Wreck Me (Nova #4)

by Jessica Sorensen

  She bites down on her lip, driving my body into a mad frenzy once again. “Whatever.” She points her finger at the front door where people are piling inside. “Get to work.”

  “Yes, boss.” I flash her my best sexy grin then turn to walk away.

  “Wait,” she says, quickly grabbing my arm. “I have to ask you for a favor.”

  “Whatever you need, I’m game.” I twist back around to face her. “You know that.”

  “Good.” She lets me go then does a quick scan of the bar. “Don’t judge me later, okay?”

  I scratch my head. “Later…? What are you talking about?”

  She sighs. “You’ll know what I mean soon and, please, just don’t think any less of me… I need the money.”

  “You have me worried. You’re not in any trouble, are you?” I can’t help thinking of Conner, wondering if this has something to do with him.

  “It’s not about him,” she presses, as if reading my mind. “It’s just work stuff. You’ll get it later, and I hope it won’t change your opinion about me.” She returns to the tap, grabbing a glass and dismissing the conversation and me.

  And just like that, any inner peace I was feeling dissipates.

  I think that’s when I know—when I realize Nova is right. I do have deeper feelings for Avery than simply being friends. That everything I feel, the way I act, is greatly affected by her. I’ve changed over the last couple of weeks in both good and terrifying ways because of her, which pretty much means I’m fucked.

  Because, once again, I’m falling for a girl who won’t reciprocate my feelings.

  And, once again, I know I’m too stupid to walk away, instead heading straight back to that place where I’ll be broken again.

  Chapter 25

  Welcome humiliation.

  Avery

  Everything was going great until I stupidly asked Tristan to the beach, acting about as nervous as a sixteen-year-old girl who’s never been on a date before. And it’s Friday night, so my embarrassment is about to go through the roof because Friday night is dance night.

  God, I hate dance night.

  “He’s quite the charmer, isn’t he?” Charissa ambles up to me from behind the bar and stuffs a small stack of bills into the register. “I think you like his charm, too, considering you’ve been staring at him for ten minutes straight.”

  The Vibe is loud tonight, pop music throbbing from the speakers, and people on the dance floor are getting hot and heavy. The air is muggy and smells like beer and sweat, and I’ve got a line of impatient costumers waiting for their drinks. I’m moving a little slower than normal thanks to my obsessive need to check on Tristan and make sure he’s not getting too overwhelmed. I promised I’d keep an eye on him, and God dammit, that’s what I’m going to do.

  “I am not.” I line five shot glasses onto the countertop, pretending what she’s saying is a lie. Because I have been really aware of him—how he’s doing, every time he laughs, every time a girl comes in and flirts with him. It’s driving me crazier than it should. Getting him a job here seemed like such a grandtastic idea at the time, but with each moment we spend together, we get dangerously closer. And I feel like I’m falling again.

  Down.

  Down.

  Down.

  The.

  Rabbit.

  Hole.

  Stupidly returning to dreamland.

  Where guys are good.

  And don’t break me apart.

  Where I can give them my heart.

  And they won’t shatter it.

  “Yeah, you are. And I notice how much you smile around him, too.” Charissa plants her butt on the counter, her legs dangling over the edge. She’s dressed to draw attention—her blonde hair in a high ponytail, her smoky eyes seductive, and her lips a fiery red. Her strapless dress leaves little to the imagination, and her leather stilettos are about six inches high. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never even seen you smile, like a real smile, until the other night when he showed up here.”

  “I real smile all the time,” I argue. “Tristan just jokes around a lot with me, so it happens more often.”

  As she crosses her legs, the guy who ordered the shots zeroes in on them. “That’s such bullshit. You two so want to rip each other’s clothes off. I can tell.”

  I grab a top shelf tequila, twist the lid off, and tip the bottle to fill each shot glass to the brim. “We’re just friends, Charissa. Guys and girls can be just friends.”

  “Yeah, but friends don’t kiss out in the alley.”

  I place the bottle on the counter and glare at her. “Hey, I told you that under the assumption it would remain confidential.”

  “I didn’t tell anyone,” she promises. “I’m just pointing out that you did kiss, and you said it was a hot but forbidden kiss.”

  “Forbidden being the key word. As in, it never should have happened.”

  “Forbidden doesn’t mean wrong, Avery. It just means you’re confused because you liked it.”

  “I’m getting annoyed by this conversation.”

  “Fine.” She swings her feet onto the counter. “But answer me this. You haven’t been with a guy in two years, never shown any interest in anyone until he”—she points in Tristan’s direction—“shows up. You have to ask yourself why? Why him?”

  There’s no way I’ll ever tell her about the night I almost died, how greatly it affected me, and how helping Tristan has started to settle that overpowering compulsion to do something greater in this life. “He’s just a friend.”

  “So lame. And a lie.” She stands up on the counter, the top of her head grazing the shelf above. “Now get your ass up here and join me.”

  “I don’t want to,” I mutter as the guy buying the shots hands me some cash.

  Charissa puts her hands on her waist as she juts out her hip. “Avery, you promised Benny you’d do it one time every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night, and in return, he gave you a raise.”

  She does it three times a night with the other two waitresses for entertainment purposes, but really, it drives the male population in like moths to a flame. The sales go through the roof. Me, I freaking hate it and refused to do it for a year until Benny offered me the raise. Then I shamefully caved.

  “Fine.” I pout as I hand the guy his change then grudgingly climb onto the bar. God, I hope Tristan doesn’t judge me as much as I judge myself.

  “Yeah, let’s get this show on the road.” Charissa does this lasso gesture with her hand and the music changes to a more upbeat, western song. “Who’s ready to party?”

  I can’t even look in Tristan’s direction. I plaster a smile on my face and momentarily transform myself into someone else, someone who is okay with using their body for more money, someone who seems like my mother’s daughter.

  It’s not like I’m a bad dancer. I’m decent. I can shake my ass and move to the rhythm as good as anyone else. I’m dressed way less skanky than the rest of the waitresses, and I refuse to hike up the bottom of my shirt no matter how many times Benny tells me to. Not only to keep my dignity, but because my scarred flesh isn’t going to turn anyone on. I do pull the elastic out of my hair and slip it around my wrist before shaking out my hair.

  “Fuck yeah, baby!” some guy wearing a red beanie hollers at me from the crowd.

  I blow him a kiss in response. Fucking creepy asshole.

  Then I move my feet and wiggle my ass as the song rumbles and thumps. My boots mark up the countertop with each step. No one seems to mind or notice, though, all eyes locked on us, enthralled. The majority of the male population salivates and some of the females do too. Other women hate us. Some have envy in their eyes. I wish I could trade places with those women, let them walk in my shoes. They might not want to be me so much after that.

  My embarrassment only grows when some guy yells at me, “Yeah, take it off!”

  Welcome humiliation.

  I’ve always despised doing it, but with someone I know watching me, I become painfully awar
e of just how ashamed I am.

  Maybe it’s time to find a new job. If only it were that easy.

  Three and a half painful minutes later, the song comes to an end. I immediately hop down behind the bar again and start collecting the tips off the counter, not allowing myself to look over at Tristan. After I’m done gathering all the money, I sink down behind the bar, knowing all orders are going to be put on hold while the rest of the waitresses finish dancing.

  I cover my ears as the music continues, remembering a time when I was six and my mother first started prostituting herself out. She’d taken me to a neglected motel and left me to hold Jax outside of the door in the cold while she went inside. Music similar to the song playing right now had been turned up to muffle the noises from inside the room, but the outside wasn’t any better. I could remember being confused, terrified, and freezing, yet all I could do was cover my ears and cradle Jax in my arms.

  “You okay?” Tristan drops down on the floor beside me, stretching out his legs in front of him.

  My shoulders jolt from his sudden appearance, and my hands drop from my ears to my chest. “Jesus, you’re on a roll tonight with the whole startling the shit out of me thing,” I say, unable to meet his eyes, but I can feel his gaze on me, begging me to look at him.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to this time. I just came back here to see if everything was okay.”

  I slump back against the cubbies behind me. “Yeah, just taking a quick break.” I have to talk loudly over the music. “People never order when they’re doing…” I point at Charissa then lower my hand to my lap. “Well, you know.”

  “Why were you covering your ears, though? You’re not a fan of music? Because I thought you played the guitar.”

  “I do… but wait. How did you know that?”

  “You mentioned something about it to Nova three months ago.”

  “And you remembered all this time?” I force a light tone, angling my head forward so my hair curtains my face and blocks my expression from him. “I’m kind of flattered.”

  “I remember a lot from that night,” he replies. From out of the corner of my eye, I notice his gaze travel to my shoulder. “Like how you have that tattoo on your back. I never did get to see all of it.”

  “And you never will see it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…” Of the scars, both visible and hidden in the inked words. “It’s private.”

  “So you’re never planning on showing it to anyone? Ever?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. The idea of letting someone see the ink surrounded by scars created by a tragedy that I caused, is terrifying. “If I really trusted the person, maybe.”

  He drums his fingers on his knee to the beat of the song. “So trust, huh? That’s how it’s done. Dammit, I was hoping it could be bought with brownie points.”

  I focus on my reflection in the stainless steel cooler across from us. I have no idea why he isn’t bringing up the dancing for money thing, but I’m extremely grateful he’s not.

  “Brownie points can be earned because of trust.”

  “Dually noted. Although, can I just say that you haven’t given me one in a few days. I’m running behind to hit a hundred before I leave here.”

  “I guess you’ll have to step up your A game, then.” The most awkward chuckle escapes my lips.

  “Guess I will.” He pauses, and I feel the temperature shift as he scoots closer to me. “Avery, would you please look at me?”

  “I don’t want to,” I whisper, jutting out my lip, sulking like my five-year-old son. “I don’t want to see it.”

  “See what?”

  “You know what. That look on your face.”

  “How do you know what my face looks like when you haven’t looked at me since I sat down?”

  He’s right. I need to quit being a baby because it was my choice to get on that counter—always is—and it’s not like I can stop looking at Tristan forever. I don’t want to either.

  I turn my head toward him. “There. Are you happy?”

  A bright smile graces his lips. “Yep, completely happy. And now that I have your undivided attention, I want to ask what I should wear on Sunday.”

  “That’s all you want to ask?” I question skeptically.

  He nods. “What else would I ask?”

  I momentarily stare at him, waiting for him to mention the slutty dance routine, but he simply waits for me to answer his question. I mentally give him ten brownie points for his silence and briefly consider kissing him—I’m that grateful. Then I return to my senses a split second later.

  “You can wear whatever you want,” I manage to say through the confusion crowding my thoughts.

  “Anything I want,” he muses as he rubs his chin. “Even my birthday suit?”

  “Hey, it’s my birthday,” I counter. “So if anyone gets to wear their birthday suit, it’s me.”

  “Oh, I’m down for that.” His gaze darkens and lazily drinks me in from head to toe.

  I smack his arm. “Hey, no flirting, remember?”

  He chuckles as he rubs the spot on his arm where I smacked. “Fine, but at least tell me I can take my shirt off while I’m at the beach because it would suck if I can’t.”

  “Fine, I will make an exception on that rule, but only for beach purposes.”

  “Thank you, boss,” he teases. “And you have my permission to go shirtless, too.”

  I roll my eyes, but then laugh. “God, you’re lucky you’re so amusing, otherwise I couldn’t be friends with you.”

  He grins and my heart misses a beat, scaring the crap out of me since I’m pretty sure it’s never done that before, at least from a smile. I need a break to clear my mind from all the fogginess he’s instilling. Now.

  “Tristan, I don’t mean for this to come out rude, but what are you doing back here? Shouldn’t you be carding people?”

  “Worried I’m slacking on my first day?”

  “That’s not what I meant. I was just—”

  His fingers spread across my thigh, causing goosebumps to sprout across my flesh in a good way. “Relax, Avery. I’m just kidding.”

  My gaze drops to his hand, his palm scorching my flesh, heating places that have been frigid for a very long time. The fogginess I was trying to escape wraps around me and sucks me back in.

  He tracks my gaze but doesn’t withdraw his hand. “I was told by Benny to take a quick break before eleven and the rush comes in.” As his eyes drift up to mine, his tongue slips out to moisten his lips.

  I should tell him to remove his hand. I really fucking should. However, I can’t get the words to leave my mouth. I start to recollect the kiss out in the alley and can almost feel his lips on mine, his hands on me, how he tasted. I’m thinking very un-friend type things at the moment, and for some reason, I can’t find the strength to give a shit that I’m breaking my own rules.

  Through my cloudy brain, I manage to smile. “So, how’s your first night going?”

  “It hasn’t been super easy,” he admits, glancing at the array of alcohol bottles in front of us while his fingers continue sketching a featherlight path on my thigh. “But honestly, I thought it’d be harder than it is. That might be because it’s so fucking busy I barely have time to think of anything else.”

  “That’s what makes it easier for me.” I pick at a loose thread on my shorts, glancing at his hand again. Tell him to move it. “Well, that and the fact that I don’t want to go back to the person I was when I was drunk all the time.”

  He considers something carefully while looking at my shoulder then a lopsided grin forms. “I would really like to hear that story one day.” The sincerity in his eyes throws me off balance. “That is, if I can earn your trust.”

  “Maybe one day.” Relief washes over me when the music turns off. I jump to my feet and his hand falls off my leg. Suddenly, I can breathe again. “Times up. Let’s get our asses back to work.”

  Nodding, he stands up. “See you next break.�
� Then he does something unexpected and completely against the rules, like the thigh touching, maybe even more so because it feels so intimate.

  He lifts his hand and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, his fingers grazing my cheekbone before he turns and struts away, leaving me with my mouth agape as I watch him push his way to the front door.

  It takes a few seconds for me to jerk my attention away from him. In fact, it takes Charissa smacking my ass to do it. Then I busy myself with orders, making myself focus on only that and not the blonde-haired, blue eyed, sexy guy standing near the entrance door. I do better than I thought I would, but that might be because I never get a break. People continue coming at me with orders all through the night and I struggle to keep up. By the time The Vibe closes, I’m exhausted, reek of booze, and just want to pass out in my bed. Tristan is talking to Benny in the office, and I hope it’s not about anything bad.