“You can’t kick me out of here,” Trent says. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Oh, but I might.” To everyone’s shock, it’smewho levels the warning. “Who’s to say I won’t spill a pot of boiling hot coffee into your lap during my rounds?”
I’ve been dealing with his bullshit for four years now, and only once had I dared to stand up to him. Considering how things played out, it didn’t surprise anyone that I never dared it again.
Hence, Trent’s confusion. “Is that a threat?”
“Fromme?” I bat my eyelashes, the perfect façade of innocence. “Why, of course not. It’s just…I’m a little rusty with my waiting skills. Accidentsdohappen. But given the fact that you feel the need to bully girls less than half your size to feel anything resembling masculine—” I punctuate the point by dropping my eyes below his belt, not looking particularlyimpressed “—I’d bet the coffee wouldn’t do any real damage down there that anyone else would be missing.”
The group of tourists seated behind Trent chokes on restrained snickers, and that proves to be the final straw.
I expect the same reaction I got from him the last time, knowing damn well a threat will get him thrown out of here…
But Trent’s smile is like a bucket of ice water doused over my head as he oh-so-casually leans over the counter, his voice dropping low enough that only Maggie, Jase, and I can hear. “If you’re concerned with what I’m packing, sweetheart, why don’t you just ask your sister? She’s been more than acquainted with it.”
What the fuck?
Music plays overhead, and there’s no shortage of conversation around the restaurant, but I swear you could hear a pin drop as the asshole winks at me.
Maggie, who’s never short on comebacks, just stands there, stupefied, like the rest of us.
Because what the fuck?
There’s no way in hell Vanessa would ever touch him with a ten-foot pole and a hazmat suit. Not after what he did to me—
But Trent’s entire demeanor says differently. His flaring temper, the white-knuckled fists, the tensing muscles in his neck…they’re all gone, replaced by the casual composure of a conqueror.
Because that’s what Trent is.
And he lets everyone know that when he saunters right out the door with a cheery whistle as his soundtrack.
Game. Set. Match.
CHAPTER 15
THERE’S NOTHING HOLDING ME BACK
JULY, 4 YEARS AGO
After the nightI’ve had, all I want is to stay curled up in bed, but bird whistles sound from outside. And they aren’t from the common grackles and doves known for loitering in the trees on the property.
It’s Jase.
Either that or there’s a drunken cockatiel beneath my window whistling theAndy Griffiththeme. It’s a bit pitchy, and that somehow only makes it funnier. But I’m going on three hours of sleep, and my mattress right now is my best friend.
A certain someone seems to disagree, because when I don’t get up, my phone starts playing Relient K’s “Be My Escape,” a ringtone chosen by the aforementioned male for this very reason.
“What?” I groan in answer, my face still half-buried in my pillow.
“Alexandria Florence Sharpe, you’ve got ten minutes to get your ass out here,”he says, not bothering with pleasantries.
I groan again, practically falling out of bed as I put on my glasses and drag myself over to the window. Sure enough, Jasestands there, looking perfect as usual in a fitted black tee and dark jeans. “My middle name’s Elizabeth.”
He looks at me, that lopsided grin of his turning into an all-out smile. “Good to know.”
“And you can do the wholePuss In Bootsface all you want,” I counter, already anticipating his next move. “It’s not gonna work on me. I require at least five hours of sleep for it to have any effect.”
The storm that tore through the area last night continued well into the morning, and by the sounds of it, you would have thought a Roland Emmerich movie was taking place outside. It’s almost eleven o’clock, and the sky is still a bruised gray, with only a glimpse of sunshine peeking through the dark mass of clouds.
