“The prodigal knight returns.” Trent practically sing-songs it, loud enough that this entire section of the restaurant can’t resist noticing as he strolls over to Jase.
I’m honestly surprised Trent recognized him, and it appears I’m not the only one, because Jase remarks as much.
“Between the picture Hawthorne showed me and what she told me about the bike—” Trent nods to the Kawasaki parked right out front “—it didn’t exactly take detective work.”
It also seems Jase was unaware his photo had been taken, because the briefest flicker of anger passes over his face so quickly that I doubt Trent catches it.
The thought isn’t a reassuring one.
If Sienna had taken Jase’s picture, had she done the same to me? Surely if she wished to torment me further, she’d let the other Untouchables in on my new look.
I mean, your posse can’t hunt down someone if they don’t know what she looks like, can they?
Jase says something low enough I can’t hear and moves towards the door, but Trent drops an arm around his shoulder, barking out a laugh.
“Don’t be silly.” To my horror, he guides Jase back over to the tables.
The latter catches my eye, and to only drive the knife deeper, he motions to the counter, where they both take their seats.
There’s about a point-three-percent chance Trent won’t recognize me if Sienna already told him about my new look, but a girl’s gotta try, right?
Even in a ponytail, my hair is long enough to cover my name tag when I brush the ends over the front of my shoulder. It’s the worst attempt at a disguise, but it’s the best I can do at the moment.
Jase shoots me a confounded look as I make my way back around the counter to greet the dip-shit duo. He obviously insisted on these seats so Iwouldn’thave to engage with either of them.
One glare from me is answer enough.
Yes, I am a liar.
Why?might you ask. Because the counter is, indeed, part of my section. I just wanted Jase to fuck off and leave me be.
And as Biblical retribution, that little lie has me elbow-deep in shit.
Maggie brings out a tray of food from the back and passes Trent and Jase on her way to her designated table. I want to claw Trent’s eyes out as they linger on her ass as she bends over to hand a dish to the person on the inside of the booth.
All I want—apart from maybe Trent choking to death on his own tongue—is for Maggie to disappear into the back. So, of course, she makes her way behind the counter to refill some drinks. I should be grateful when Trent’s gaze finally peels off her body, but to find him sliding that lecherous stare onme? It’s a taint I never thought capable of. I want to bathe in bleach, peel off my skin, and gouge out his eyes.
“Well, well, well.” Trent Easton is the quintessential American jock, so if I didn’t know what horrible monster rested beneath the surface, I’d be inclined to find his smile warm and his voice rather pleasant.
Thankfully (and unthankfully), I’m all too aware. The gestures twist my insides until they probably resemble a wrung-out dish rag.
“Seems the scenery’s gotten better in here since Senior Year,” he remarks. “Where did you two lovely ladies come from?”
I want to kick myself for feeling any ounce of relief around this fucker, but I can’t help it.
He doesn’t recognize me.
“We just quit our jobs as exotic dancers,” Maggie teases, wholly unaware she’s engaging with Satan’s spawn. “Thought we’d try to make a living while wearing some clothes for a change.”
“I know it shouldn’t be my place to judge someone’s profession, but, hot damn, I most definitely think you need to return to your old job. You are both waaaay too gorgeous for this place, especially considering the eyesores that used to work here.”
Do you think Giorgia would be mad if I punched one of her customers?
I had worked here for over two years, and this idiot harassed me every time he came into the restaurant.
I also hadn’t gotten up the nerve to tell Maggie aboutwhyI left here for my job at the library. Since everything has been quiet for the past week, I had deluded myself into thinking the issue wouldn’t come up.
Well, my dumbass decision has undoubtedly come back to bite me in the butt, because Maggie’s guard isn’t close to being up. She just thinks Trent is your run-of-the-mill “Frat Bro” on summer vacation, a.k.a. the kind of guy you’d see her playing tonsil hockey with at a party when she’s had one too many drinks.
