Chapter 8: Chapter 8

CHRISTIAN

I grip my scotch glass tightly.

“You’re going to cut your hand again if you’re not careful,” Leo warns from beside me.

“I’m good.”

“Clearly.”

“Don’t Francesca and Ben look adorable together?” Beth asks, settling down next to Leo. “I’m so glad I played matchmaker.”

“Francesca must be desperate. Ben’s from Mum’s side of the family. He’s a teacher; he earns peanuts,” Evelyn comments, peering over her champagne glass.

“Francesca isn’t desperate, she just doesn’t care about a man’s bank account. She values personality.” Leo stands up for his best friend.

“What a sad life for her.” Evelyn rolls her eyes.

I lift my glass to my lips, downing the amber liquid in one go.

I can’t tear my eyes away from Francesca, who’s sitting at an empty seat a few tables away, engrossed in conversation with Beth’s cousin Ben.

I watch every aspect of their interaction. I watch her laugh heartily, touch his arm during their chat, and smile as he speaks.

I know she felt what I did.

I know she enjoyed our summer together, and yet there she is, engrossed in conversation with a British school teacher who probably wouldn’t know how to pleasure a woman even if he had a manual.

The waiter comes by and swaps my empty glass for a full one, which I promptly empty and return to his tray.

“Dance with me?” Evelyn appears at my side, occupying the seat meant for my kitten. ~My~ Francesca.

I glance at Evelyn briefly before my gaze lands back on the table where Francesca is sitting, only this time, I see Ben extending his hand to her.

~That bastard asked her to dance!~

“Chris?”

“Sure,” I grunt in response, and Evelyn grins as she leads me to the dance floor.

Evelyn guides my hands to her waist before draping her arms around my neck.

We sway around the dance floor, and while I can hear her talking about something related to the business and life in New York, I pay no attention; my focus is entirely on Francesca leaning into Ben’s embrace.

This girl has me completely thrown off. Normally I wouldn’t care. I’d just move on to my next target, find a new conquest.

My gaze follows Ben’s hand as he tucks a loose strand of beautiful blonde hair behind Francesca’s ear.

I narrow my eyes as she leans her cheek into his hand, and I see red as he starts to move closer to her.

Before I can stop myself or think through my actions, I’ve pulled away from Evelyn and am crossing the dance floor toward Francesca.

I yank Francesca back by wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against my chest.

Francesca gasps, and Ben stares at me, eyes wide.

“What’s your problem, mate?” he asks, his English accent thick.

“Groomsmen business. I need to borrow Francesca,” I say, turning and pulling Francesca with me without waiting for a response.

“What the hell, Christian?” Francesca hisses at me as we walk past a fuming Evelyn and up the long hallway leading to the bathrooms.

Francesca tries to pull away from my grip, but I only hold on tighter.

“Christian.”

I keep pulling her up the hallway.

“Stop!” Francesca pulls back with all her strength, causing me to stumble slightly.

I turn to face her, and her eyes are practically shooting daggers at me.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“Me?”

“Yes, Ben was being perfectly nice, and we were dancing and he—”

“Was touching what’s mine.”

“Yours? God, Christian! We’ve been over this. I don’t belong to you! I hate being in debt to people. Is that why you bought me this dress? So you could hold it over my head?”

“He doesn’t deserve you!”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business since you got ~lucky~ last night. Or was Leo lying?”

“Leo misunderstood the situation. Last night after dropping you off, I went back to my hotel room and all I could think about was you.

“I had the worst sleep of my life, wanting nothing more than to go back to your room and fuck you senseless.”

She gasps at my honesty, and her eyes fill with desire. “Instead, I had to settle for at least half a dozen cold showers.”

Francesca sighs before her expression turns cold.

“So, you pulled me away from Ben because you want to fuck me? What then, Christian? What happens after we fuck? You realize that I don’t belong in your world and you cast me aside?”

“Kitten—”

“Don’t! You can’t honestly think it will work.” She laughs at her own statement, and I furrow my brow in confusion.

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“You are Armani, and I’m H&M. You make thousands of dollars a minute, and I’m lucky if I make the same in a year. We are too—”

Having heard enough, my lips capture hers, silencing her words and stifling her protests.

She’s still for a moment, and I consider pulling back; I start to rethink my entire strategy, but then her lips start moving.

Slow at first, the movements are subtle before she takes my bottom lip between her teeth, biting down hard.

I let out a groan, and she slips her tongue inside my mouth, battling for dominance, but I win out.

She moans into my mouth, her fingers threading through my hair. My arms wrap around her waist, pulling her as close as physically possible.

It’s hot and more intense than any other kiss I’ve ever experienced. She’s like a drug that I crave more of, that I ~need~ more of.

It ends too soon, and she places her hands on my chest, pushing me an arm's length away.

She shakes her head a few times before the index finger of her left hand moves to her gorgeous, plump, bruised lips.

“Gattina~.”

“We shouldn’t.”

FRANCESCA

We touch down at JFK around nine at night.

“Home sweet home,” I whisper as the plane rolls along the runway.

“Indeed.”

Christian chats with the flight crew while I grab my duffle and backpack. We step out onto the tarmac where a limo is already waiting.

“Your ride?” I ask.

“Of course.” Christian grins. He takes my hand, our fingers lacing together, and he lifts my hand to his lips for a soft kiss.

“We’re from different worlds, Mr. De Luca.”

“We don’t have to be.”

“Christian.”

“Gattina.”

“I need to get to work,” I say, glancing at my watch. “I called in. I’ll make my shift tonight.”

“Shift? I thought you were an actress.”

“Well, when acting doesn't pay the bills, I’m just a…waitress.”

“Does Leo know?”

“No.”

Christian grins, and I know what he’s thinking.

Ever since I mentioned Leo “knowing” me, he’s been trying to prove him wrong. Trying to show that he cares, that he cares enough to know more than Leo.

“Can I give you a ride?”

“To my apartment.” I nod, and Christian pulls me into the limo with a satisfied smile.

We sit in silence for most of the ride, our fingers still laced together, resting on Christian’s thigh.

“Can I call you tomorrow?” Christian asks as we near my apartment.

“Why?”

“So I can take you out.” Christian grins, and I blush.

“No.”

“No?”

“Christian, London was…fun—”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“—but our worlds are too different. You’re a CEO, and I’m an unpublished author and aspiring actress who works as a ~waitress~.”

“Francesca—”

“Thanks for the ride, Christian. I’ll see you around.” I jump out of the barely stopped limo and dash into my building.

I’m embarrassed to even let Christian see my building, let alone linger outside it long enough to realize I’m poorer than he thought.

Waitress is a generous term for my actual job, although it’s closer than actress.

I rush into my apartment, drop my duffle in the hall, and quickly change for work. I’m out of my apartment in under twenty minutes, which, after almost eight hours on a plane, is pretty impressive.

I pull on my long gray trench coat, grab my keys, wallet, and phone, and lock the door behind me.

I don’t have to wait for a cab, and soon, I’m stepping out on the curb in front of my workplace of the last eight years.

I started here while I was in college. I wasn’t even twenty-one when the manager, Marty, had me cleaning counters and taking out trash.

“Welcome home, Cheer,” the forty-year-old bouncer says, moving the rope aside to let me in.

“Thanks, Rick.” I kiss his cheek as I step into the club, and it immediately feels like home. I tug at the belt of my trench coat as I head toward the back room.

The girls are buzzing around the dressing room like always, and I fall into my usual rhythm.

I dump my personal stuff in my locker as my coworkers spot me and shower me with hugs, smiles, and waves.

“We have a special surprise for you tonight! Back from her holiday in London. New York’s own, our golden girl…Cheer!”

“That’s your cue,” one of the girls says from behind me. I let my trench coat fall off my shoulders and untie my hair, letting it fall in soft curls as I head out to do my thing.

The crowd cheers and hollers as I walk out of the back room. I spot many of the regulars waving me down. I grab a tray of drinks off the bar and strut out toward the waiting crowd.

Table nine is my destination, and when I get there, I’m greeted by a group of my regulars. I place the tray on the table, moving the drinks in front of the right people.

“How are my favorite people?”

“We missed you, Cheer.”

“Oh, I missed you, too, boys.”

“Will you be on the stage tonight?”

“Of course she will.” Candy walks past me, slapping my ass. “Cheer is up next.”

The intro to Toni Basil’s “Mickey” starts, and I can’t help but grin as I make my way to the stage in the center of the club.

My pom-poms are waiting for me when I swing my legs onto the stage. The bills start flying in my direction as I wrap my bare leg around the metal pole in the center of the stage.

I laugh to myself, thinking back to when I told Christian I am a waitress. Not exactly a lie. I do serve drinks, but I guess you would actually call me…a stripper.

***

There’s a constant buzzing.

~What the fuck is buzzing?~

I squint as I try to open my eyes. The light coming from who knows where blinds me. I groan as the buzzing continues.

Finally, my eyes open, and I roll over in my bed to find my phone on the pillow next to me. I notice the time as I answer.

Six o’clock in the morning. Not early for some, but for a stripper who only got home at four, it’s way too early.

“Hello?” My voice comes out as a low groan.

“Mio Dio. You sound sexy in the morning, kitten.”

I sit up a little straighter in my bed, suddenly feeling very awake.

“Christian?”

“You remember me.”

“How did you get this number? I don’t remember giving you my number.”

“You didn’t. I have my ways, kitten.”

“Do me a favor and lose it or learn to call at a more respectable time.”

“I thought I could take you to breakfast.”

“You got it all wrong. First off, we’ve already talked about this. I thought I was pretty clear. And second, I worked last night. Didn’t get home until four.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you, Francesca.”

“Whatever.”

“Maybe we could grab lunch—”

“Goodbye, Christian.”

I end the call and flop back onto the pillow next to me, burying my face with a groan. Ever since the bachelor and bachelorette parties merged into one, he’s been stuck in my head.

He’s the only guy who’s ever managed to pull my thoughts away from Leo. The first guy in a long time who’s shown real interest in me.

The memory of our kiss at Leo’s wedding is etched into my mind. The way our lips danced together, so smooth, so natural.

I wasn’t worried about whether he was into it or the spit-to-teeth ratio; the kiss was flawless, perfect in every way. But it wouldn’t work, ~we~ wouldn’t work.