Breaking the Habit: The Breaking Series #4

by Leigh, Ember

  “Track suit and all,” Gage cracked.

  Levi smiled as he pocketed the phone. When Gage had a good day, everyone had a good day.

  Even if it meant he got to Riley’s later than he wanted, an evening with his brother was worth it.

  Chapter 5

  Riley checked the clock for the eightieth time since sitting at her workspace. Three hours. Three full hours that she’d been editing photos, acting casual, and listening intently for John Stamos to whisper his “Oh hi” recording at her front door with a new arrival.

  No sultry croons of her childhood heart throb.

  Nobody to come in and “catch” her stylishly posed at her work desk.

  No Levi to speak of.

  By seven o’clock, her stomach was growling. All the incense she’d lit for his arrival had fizzled out an hour ago. She’d worked and reworked the same image, scowling at his perfectly handsome face as he lobbed an uppercut during practice earlier.

  At this point, she felt delusional waiting for him to show. If she had his number, she’d have texted him with a terse “Um, where ru??!” and then gone straight to her favorite Indian restaurant for some vegetarian curry. But it didn’t matter. She hated that she’d been excited. That she’d used the good patchouli.

  But this was life. A series of lessons about men that she never learned, despite ample evidence to the contrary.

  Clearly it was far too early to start dating. Not that she’d ever planned on dating Levi. No, he was a stand-in, a test subject for her love life at large. And he’d proven the obvious truth: men could only ever disappoint.

  Even while she railed against men as a whole, part of her begged to differ. Implored her to soften, to think of #notallmen. Just because one douche ripped her heart to shreds didn’t mean all men would…right?

  She pouted as she X’d out of screens on her computer. Sadly, a hopeless romantic remained buried deep inside her. Even reality couldn’t extinguish that poor, misguided optimist tending fire in the abandoned cavern of her heart.

  When would the optimist learn?

  Riley heaved a sigh as she shut her laptop. Soft acoustic strumming still pulsed through her studio-wide sound system, the chill backdrop she’d envisioned for a little hangout session with Levi that never was. It was better this way, since agreeing to have him over had been a mistake. At least she’d gotten her work done, several times over.

  A rustling at the front door caught her attention, followed by the sonorous “Oh, hi!” of John Stamos. She sucked in a breath, all her internal organs seizing.

  Levi stepped through the front door, looking bashful and broad-shouldered.

  “Oh, good, I didn’t miss you.” He came into the studio, a big paper bag in his arms, dark leg hair peppering muscly calves. A tight gray T-shirt paired with black board shorts and shiny black sneakers perfected his off-duty look. She couldn’t respond.

  “Wh—” she began.

  “I meant to come right after practice,” he said, easing the paper bag onto the countertop. “But I got held up. So I brought dinner as a peace offering.”

  The rest of her air slid out of her in a long whoosh. Her rumbling belly urged her to forget all previous irritation for a chance at eating whatever was in that bag.

  She swallowed hard, stepping closer. Pushing up on her tiptoes, she tried to see what was inside.

  “What’d you bring?”

  “Oh, nothing much.” He shrugged, tucking some of that chestnut hair behind his ears. “Just some vegetarian curry.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, stepping back from the bags. The man might be a warlock—she had to tread carefully. “What did you say?”

  “Vegetarian curry.” He smirked, bags crinkling as he revealed some of the boxes inside. “If I’m too late though, I get it.”

  Levi set one of the takeout containers on the countertop. And that’s when she saw the business card stapled on top—Curry Up and Eat. It was her favorite Indian place. She didn’t know whether she wanted to cry or punch him.

  “Wh—” she began again but ended up shaking her head. “How did you—”

  “Let’s eat.” Levi laid out two big boxes full of curried vegetables and two smaller containers of rice while Riley watched like a famished street dog. He handed her a plastic fork and brought over the two arm chairs from near the window. Riley could only watch with wide eyes as he arranged everything.

  “This is amazing.” She plopped down into the chair, her head swirling. “This is my favorite restaurant. Like, in the world. Why did you go there?”

  Levi shrugged, but he couldn’t hide the mysterious smile on his face. She caught it—and she knew something was up.

  “Just occurred to me,” he finally said, popping a piece of broccoli into his mouth. “This shit is good.”

  “I don’t buy it.”

  He crunched loudly in response.

  “Come on. Why did you go there? There’s no way you could have possibly known. And LA is too big for this to be coincidence. Fess up.”

  He shoved a forkful of rice into his mouth and moaned. “It’s sooo good.” Face brimming with mischief, he jerked his chin toward the nearest set of her photos on the wall. “So what are you gonna do with all these pictures? Shouldn’t they be in a gallery somewhere?

  She grimaced, stabbing a particularly soft floret of cauliflower. She shivered with anticipation. It was gonna be so good. “Ideally, yeah. I mean, that’s the goal someday. If any gallery ever shows an interest in my work.”

  “You have a dream gallery or something?”

  “Yes, actually,” she said. “DRK. It’s the coolest place ever.” She paused, furrowing a brow. “Wait. You distracted me. Nice try, bucko. How’d you know about Curry Up?”

  Levi grinned and started humming.

  “Levi,” she said.

  “I like it when you say my name.” He forked a slice of carrot. “Maybe I’ll bring you vegetarian curry every day.”

  On the inside, she sighed. That would be a very effective way of winning her over, though she didn’t dare admit it. Maybe that’s all it took—well-timed curry.

  Riley tried to hang onto her suspicions while she ate, but it was hard as the gingery cumin flavors overcame her. Curry Up was the all-time best, ever. And she couldn’t stop from gushing about it as she swiped up some chickpeas with her naan.

  “Definitely going to have to bring you this daily,” Levi murmured. “What’s that bread called again?”

  She sighed tersely. “See? You don’t even know what naan is. There’s no way you went there of your own volition. Come on. Tell me the truth.”

  Levi slurped up some of the sauce from his bottom lip, eyeing her. “I knew I was gonna be late, so I asked Amara what your favorite place is.”

  The confession stopped her in her tracks. She stared at him for a moment before jerking her gaze back down to her bowl.

  “She said you were crazy about it, and she wasn’t wrong,” Levi said.

  Riley stuffed another forkful of rice and veggies in her mouth, trying to figure out why his confession had warmed her as much as saddened her. Maybe because Levi was basically a stranger. Maybe because he didn’t know her at all, but he’d still managed to weasel his way into a tender space. Maybe because this was the nicest thing a man had done for her possibly…ever.

  “You’re sweet,” she finally said, and then wiped at her mouth. Time to move this back to the realm of professionalism. She cleared her throat and stood, heading for her laptop. “Want to see what I worked on tonight?”

  “Yeah, but only if you tell me why you have that creepy recording whenever someone opens the front door.”

  She laughed, scooping up her laptop. “It’s not creepy—”

  “It’s creepy.”

  “It’s John Stamos,” she clarified. “I like to start and end my work day with God’s gift to humankind.”

  As she headed back toward their sitting area, the sight of him nearly toppled her. His big, fighter’s frame, comple
tely filling the fuchsia arm chair. He had to hunch a little to eat, his biceps stretching the thin fabric of his heather-gray tee. As she came back over, he glanced up at her, the light scruff on his face highlighting the squareness of his jaw in a way that made her weep both as a fertile woman and as a professional photographer.

  “If that’s what you wanted, you could have just asked me to live here permanently,” he said.

  She gave a sarcastic ha ha before settling back in her seat. “Nobody competes on the Stamos level, okay? Now look here.” She opened her laptop, navigating to the completed images she’d touched up. She didn’t get to the first image before Levi’s phone pinged. He scrambled to unearth it from his pocket without spilling the box of food in his lap.

  He frowned as he read the screen and then tapped out a quick reply. When he swung his attention back to Riley, she could tell he’d checked out a little.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Let’s see it.”

  Riley started the slideshow of the images she’d curated from that afternoon’s practice. As she scrolled through, she explained some of her approach—what she’d been aiming for, the mood she’d tried to capture, the shooting challenges posed by the cage. After going on about the manual shooting mode she’d opted for, she looked up and found Levi buried in his phone. Again.

  “Am I boring you?” Her insides burned with embarrassment.

  “No, no.” Levi pocketed the phone again, focusing on his food again. “Sorry. Just…stuff.”

  Riley nibbled on her bottom lip. Maybe she was getting too technical. Maybe when he asked about her process he really meant try to get in your pants. She was probably naïve to think he actually cared about the work side of it. Probably he was texting other women. Lining up his next fuck.

  “Keep talking,” Levi said, gesturing to the laptop screen. “I swear I want to know.”

  “Well…like I was saying. The cage. It’s a huge problem for shooting.”

  “The cage isn’t going anywhere,” Levi confirmed.

  “Right. I wish I could get a little viewing hole.”

  “I told you, we’ll build you a nest. A Riley-bird nest.” He tapped her foot with his, grinning.

  “Very cute,” she said. “I’ll need a sign that says, ‘please don’t disturb me in my perch or bring me regurgitated food.’”

  Levi knitted his brow. When she noticed his confusion, a laugh erupted from her.

  “That was a joke,” she clarified. “Because, you know, mama birds? They puke up into their—” She shook her head. “No, never mind. Let’s delete that.”

  Levi cackled. “You’re weird. Hey, do you know what sick birds get?”

  Riley blinked a few times. She could sense the dad joke coming—all her skin prickled, waiting to see how bad it would be. “Um…no?”

  “Tweetment.”

  She laughed, pressing the back of her palm to her mouth. They were so dumb, all the time. Yet still somehow great.

  “That was…pretty bad,” she said. “Do you have a mental catalogue of every silly dad joke in existence?”

  “Pretty much.”

  The two of them munched quietly while a picture of Levi’s face filled the screen. She ran through the rest of the images, pointing out the parts that she’d messed up on—wrong shutter speed, too late in snapping the picture, and the like.

  “You’re gonna learn quick, though,” Levi said, wiping his hands on a napkin. “These look great. And this was a whatever practice.”

  “Sports photography is a different beast, I’m seeing,” Riley admitted. She wanted Levi to not only be happy with the pictures, but in love with them. His payments to her were saving her ass and keeping her business afloat for the next six months. She needed to deliver a seriously good product.

  “And these pictures are already better than fifty percent out there,” he said.

  “So you’re not going to fire me for another photographer?” she asked hopefully, only half joking about it.

  “Riley, you’re my ride or die photographer now.” Levi’s warm gaze trekked from her legs up to her face, leaving prickles in its wake. His quiet confidence in her was possibly the sexiest thing about him. And she realized in that moment, she would kill to have that sort of support in her daily life. Especially when it came to her business.

  Nobody in her family gave a damn about her business. Her father, one of Hollywood’s most famous lawyers, had been one hundred percent opposed to her making her living as a starving artist. Basically everyone in her family was waiting for this to fail. And until last week, so was she.

  Having the belief of someone like Levi—a client who could actually see and feel the impact of her work—was a small burst of light in the shrouded cavern of her career. It helped. It might not solve things permanently, but it at least reminded her that what she was doing was worthwhile in some way.

  “We’ll test your chops at the first match, though,” Levi said, setting his container aside. He crumpled up a napkin, tossing it into the bag. “That’s where shit gets real.”

  Nervousness prickled through her belly. When Levi had brought up the idea for being his photographer, she hadn’t been able to imagine the full scope of things. Now that she had a practice under her belt and could imagine the forthcoming challenges of high-speed punches and that damn cage barrier, she realized that she might actually be way out of her league.

  “I’m a little nervous,” she admitted, toying with the corner of her laptop. The first match was a week away. That wasn’t much time to research her ass off, which was her only game plan going forward.

  “You’ll do fine. But don’t be afraid to throw elbows,” he said.

  “So as the photographer for a fighter, I should also be well versed in fighting?” She laughed. “Great. I’m sunk.”

  “You look scrappy,” Levi said. “I wouldn’t cross your path.”

  She scoffed. “Scrappy as a doughy artist can be, I suppose.”

  “Doughy?” Levi cocked a smirk, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you one thing. If you’re doughy, I looove bread.”

  His remark left her cheeks burning. She turned, snapping her laptop shut. These were empty come-ons. He was a jokester, and she knew better than to take anything he said seriously. Except what he thought about her art. She trusted that much.

  “That was a joke,” he clarified when she stood.

  “I know. You’re full of them.”

  Silence stretched between them, and her entire body buzzed with awareness. She dropped her laptop on her desk and then steeled herself to turn around.

  Levi was buried in his phone again. He had the front of his hair fisted, frowning at his phone.

  All the better. She should disengage and move along now.

  “I really appreciate you bringing dinner,” she said, squeezing the top of the arm chair. She wouldn’t sit down again, so he got the message: this meet-up was over. “How much do I owe you?”

  He scoffed, pocketing his phone. Something clouded his eyes, but she couldn’t tell what. And she wouldn’t know, either. Because she was done with this stupid habit of picking the wrong guy. Falling for the same tired ploys. “Nothing. It was on me.”

  “You sure?”

  “Occasional dinners are part of the contract,” he clarified. “The informal contract. The one that says that occasional nights out are included, too.”

  She arched a brow. “Nights out?”

  “Yeah, like going to a bar. Or a winery. Or an ax-throwing range. Whatever you’re into.”

  His honey eyes twinkled as he watched her. He was opening the door enough for her to slink through.

  “This is unrelated to the work you’re doing for my league,” he clarified as he gathered their trash into one bag. “If you say no, it’s not like I’m going to find another photographer. I told you—you’re my ride or die.”

  God, it was so tempting. The way he looked at her warmed her straight to her frozen core. The scruff on his chin, his sturdy width, the ma
sculinity that poured out from every inch of him. He was the type of man she’d always dreamt about, the shadowy physical ideal of perfection that made her core clench from glimpsing him. But more than that, he had a warmth buried behind the jokes and the perfect body that made it hard to turn away.

  But she knew enough about him to stay away. No matter how much she wished for a pair of strong arms on her loneliest nights, dating a guy who would only hurt her just so she had a body in her bed wasn’t the way for her. Not anymore. Not after what had happened with Braden.

  “I…really can’t.”

  Levi wet his bottom lip, that intense gaze unwavering. “Like, tonight or...ever?”

  “Ever.”

  Levi worked his jaw back and forth, not looking away. She held his gaze, wanting to win this battle of fortitude or stubbornness or whatever the hell it was.

  “Cool.” He cleared his throat as he stood, an awkward weight in the air between them. His sneakers scuffed as he ran his hands through his hair, heading toward the door.

  “Do you want me to send you these pictures tonight, or…?” Her voice sounded strange in the quiet room. She had to give it to him—he’d respected her line in the sand. So why did her heartbeat echo between her ears, pulse racing with the secret desire to go back on her word and accept the damn invite?

  Levi was the last person she needed to give in to.

  This needed to stay a work relationship.

  “Yeah, email me a link or whatever. I got an idea for a couple of them so far.” The absence of his nearness sent a strange sort of desperation cycloning through her. She was a breath away from calling out a hoarse “Levi, wait!” and grabbing him by the wrist in the middle of a rain storm, dramatic-movie style.

  “I’ll get a shared folder set up.” There’d be no wrist grabbing here. No desperate pleas to stop. She knew what she was doing. And she needed fewer hot men in her life, not more. “I got your email on the contract, so…”

  Levi didn’t look at her, simply nodded and tapped the side of his fist against the glass door as he peered out to the sidewalk. “Cool. So, I’ll…” Finally he swept that sweet cinnamon gaze back to her. A chill raced up her spine. “I guess I’ll see you later.”