Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3) Page 2

  Ava and I go on chatting for a while, pretending the point of me being here is just to visit instead of to meet her cousin so we can make the ultimate decision on moving in. I don't mind passing the time with Ava. She's easy to talk to, asking me questions about my life, my major, and whether I've started dating—a question she asked the first time we met and I may have responded to a bit defensively.

  Ava pries that topic open a bit more and asks, "Did you just go through a breakup or something?"

  "I did. I'm a little bitter at the moment, to be honest."

  "Yeah, I've been there," she says. "It will pass. You're just in the fire-breathing stage of the breakup. The hurt and anger will fade until it's all a distant memory."

  She says it with so much certainty that I want to take her words, fold them, and tuck them away inside, to remind myself later. Even though I know full well that her advice doesn't apply to my situation.

  I don't typically discuss my personal life with someone I barely know, but the truth is I don't have anyone else I can confide in lately. Ava's one of those people that leans into your words like you're the most interesting person in the world, her eyes eager as she listens intently. Maybe too intently.

  Eventually, though, she reaches the outskirts of a topic I'm not comfortable with, asking me what my deciding factor was in moving down from Newport Beach. I keep my answer vague and ease my way right out of the conversation.

  "So, my room would be one of the two at the end of the hall, right?" She nods and I continue, "And you'll be in the master suite at the other end?"

  "No, I'll be on the first room to the right, on your end of the hall."

  I pull the lease out of my purse, taking a second to smooth it out on the coffee table, wondering if the question I really want to ask is any of my business. But I can't help it. I never can.

  "Why don't you want the master suite?"

  A polite smile crosses her face and she busies herself with adjusting the back of her bun as she says, "When I told my mom I'd take over the mortgage, I was in a position to afford it with just one roommate. But a month later my mom got sick. I'm saving every expense to pay for her care. My cousin can afford to pay for the larger portion of the rent and, really, I don't mind the smaller room."

  My stomach clenches with discomfort at having prodded into such a personal topic. Silence follows that I'm meant to fill, but I swallow instead, grateful when Ava looks down to the lease papers in front of me and changes the subject.

  "Oh, awesome, you already signed everything. Guess it's a done deal?"

  I smile. "I'm ready to move my stuff in this weekend. Let's just hope your cousin doesn't immediately hate my guts."

  Her eyes are trained on the pages in her hands as she flips through, looking for the portions that require her signature.

  "Don't worry," she says, "I'm not related to any murderers or drug dealers that I know of. Family knows each other's secrets better than strangers, you know? Renting to strangers is always a roll of the dice; you never know what you'll get. No offense, you seem great."

  "No, I know exactly what you mean. I've only lived with my family up until now. This is…different for me. But I'm excited." My lips tug into something that doesn't truly match the anxiety stirring on the inside. I'm still nervous about taking this step, moving out on my own for the first time with people I barely know. But Ava's right…I don't know her any better than I know the cousin I've never met. I doubt Ava would want to live with this girl if she were someone impossible to get along with. "Will she be here soon?" I ask Ava, checking the time to realize we've been waiting a while.

  "Umm…she?" Ava straightens out the papers she just finished signing and nervously glances at her watch. "My cousin's a guy."

  My jaw goes lax and a brief panic takes hold of me. "What?"

  Her response is interrupted by a click from the front door as the knob turns. She and I get to our feet just as a tall guy walks in, bringing with him a burst of masculine energy that seems to absorb all of the air in the room.

  We lock eyes, he and I, and my stomach takes a downward plunge. It's him. The asshole from the coffee shop. He's standing in my new living room, eyebrows lifting slightly, either from surprise or in anticipation of being introduced. Mouth parted in confusion, I turn helplessly to Ava and find her staring at me, too.

  Mere seconds pass where I internally panic at the unexpected situation. No…no, no, no. Please don't let it be true.

  "This is Giles," Ava says. "Our third roommate."

  "Technically second," he corrects.

  I quickly recover from my shock and turn to Ava. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

  "Uh, sure." She leads me down the short hall and into the empty room that is set to be mine. I follow her in silence until she turns to address me again. "What's wrong?"

  She's feigning innocence in such a convincing way, I'd almost believe her if I didn't know better. My head swells with hot air and I swallow back a sharp word in an attempt to keep my tone calm.

  "You know exactly what's wrong. You told me your cousin was a girl—"

  "No, I didn't," she cuts in, pausing before she adds, "I've never once said that. But does it change anything?"

  I run my hand over my face, realizing she's right. I've assumed her cousin was female from the moment she mentioned it. I guess I just couldn't entertain the idea of it being a guy,

  "A male roommate is a way, way different deal than a female roommate," I say. "For reasons I think are obvious."

  Her hand comes up to her throat and her fingers fan out there. In that moment, she looks guilty. "I worried you might have reservations. But I just wanted you to meet him first before you dismissed the whole situation."

  "Oh, I've met him. I had the pleasure of having him try to pick me up just this morning."

  Ava's hand leaves her throat and moves to the space between her eyes. "Crap," she whispers.

  Crap isn't the word I'm thinking of at the moment. My mouth opens as I start to say the deal is off. That I don't want to move in, but I stop before the first syllable, realizing my words will make my decision final and that maybe I need another moment to think it over.

  I can't spend another second at my uncle's house. While my uncle has been a neutral party in what I've been going through, even offering to let me live with him until I found my own place, my aunt has very decisively taken her stance. Her judgment is clear in the way she's short with me, barely even looks at me if she can help it. Her general attitude creates a tension I can hardly stand. I've tried sticking to my room, staying out of her way, but it seems that my mere presence in her house is leaving stains on her walls. All of her walls. The way she looks at me, like I'm something dragged in from the trash, is just a reminder of what I'm trying to wipe clean.

  I'm not here to make best friends with my roommates. That was just a stupid, little girl fantasy of mine. The reality is that roommates just need to get along and be civil. I'm an adult. I can do this. I really can.

  But can I? It's not just the issue of Giles rubbing me the wrong way from the moment I met him, but it's also the idea of living with a man. It all brings up a tiny, childish voice in the back of my head that warns my parents wouldn't allow it. And the guilt that comes along with that thought is one I've basically lived my life trying hard to avoid, never doing anything my parents would disapprove of.

  And that is such bullshit. Those same parents turned their backs on me, quick to jump to conclusions and cruel accusations that ultimately tore our relationship apart. My parents don't get a say in my life choices. Not anymore.

  Ava puts a hand on my shoulder and I almost flinch at the interruption from my thoughts.

  "Just think about it for a minute. It's really not a big deal," she says. "He'll be at the other end of the hall from us. You won't have to share a bathroom, and plus, he's going to take summer classes so he'll rarely ever be home. Once the fall semester starts up and you're busy with work and classes, you two probably won't see each o
ther at all."

  Maybe she doesn't think her efforts to sway me are working because she changes tactics.

  "I swear he's a good guy, he's just going through a lot of stuff right now. And to top it all off, his girlfriend dumped him and kicked him out of their apartment. I know he doesn't look it, but he's pretty torn up about it. He's family and I can't turn my back on him. Not to mention, he's offering to pay the larger portion of the rent and I am out of options." Her foot taps the floor at faster intervals as she continues, "Come on, Julia…don't make me have to look for another roommate, you're perfect. It's all going to work out, I promise."

  I'm chewing on the back of my thumb when Ava pauses, waiting for me to respond. Her promise doesn't really mean anything to me right now, but I understand she's as desperate for me to move in as I am to leave my aunt's house.

  This fear instilled in me by my conservative parents, to cringe away from things out of their norm, is ridiculous. Lots of people have roommates of the opposite sex. I'm the only one making a big deal out of nothing.

  Dealing with a personality like Giles just requires that I set my foot down from the very beginning—which, I think I already have.

  "Okay," I say, finally. "Okay, I'm in."

  She lets out a breath and half rolls her eyes as though she knew that would be my answer all along.

  Ava and I walk back into the living room to find Giles sitting back comfortably on the armchair.

  "Everything all right?" he asks.

  "Yeah," Ava and I say, almost in unison.

  "Sorry I'm late," he goes on, "I got caught up with—"

  "Gross," Ava cuts in. "Is that a hickey?"

  He doesn't bother answering.

  "But Ava said you just got dumped," I blurt out.

  They both look at me and I know I've said the wrong thing by the way his carefree expression slips for a fraction of a second.

  Ava half laughs and shakes her head at me. "Way to make things awkward, Julia."

  Giles runs a hand down the front of his shirt, then says, "I guess you heard? I got cheated on and kicked out of my apartment."

  "Well, it was her apartment, I told you not to move in with her," Ava says with a preachy undertone. "And don't act like you're a saint."

  "I never cheated on her," he snaps, and his tone makes me stand up straighter. It's the way he says it, with a quiet outrage that she would even suggest it. He seems to realize his overreaction and softens his tone. "What I do now is none of her business."

  "You mean who you do. As in, half the campus," Ava mutters.

  "Okay," I jump in, "can we maybe not…air dirty laundry right now?"

  There's an awkwardness hanging over this entire discussion and there's nothing I can do about it. I guess it's my fault for steering the conversation in this direction in the first place.

  "Nice to meet you again," he says to me.

  "I'm sure it is," I say, shooting him a mocking grin that delivers all the words I won't say at the present moment.

  But the longer his attention remains fixed on me, the tighter the knots in my stomach become, knots I didn't realize were there to begin with.

  The silence prompts me to look at Ava, who stands beside me with her phone in her hand, though she's looking from me to Giles with an almost bored expression that matches her tone when she says, "No banging roommates, all right, you two?"

  A snort escapes me, embarrassed and caught completely off guard.

  "I think we all know why that won't be a problem," he says easily. "Right, Julia?"

  A curious expression flashes across his face and I have to catch myself from revealing surprise at what he just said.

  "Right," I agree, but all I can think is…

  What the hell does that mean?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Julia

  "JAMESON ON THE ROCKS."

  The smooth voice rolls over me as a suited guy with cropped black hair settles down on a stool, twirling his phone distractedly. He looks to be in his early thirties and exotic in a way I can't really pinpoint. Something about the lack of contrast between his light brown eyes and honey colored skin.

  This restaurant is just south of campus and the surrounding area is mostly shopping centers and apartment buildings. Our clientele is typically college-aged, but every once in a while, people from the office buildings further south trickle in for an office luncheon or business meeting. Except this guy is different. For starters, it's after seven in the evening—way past the time for the workday crowd. His suit doesn't seem like your everyday office attire, either. It looks expensive just in the way it fits him, the cut over his shoulders, the length of the sleeves. Or maybe it's the way he wears it.

  As I fix his drink, I catch the way he eyes the kitchen doors behind me, as if he's waiting for someone to come out. It's not until I set a drink down in front of him that he reveals the subject of his curiosity.

  "Where's the other girl?" he asks me. I tilt my head. Other girl? The other two bartenders are men and neither one of them are working today. As though to clarify, he adds, "The one with the eyes."

  Kind of a vague description for someone who is presumably sober, but I exactly know whom he means. There's only one person in the restaurant that someone might describe as 'the one with the eyes,' because coupled with her near-constant unsmiling expression, her green gaze—and the way it could cut through steel—is the most memorable trait about her.

  "She's the floor manager. Did you have an issue?" My hands come around my back to fiddle with the apron strap around my waist. He just got here and has yet to try his drink. I doubt he could have a complaint already.

  "No. Never mind." He tilts his glass to his lips and there's a trace of annoyance in his response, like he's blaming me for not telling him what he wants to hear.

  I go off to tend to the other drink orders, most of which are coming from the dining room. Mr. Suit nurses his drink for what seems like forever, answering phone calls and having various cryptic business discussions with what I can only describe as an inflated sense of importance. I never understand how some people come to a bar to have private phone conversations. But it could be worse. He could be trying to engage me in conversation.

  This restaurant's a popular hangout spot and one of my least favorite things about working the bar is listening to people who, in their booze induced candor, ask me overly personal questions or reveal way more than I would need to know about them.

  I guess being a sober person surrounded by drunks isn't supposed to be fun. Being behind the bar is like viewing what I used to consider a fun night out from an inverted glass, where what I used to think was awesome now just seems obnoxious. It's never boring here, though. Even the paradox of customers acting like teenagers while demanding the respect of adults is mildly entertaining.

  My shifts are fairly busy even when there aren't many customers at the actual bar since I make drinks for the dinner guests, as well. So, it makes things difficult for me when people take my proximity to them as an invitation to engage me in long, drunken conversations. I try to be as polite and accommodating as possible, not just because it's my job, but because I get it. Some people come to bars simply because they're lonely.

  What I have less of a tolerance for is when a guy tries to flirt with me all night. I'm like a caged animal, lit up by the overhead counter lights, with very small real estate to maneuver away from unwanted attention.

  Even in those moments, I don't hate this job. It's not what I want to do forever, of course, but I guess if I one day become a research psychologist like I hope to, this is a good place as any to observe potential behavioral research ideas. At the very least, I make decent money, even on slow nights.

  I prepare a couple of mixed drinks for two girls sitting at my bar and a pair of cocktails for a table in the dining room. My mind is elsewhere. I'm mentally taking inventory of my belongings, of what will move with me to my new place. I want to make sure I leave my uncle's guest room looking exactly the way it did when
I settled into it a few months ago. Even though he was kind enough to insist I take my time finding the right permanent living situation, it's hard not to feel like I've overstayed my welcome. There's nothing I hate more than inconveniencing someone, being a burden. Which is why I could not be more determined to move in with Ava and, yes, Giles, too.

  I had an initial freak out when I first found out he was the new roommate. He obviously isn't what I'd bargained for, but after a good night's sleep and some careful consideration, I've decided that I can handle him. After all, he's a magazine I can read just by glancing at the cover. There's even a strange part of me anticipating the opportunity to put an asshole in his place. I intend to do just that, if it comes to it. Especially since the asshole I truly hate is too far for me to reach now.

  The doors behind me open, and the aroma of grilled steak wafts from the kitchen as Lex Stone, the floor manager, comes out. I'm washing a few glasses in the sink, but from my peripheral vision, I notice Mr. Suit sit up when he gains sight of her.

  Lex doesn't seem to notice him. Her stern gaze sweeps the immediate area and I stand a little straighter when it fixes on me. There's an incredibly imposing energy to her despite how quiet she is, but the tiredness behind her expression contradicts that.

  She's just a little older than I am. A senior, I believe. When I first met her, I thought maybe we could be friends. She's unassuming but undeniably beautiful and oozes an easy confidence.

  She gives me the small nod I've come to know as her greeting. "How's it going?"

  "Good," I say, as I set the glasses down on the drying rack. "Still waiting for the crowd."

  "You're off this weekend, right?"

  "I am. It was my weekend to work but I switched with Derik because I'm moving into a new place."

  "Cool…" She keeps eye contact as she says it, and the word hangs awkwardly between us, not exactly inviting further conversation even while her demeanor is attentive and expectant.