along his jaw. “I thought he …” He looks sheepishly at my customer. “Sorry.”
“Not at all,” the man says, still staring at me with concern. He pulls out a chair. “Would you like to sit?” The security guard seems to take this as evidence that all is under control, particularly once Maryanne walks up and waves him briskly away.
“I can’t sit. I’m working,” I say absently.
“Snow,” Maryanne barks, “go home before you fall over. Again.” She shakes her head and lays on the charm to customers ogling us a table away.
“I’m sorry if I pushed you earlier. For your name,” the man says. He places a hand lightly on the shoulder of the petite blonde. “I’m Jeb Kendrick and this is my wife Simone. I’m an old friend of your mother’s. I didn’t have recent pictures of you and wanted to make sure I had the right person. I hoped to talk to you about something of a personal nature. You are Genevieve Tierney …?”
I take in his features, the small, dark mole on the side of his cheekbone—mine is lower, the center of my jaw, and Mom always called it my beauty mark. Light brown eyes, oval face, black hair next to very fair skin. The physical features are somewhat wrong, but the coloring is exactly the same. He knows my mom. Her real name. The one she changed twenty years ago.
I shake my head and grab Lewis’s arm. “No.” It’s the only word I have for this man. I drag Lewis out of the lounge toward the employee entrance.
“Gen,” Lewis says once we’re on the casino floor. “What’s going on?” He looks over his shoulder at the guy staring after us, the man’s expression troubled.
I lose it halfway to the basement door. Tears stream down my face. It’s been a stressful week, but this? I always wondered if I’d meet him someday.
I can’t deal. Not now. Not ever. Panic tightens my chest, my breathing short and wheezy. If this is him, he abandoned me. He’s out of my life. Door closed.
Lewis holds my shoulders and stops me. He touches a tear with the pad of his thumb and pulls me to the side of a slot machine, wrapping his arms around me. I grip his shirt and plaster my face in it.
Lewis witnes
sed all the bullshit with Drake. He even accepted the truth about my mother and father—but that was when my father was an unknown quantity. If this person is who my instincts says he is, this is huge.
Who knows for sure what my mom was to my father? The only thing I know is that she had me and he left us. My worst fear and the only logical explanation is that I’m the result of some fling, a one-night stand.
God, what does this guy want? I don’t want to know the sordid details. I’m not supposed to know.
“Did that guy do something to you?” Lewis asks. “I hit him. I thought he tried—but his wife said he did nothing, and you didn’t seem upset when you woke. Now I wonder—” His voice is deep, a little scary. “Did he touch you?” Lewis’s voice cracks on the last word.
He said he’d hurt any man that looked at me wrong, but I thought it was talk. I don’t understand this kind of devotion. Guys don’t protect you from pain; they’re often the cause of it. And they don’t stick around.
Lewis isn’t simply acting macho, he seems pained, as if the idea of someone wounding me hurts him.
“No, nothing like that.” I glance back. The Kendrick man and his wife have gone. “I think … I think he’s my father.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lewis stares for a long beat. Without saying anything he walks me to the basement door. “Change. I’ll wait here.”
I nod and make my way to my locker in a daze. My father was always this nameless, faceless jerk. That’s what I told myself, to come to terms with his having left us. But this wealthy guy—he seems normal.
My mind is so turned upside down it physically aches. A wave of nausea roils through me, tightening my throat and making my nose burn. I dress and emerge from the basement. Lewis drives me home. He holds me all night and asks no questions.
At some point I drift into a dreamless sleep. When I wake, the room is lit by bright sunlight streaming through the curtains I forgot to close. Lewis is holding me, his head propped by a pillow, and he’s wide awake.
“Hey.”
He glances down and smiles, but there’s a weariness to his features that makes it look like he got even less sleep than me.
“What’s wrong?”
He closes his eyes and sighs through his nose. “That guy last night.”
“Jeb Kendrick?”
He nods. “I recognized him.”
My arm tightens over his chest. I’m not sure I want to hear this.
“The name sounded familiar, so I checked it out online.” Lewis’s phone lies faceup above the covers. “He’s an ex-pro football player. I looked him up to make sure it wasn’t someone else with the same name, but it’s him. Jeb, the guy you think … he was a quarterback for about a decade.”
Tears well behind my eyes. If this guy has money, which considering his appearance and what Lewis said, he definitely does, he could have helped my mom. Supported her. Does she know this?
I can’t believe she would have dated so many rich guys if she didn’t need the money. Until Fred, she never loved any of them. She used them, or they used her—I’m not sure how it worked—but they’re how we survived financially and I’ve always resented her for it, disturbed she didn’t choose a different path.
I shouldn’t be so hard on her. She was a teenager when she had me. Anyone would have struggled to care for a child and make ends meet.
Now I find out Jeb Kendrick could have helped us all along?
I consider calling my mom, telling her this guy showed up, but I need more time to wrap my head around it. Jeb sought me out. Why would he do that after he’d intentionally stayed away my entire life? A change of heart?
An insistent knock sounds on the bedroom door, followed by a familiar voice. “Gen? Are you in there?”
Cali. Cali! I wind a blanket around my body and sit up.
With Cali sick and me not getting enough sleep between working and taking care of her, I haven’t told her about me and Lewis. It seemed like it could wait until we had a moment of downtime.
I’ll receive shit for holding out on her, and she’s not a huge fan of Lewis—or Mira, more aptly, given they’re a bit of a package deal. Which I don’t like to think about.
Lewis quirks his brow. “Problem?”
“Yes,” I hiss. “Cali doesn’t know we’re, we’re—”
“Together?”
“That. Cali’s been sick and I didn’t want to talk about us until things settled down. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but it’s been a little chaotic around here.”
He shakes his head and I slip off the bed, taking the blanket with me. I crawl around the floor, searching for clothes. A muffled snicker sounds from above the mattress and I look up.
Lewis is watching me, chuckling. My breath catches. His hair is rumpled, a lazy grin is on his face, he’s not wearing a shirt … This is not the time for him to unknowingly seduce me with his morning hotness!
“Get dressed,” I hiss and fish out a sweatshirt from under the bed.
More knocking. “Gen, what’s going on? Are you okay?” The doorknob rattles. Thank God, one of us locked it.
A pair of boxers spills over the to-be-folded laundry basket in the corner and I lunge for them.
Tyler’s? How the hell …? He’s sneaking laundry into our basket? Mooch!
I stand on one leg and pull the boxers over my panties. Nothing happened last night—I was too distraught to talk or do anything more than cuddle—but we both stripped to our underwear before crawling under the covers.
The boxers slip down my hips, nearly falling off, before I roll and tuck them in place.
“Is it so bad that I’m here?” Lewis whispers, pulling on jeans.
More pounding on the door. “Gen, I’m getting worried. Open up.”
“Coming!” I call and walk around the end of the bed, squeezing past Lewis, who’s pulling his arms through a T-shirt. He grabs my waist before I can pass, trailing his fingers along the exposed skin between my sweatshirt and boxers. I shiver.
“Sorry.” He grins unabashedly, then shrugs. “Not really.”
“You are much naughtier than you first let on.”
He leans down and kisses my lips. “Only with you.”
I run my palm over the bulge forming in his jeans. That’s right. Two can play this game.
He growls low in his throat and jerks me close.
I slap his hands away— “Not now, not now!” —and open the bedroom door.
Cali is standing in her bikini top and flannel pajama pants, her gaze sliding from me to Lewis. Her eyes go comically wide, her lips pressing together as if she’s cutting off a vocal reaction. She blinks at me and walks toward the kitchen.
“Think I’ll let you deal with this.” Lewis grabs his wallet from the nightstand. He frowns at his phone.
I throw his earlier question at him. “Problem?”
He rubs his chin roughly. “Maybe.”
“What—”
“Gen,” Cali singsongs from the vicinity of the kitchen. “You coming out?”
Lewis pockets the phone. “Call me after you tell her.” He grins, but it’s shallow, as if the text message he glimpsed really bothered him. He wraps his arms around my waist and hugs me tight. “Let me know how badly she grills you.”
“You could stay, you know.”
He pecks me on the forehead and lets me go, striding out the front door. “Nope, this one’s on you.” He glances back on his way to the car. “Should have told her,” he says over his shoulder.
Dammit. He’s right. “You’re no help,” I call and he chuckles.
I shut the front door and join Cali and Tyler at the dining table. Tyler’s eyes dart to the front window, his gaze curious.
Cali sips from the Sexy Bitch mug she monopolizes. “So, you’re shacking up with Lewis?”
Leave it to Cali to skip to the damning part. “Yeahhh, well, you know how I said Lewis and I were just friends? Things changed right before you landed in the hospital. I was going to tell you, b
ut with everything going on, the news got lost in the shuffle.”
Cali sets down her mug. “Gen, I don’t care about that. This week has been insane to say the least. I know I said I wouldn’t interfere, but … It’s just—that girl that hangs all over him; are you sure it’s not going to be a problem for you guys?”
“I don’t know. He’s pretty amazing though, Cali.”
She looks at Tyler, seeking an ally.
Tyler shrugs. “You’re happy?”
Tears welling behind my eyes, because when asked that question, I don’t think about Lewis, I think about last night and the man I met. “I’ve never been this happy with a guy before.” And that’s the truth. If it weren’t for my baby-daddy issues.
Cali’s eyes widen. “Then why are you crying?”
I drop my head on the table and cover it with my arm, sensing the pressure of Cali’s hand on my shoulder a second later. “Lewis is great, Cali. He’s not why I’m upset.” I stare up. “I think I ran into my father last night.”
Cali’s mouth parts. A second later, she stumbles out of her chair and returns with a tissue from the bathroom. “What do you mean? I thought you never talk to your dad?”
I wipe my eyes. “I don’t.” I pause. “Cali, I don’t know my dad.”
She squints. “You mean, you haven’t seen him for years so you don’t know much about him?”
The truth is so humiliating. “I mean, I don’t know who he is. My mom doesn’t either. She never said that, but she’s always acted like his identity wasn’t important, so it’s what I’ve assumed. Like downplaying him was her way of saving face.”
Lewis is the only other person who knows. Somehow, Lewis wanting me despite that knowledge gives me courage. I still can’t look Cali in the eye.
My mom acted like it didn’t matter who my dad was and I assumed she really didn’t know, but she made that weird comment the other day about athleticism running in the family. After meeting Jeb Kendrick and Lewis filling me in on his former profession … Did she know?
Blue Crush Page 18
