Hooked: Chapter 5

“What do you mean ‘homeschooling?’” I ask my brother, Jon.

He shrugs, his dark hair bobbing with the motion, arm waving to the papers strewn out in front of him. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. I asked Dad if I could do it this way and he said okay.”

My brows scrunch. Why wouldn’t he tell me about this?

“Cool. So, you and Dad had a good talk then?” I plop next to him at the dining room table.

His lips curl slightly. “Wendy, be real. When’s the last time Dad actually talked to me?”

My insides clamp down and I sigh, the excuses for our father rolling off my tongue; so practiced I can barely taste the lies. “He’s just busy, Jon, that’s all. You know he loves you and wishes he could be here.”

Jon scoffs, gripping his pencil so tight his knuckles turn white. “Yeah, sure.”

“Besides,” I continue. “You have me, and we both know I’m all you need.”

He smirks, rolling his eyes behind his large square-framed glasses. “You’re right. Who needs parents when they’ve got you? You mother me enough for the whole damn town.”

I force a scowl, amusement weaving through my chest. “Hey, watch your mouth.”

“Proving my point.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “It is cool, though… about homeschooling. I’m happier this way.”

He’s not wrong. I suppose I do mother him more than a normal sibling would, but I’m all he has. Our mother died when Jon was barely one; a fatal car accident from a drunk driver. And although I’ll never admit it out loud, my dad definitely doesn’t give Jon the time or attention he deserves. It’s a sore spot in our relationship, one I don’t like to focus on for too long.

“Well, I’m glad he’s letting you stay home if it’s what you want. You think you’ll miss the interaction?”

He huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes again. “No. Kids are assholes.”

My heart pangs. Maybe homeschooling will be the better option. Hope flares in the middle of my sternum, wondering if my father actually listened all of the times I’ve begged him to intervene with Jon’s bullying.

I smile. “Okay, well, I gotta go to work. You want to watch a movie tonight?”

“Why do you work when you don’t need the money?” he asks.

I shrug, chewing on my lower lip. “So I don’t die of boredom, I guess.”

“You could always go to college.” He smirks, glancing at me.

“And leave you here? What would you do without me?”

He grins, leaning over his paperwork and effectively dismissing me.

Sighing, I stand up, leaving him to it. I love to be around him, but I miss the days when he would attach himself to my legs or put his sticky toddler hands on my cheeks and tell me I was his favorite person in the world.

As he got older, he shuttered himself, the cruelties of being bullied making him hide behind walls he was forced to build. An ache spreads across my chest, and it stays with me the entire drive to The Vanilla Bean.

It’s two hours later—after I’ve messed up two macchiatos and spilled an entire gallon of caramel on the ground—that I realize today is not going to be my day. The other barista called off, so it’s just me, and for some reason I can’t do a single task without messing something up.

“Can someone give me some service around here?” A man’s voice hollers from the main area.

I stand up from where I’m cleaning the remnants of caramel and brush my hair from my eyes, peering around the corner. I hadn’t even heard anyone come in. “Hi! So sorry, give me just a sec.”

The man scowls, crossing his arms, a large watch blinging on his wrist. “Some of us have things to do. I’ve been standing here for five minutes.”

Irritation stabs my gut. I drop the rag on the counter, the water dripping from the fabric and onto the ground, and walk to the front. “So sorry about the wait, sir.”

He huffs, his hand tapping the counter in a jittery rhythm. I’m no stranger to rude customers—unfortunately in the service industry they happen more often than not—but today, my nerves are shot, and I can feel the ball of fire brewing in the center of my stomach, spinning and growing, the flames licking up my insides.

I paste a smile on my face. “What can I get you?”

“Large hot coffee, black.”

I nod, blowing out a relieved breath that his drink is something simple. He pays and I spin around, side-eyeing the small puddle that’s collected on the floor from where the rag has been steadily dripping. I pour his coffee just as the bell above the front door dings, the sound making me jerk. Before I can turn my head, my foot slips on the water, causing me to tip backward, the burn from the sloshing coffee scalding my skin. My tailbone throbs with a sharp ache as I lay on the cold ground, eyes closed, trying to collect myself enough through the humiliation to stand up and just finish this guy’s order.

“Jesus Christ, is there anyone here who’s competent enough to get me a drink?”

The sting from the coffee mixes with the tears collecting behind my lids.

Fuck this guy.

I move to my knees gingerly, blowing out slow and steady breaths to calm my racing heart. Today is definitely not my day.

“And here I was thinking men were supposed to know how to treat a lady.”

My body freezes, wet coffee-soaked shirt sticking to my skin, my hands getting a purchase on the tiled floor. That accent.

The angry customer scoffs, smacking his hand on the counter to punctuate his words, his gaudy watch counting the seconds audibly. “And here I was thinking I’d be able to get a cup of coffee without it being a production.”

A flush rises to my cheeks, and I get up slowly, wincing at the pain that’s throbbing in my lower back. My eyes lock on ocean blue, the mystery man I met the other night standing as if he was plucked straight from my dreams and placed in front of me.

Great. He would show up during my humiliation.

My eyes narrow on the other customer, trying to keep my breathing steady and my temper in check, and the smile on my face stretches from ear to ear. “I’m so sorry about that. I’ll make you another one, on the house.”

His lips turn down as he glares at me. “I already paid. Just make the damn drink!”

My stomach curls in on itself, visions of making him another cup and then throwing it in his face, assaulting my mind.

“Stop.” My mystery man’s voice makes me falter.

I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about him over the past two days, but I never in a million years would have expected him to show up here.

He leans against the glass case, his three-piece suit perfectly pressed, giving him an air of sophistication that swallows the guy next to him whole. “Do you have a tendency to let small men speak to you in such a way, darling?”

Shame curdles my insides. “No, I—” I clear my throat. “He’s a customer, is all.”

“Nah man, this bitch just doesn’t know how to do a simple job.”

A low chuckle rumbles from my mystery man’s chest, the sound vibrating through the café. His frame already towers over the other guy, but like a shape-shifter, he morphs, sucking all the energy from around him and using it to expand his stature. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, and my gaze is transfixed on the vision.

He leans in close to the customer’s ear. “Your watch is rather loud.”

The guy scrunches his brows. “Huh?”

My mystery man nods toward the asshole’s wrist, the diamond-encrusted watch gleaming like a beacon. “Your watch. It’s… ticking.”

“Okay, and?”

He sighs, a hand coming to rub across the bottom of his jaw. My eyes track the movement, taking in how incredibly attractive he is, even more so in the light of day.

The jerk turns toward me, eyes widening as he smacks his palm on the counter again, the sound slapping against my insides like nails on a chalkboard.

“Enjoying the show? Make my coffee.”

I grit my teeth. If I wasn’t at work, I wouldn’t be trying so hard to bite my tongue, but I enjoy this job. It’s the first one I’ve ever had, and while I definitely don’t need it by any stretch of the imagination, it feels good to have something that I’ve earned. Something that wasn’t handed to me because of my last name and the blood that runs through my veins.

As much as I love my father, sometimes, it gets heavy living in his shadow.

“Don’t make his coffee, darling.” The pet name flips my stomach, and my eyes volley between the two men.

The customer’s face turns ruddy, but he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t argue. Presumably because even he can feel the power radiating from the man standing at his side.

My stranger’s tongue swipes along his bottom lip, causing a sharp ache to spread between my legs.

“It’s graceful,” he says, meeting my eyes. “The way you’re acting. Says more about your character than his.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, gratitude lighting me up like Christmas lights. How is it possible that this man was able to take away my humiliation and turn it into something beautiful with a few simple words?

“Fuck you,” the jerk spits.

Mystery man’s blue eyes harden, a tight smile twisting his lips. He slips a hand into his pocket, leaning in close to the guy, muttering something in his ear.

My ears strain, unable to stop myself from eavesdropping, but he speaks so softly it’s impossible to hear. Whatever he says causes the man’s eyes to grow large, and he turns and rushes out the door without another word spoken.

I’m frozen in place, my heart beating rapidly in my chest as I glance around. And it’s only then I take in that there are other people in the shop. Two young men, standing off to the side, both in black suits, and both wearing identical faces. Twins.

I was so zoned into what was happening, I didn’t even see them. Mystery man’s eyes glance to them and he gives a short nod. Without another look, they walk out of the shop and onto the street.

Odd.

He brings his attention back to me, and like a moth to a flame, I’m sucked into his gaze, the questions fading to the back of my mind.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

My heart skips. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you though, for standing up for me.”

“He was a cad, darling.” His eyes glint. “Not worthy to taste the air you breathe.”

My cheeks heat. I had forgotten how forward he is—how absolutely consuming his presence is to be around.

“If you say so.” I smile, glancing at my pink nails before raising my eyes back up to him. “What would you like?”

“A date.”

My breath stutters, my stomach somersaulting. “A… what?”

He grins, one side of his mouth pulling up. “I think you heard me.”

My brow lifts, that same fire I felt two days ago raging back to life. “I did.”

“Fantastic.” He glances around at the empty tables. “When do you get off work?”

I rest my fingers on the counter. “I appreciate the gesture, but… I have plans tonight.”

“That’s right,” he says. “With me.”

Irritation brews in my stomach. “Not with you. God, you’re cocky as hell, aren’t you?”

His eyes flare. “There goes that mouth of yours again.”

I smirk, my heart jerking as it slams against my chest.

He leans forward on the counter. “Tell me your name.”

“Couldn’t find that out when you somehow figured out where I work?” I tilt my head.

He chuckles, standing up straight, his eyes searing through me. “Happy coincidence, I assure you.”

“What’s your name?” I reply.

“I’m James.” His hand reaches out across the counter.

My stomach tightens and my teeth sink into my lower lip. Slowly, I lift my arm, placing my palm in his, the warmth of his skin shooting up my arm. “Wendy.”

“Wendy.” He twists my hand, bringing it to his lips. “It’s a pleasure.”

Heat spikes through my middle.

The bell chimes above the door, a young woman walking in with kids, and I jerk my fingers out of his, straightening my apron.

The left side of his mouth lifts, his eyes never leaving my body. “I’ll be seeing you, Wendy, darling.”

And then he turns and saunters out the door, the woman who just walked in staring after him with her mouth slightly agape.

I can’t say I blame her.

Taking a deep breath to settle my nerves, I ignore the way my insides flush. I’ve never had attention on me the way he gives it, and I can’t help but wonder if this is how he is with everyone—like his world stops spinning, its axis tilting just for you.

Either way, I like it.

It isn’t until hours later, when I’ve closed up shop and settled in for my movie night with Jon, that I realize he never ordered a drink. A small smile lights up my face, butterflies erupting in my stomach at the thought that maybe he was there for me, after all.

It should put me on guard, but instead, excitement floods my insides.

And that night, when I go to bed, I dream of cerulean blue.

James.