“What’s new?” he asks, giving me a friendly nod.
I sigh, leaning back in my chair and folding my arms. “You know, the usual. Quit a strip club, now need to find a new job to pay off a debt before the man my sister owes money to comes looking for one of the two of us.”
Paul blinks, and then looks at Anaya. “Your place has way more action than mine. Why don’t we stay here more often?”
Anaya rolls her eyes. “Because I don’t want to scare Paris with all of your sex noises.”
I blush and pretend to stare at something on the other side of the room that has suddenly become interesting.
“Leave her alone. You’re making her blush,” Paul adds dryly, and then lifts up the bowl to drink the milk. A knock on the door has me perking up.
“I’ll get it,” Paul says standing up. “Because I’m such a gentleman.”
“If you have to tell people you’re a gentleman, then you’re probably not,” Anaya says, grinning. These two. When Grayson walks back in with Paul a few seconds later, I can’t hide my surprise.
“Good morning,” he says, flashing us all a charming smile. “What have I missed?” he asks, sitting down at the table with us as if he does it every day.
“What have you missed? Paul thinks he’s a gentleman; that’s about it,” Anaya says, darting her gaze from Grayson to me and back again. Paul bends down and places a kiss on Anaya’s mouth. She mock pushes him away, and then the two start getting grabby.
“What about you, Grayson? Are you a gentleman?” she asks when Paul lets her go.
“Of course,” Grayson replies instantly. He turns to look at me. “Except in the bedroom.”
Anaya’s eyes widen. “I bet Paris can attest to that.” There my face goes, red again. Grayson smiles at me knowingly.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say, standing up and walking to my room as he trails behind. I sit on my bed as he closes the door, and then comes to sit down next to me.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I was an ass**le last night. Seeing you up there… I was angry and jealous that other men got to see what’s mine. And pretty f**king angry,” he says, running his hand along his jaw.
“So you were angry?” I ask dryly, lightening the mood a little.
He scoffs. “Just a little. I’m still angry, but—”
I cut him off. “You realise that you ended it with me, so you have no right to go around saying that I’m yours,” I tell him. My phone rings, “Say Something” by A Great Big World and Christina Aguilera plays, my new ringtone. The song fills the room between us. I ignore the call.
“I had just found out the love of my life was a stripper,” he says dryly, shrugging in a ‘what do you expect’ kind of way.
I grit my teeth. “You’re too young to have found the love of your life.”
He stills. “I’m twenty-one—old enough to know what I want. I’ve been with my fair share of girls and…”
“Don’t remind me,” I mutter, rubbing my hands down my face. I’m tired. So bloody tired.
“You look tired,” he says, brows furrowing. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I am tired,” I say. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Us,” he says.
“There is no us,” I remind him, crossing my arms over my chest. Do I want him back? Of course I do. But I know that things between us will be different. I can already sense it in what he says, and the way he says it. He’s going to use this against me.
“There will always be an ‘us’,” he says. “Even though you were leading a double life I had no idea about.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Case in point. I stand up. “If that’s all you have to say, then please leave.”
He opens his mouth to argue but then closes it. “You need to rest. We can talk later,” he says. He kisses me once on my forehead, his lips searing my skin with the simple touch.
Then he leaves.
Chapter Seventeen
I hand in my resume to the manager of the restaurant, thanking him and then walking out. I’ve applied for work at ten different places today, and it feels good to be productive. My phone vibrates with a text message from London. She had replied telling me to call her, which I’d forgotten to do.
Can’t even call your sister back, huh?
I roll my eyes and text back.
Sorry, busy with uni. Is everything okay?
She doesn’t instantly reply so I put my phone away and continue walking down the street. I stop when I come across a bar, checking it out before walking in. The place is completely dead. There’s a guy standing at the bar, writing something down on a notebook. He’s good-looking enough, with dirty blond hair, tanned skin, and a nice build. He looks up as I get close.
“Hello,” he says, putting the pen down and smiling.
“Hi,” I say, looking around. “Nice place.”
“Thanks, I’ll tell the owner you said so.”
“Is the owner in?” I ask, taking a seat on the stool in front of him.
He smirks. “He is. Why?”
“I was kind of wondering if you guys were looking to hire someone,” I say, feeling a little sheepish. I’d tried to look professional today, so I chose to wear a white shirt and tailored black pants.
“Have you ever worked at a bar before?” he asks, rubbing the scruff on his chin.