OBTAINED (Book One) Page 2

  “What?” I ask, my face crimson.

  “You know what.” He folds his arms. “In my coffee shop, we introduce ourselves.”

  “Oh, no, Chris. I can’t—I mean—I already did last night,” I sputter.

  He raises a brow. “For some reason, I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m serious. I tried to talk to him last night but he ran off like a complete weirdo.” Okay. That part was a lie but Chris would never know that.

  “Alexandria Marshall, if you don’t go and speak to him, I will do it for you. He is too cute to let pass by.” I sigh, looking away from Chris to Mr. Hot who is now taking a nibble of his coffee cake.

  “I can’t—I mean,” I break off, stealing a glance of Mr. Hot again. “Look at him. He’s too hot for me.”

  “Too hot for you?” Chris nearly chokes as his eyes grow wide again. “Have you seen yourself lately? Do you own a mirror? You could use a new wardrobe—and I can always help out with that,” he gloats, “—but besides that you are gorgeous, Alexandria, and this random new haircut that you’ve decided to get is the cherry on top of the delicious sundae.” He glances around then leans in before speaking. “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re my prettiest employee. Mindy thinks she is but she shows a little too much skin which makes a woman really unattractive to me. She does too much for my taste. Trust me, he cannot turn you down.”

  I shake my head again. I am not about to embarrass myself like I did last night. I could see the hate in his eyes. He looked furious with me and I take it that when he sketches, he doesn’t like to be bothered. “Chris?” I groan. Chris narrows his eyes and before I can react, he spins around to make his way to Mr. Hot’s table. “Crap!” I mutter, ducking off to the far end of the counter—as far away as I can get from Mr. Hot’s table but the counter only stretches so much and I still have a clear view. I toy around with a few cups to avoid looking their way . . . but I can’t help it. I want to see how Mr. Hot will react and, in a way, I want to know what he thinks of me. I need to know if he really hates me.

  Chris finally meets up to his table and, just like last night, Mr. Hot stops sketching slowly. He glances up at Chris—who is babbling and pointing at himself—and then at me with his head slightly tilted. He always tilts it in an odd angle—an angle that confuses me on whether he is pleased or annoyed. His dark-brown eyes are only focused on me at the moment. Mr. Hot nods his head as he finally takes his eyes off of me to look at Chris who seems to be waiting for some sort of reply. Mr. Hot shifts in his seat uncomfortably then glances at me again but I look away this time. He doesn’t seem interested and I wish Chris would realize that.

  Mr. Hot finally nods his head, muttering something to Chris before Chris immediately rushes through the tables to reach the counter. “He wants to speak with you,” Chris breathes, reaching for my hands. I gasp, disbelieving my ears.

  “M-me?”

  “Yes you! Now get your ass over there. He doesn’t seem like a very patient young man,” he says, pushing me from behind the marble counters.

  “Oh, no—Chris. Please. I’m on the clock. I can’t really waste time—”

  “Waste all of the time you need. I can run the counter for a few minutes,” he insists, still pushing me forward. I finally stop fighting with him and realize that there is no way around it. I can’t win with Chris, plus he’s the store manager, he can do whatever the hell he wants.

  sigh, glancing over my shoulder at Mr. Hot who has begun to sketch again then turn to look at Chris. “Alright, alright,” I groan, turning on my heels. I slowly make my way to his table. I can still feel Chris’ eyes on me as I pass by a few customers just to get to the corner table.

  My heart beat has suddenly become rapid. I’m chewing and biting down on my lower lip, forcing myself to stay cool but it isn’t working. I’m sweating bullets beneath my pink baseball tee. I finally reach his table and expect for him to look up but he doesn’t. I cross my arms and wait for him to show some sort of acknowledgment but his eyes remain glued to his sketchbook.

  “Have a seat,” he says coolly. I gasp at the sound of his voice. He has an accent—a British accent—that seems familiar, almost like I’ve heard it before. It’s deep, sexy, and causes shivers to crawl along my spine and buzz through me. I slowly reach for the seat across from him, afraid to look his way. Now that I realize it, he had a demanding ring in his voice—like I had no other option but to sit down with him.

  I cross my fingers in my lap, waiting for him to say something else or to at least look at me but he doesn’t even bother. He continues to draw and sketch at his sketchbook for a whole minute before stopping to look at me. His eyes are beautiful—like a pool of creamy dark chocolate—and his butterfly eyelashes only make them dreamier. His lips are so pink, so full. I just want to sink my teeth into them and tug on his lower lip, but who am I kidding? He tucks a few strands of hair behind his ear while reaching for his mocha.

  “So,” I start, looking away from him to the counter. I spot Chris whose eyes are dead on me with a frown. I shrug with innocent eyes but he doesn’t buy it. He points a stern finger at Mr. Hot, purses his lips, and then folds his arms. “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Jules,” he mumbles, his gaze still down.

  “Oh. Is it short for Julian or Julius . . .?”

  “No. It’s just Jules.” He eyes me briefly and my smile fades. Sheesh, someone’s grumpy.

  “Oh, okay. That’s neat.” I sigh, pressing my lips together.

  “What is yours?” he asks as he begins to draw something in his sketchbook again.

  I smile at his questions. Okay, so maybe he is interested and wants to know something about me. “Most customers that come here already know me.” I shrug.

  “Do they?” He lifts a brow but he still doesn’t eye me.

  “Yeah,” I reply softly. Is he being sarcastic? “It’s Alexandria . . . Marshall.”

  “Lovely name.” The corner of his mouth pulls upward to reveal a small grin but, like a dazed idiot, I grin harder.

  “Thank you,” I blush. I turn to look at Chris who is now giving me two thumbs up and a huge smile.

  “What made you want to cut your hair?” he asks. I jerk my gaze on Jules again, my eyes wide with curiosity.

  “I just wanted something new.”

  “I must admit that I love it. It fits you more than the curls you had before.”

  “You didn’t like my curls?” I ask, reaching to smooth my hair self-consciously.

  He chuckles. “Your hair was fine, but the cut really speaks for you. It proves that you like to take risks and be original. Be you. I like it.”

  He likes it? Does that mean that he likes me? Maybe he has a crush on me. Only a crush will notice what fits me and what doesn’t. The blood rushes to my cheeks as he reveals a full set of sparkling white teeth. His smile is beautiful and causes my heart to stumble over their beats.

  “Beautiful smile, too,” he adds then begins to sketch again.

  I grin again. “What are you drawing?” I ask, changing the subject and almost immediately, he frowns.

  “Personal things.”

  “Too personal for me to see?” I prod.

  He forces a smile. “Maybe one day.”

  I nod and besides the soft jazz music playing from the speakers above, it’s silent between us again. I’m not sure what else I should say. I don’t want to bring up last night and make him frustrated again. He sits his pencil down then shuts his sketchbook. He flicks his wrist to check the time on his watch before stuffing his pencils in his pocket.

  “I should get going,” he says, standing and reaching for his leather jacket at the same time. That’s different. Today out of all days he wants to leave early? It hasn’t even hit eight o’ clock yet and he’s trying to leave? This is new behavior from our all-night customer. Maybe it’s me.

  I watch as he slides into the sleeves of his jacket with ease before reaching for his sketchbook. I stand with him, smile, and he forces one back. Perhaps
I should apologize but there is really nothing for me to apologize for. I was only ready to go home. “Listen, I’m really sorry for rushing you out like that last night. It’s really not like me, but I had to get to the station before I ended up missing the subway.” I swallow the lump in my throat as he scans me over, his sketchbook tucked beneath his arm. His eyes are narrowed, solid—yet really soft and a delectable. Looking into them makes me not want to look anywhere else. He continues to look at me and for some reason I feel naked before him. It’s as if he can see what’s beneath my pink baseball tee, tan apron, and denim blue skinny jeans. He finally smiles as he pushes his chair in.

  “I know it’s not like you, Alexandria.”

  My chin practically hits the floor as he says my name, rolling it off of his tongue smoothly, simply—as if he’s said it over a million times. It was so sensuous and unique—like delicate rose petals running across your skin until gratifying hair bumps rise. He smiles smugly and before I can say anything or ask what he means, he is pushing out of the door and disappearing into the snowy night again.

  NOT ALONE

  “How in the hell did you get the hot freak-a-zoid to talk to you?” Mindy asks, shrugging out of her coat. It’s her turn to take over the night shift and luckily for me, I don’t have to be a closing barista. Chris was so happy that I had talked to Jules but he was just as shocked as I was to see that he was leaving so early. Even he knew that Mr. Hot—well, Jules—is always one of the last customers to go home. His new behavior had caught both of us off guard.

  I shrug as I look into Mindy’s dark green eyes while reaching for my trench coat. “Don’t blame me. Blame Chris.”

  She groans as she leans against the wall. “He never does anything for me. I get the feeling that Chris thinks you’re hotter than I am.” She eyes me and I have no choice but to bite back on a smile because in Chris’ eyes, that is the truth.

  “It’s not that,” I lie, “he just saw me staring and forced me to introduce myself. You know how Chris can be.” I slide my arms into the sleeves of my coat.

  Mindy narrows her eyes as she folds her arms. “You were staring at him?” she accuses. “That’s my job!”

  “Get over it, Mindy.” I turn my back to her, rolling my eyes heavily. There’s a reason why Mindy is only my friend at work and not outside of it. I can’t trust her. Especially not after she had hit on Liam then begged to spend the night at our apartment just to be all over him. That was the last straw. She told me that she wanted to have a girl’s night, chat, and watch movies but none of that ended up happening. I was alone that night—stored in my room watching movies and eating ice-cream. She is a user but I never say anything about it. It’s the way she is and I have no room to judge anyone. “I’m gonna bail,” I mutter, making my way around the counter while tugging my grey beanie on my head.

  “Goodnight, Alexandria,” she hisses, her eyes still narrowed. Apparently she’s jealous because she couldn’t get to Mr. Hot first. Jules and I had a short, casual conversation. It’s not like we made out or slept together and the fact that she’s overreacting really ticks me off.

  I push out of the warmth of the coffee shop and as soon as I do, the cool night air hits me hard. The breeze wraps around me, forcing me to grip onto the collar of my coat. The city always seems so vast at night. The street lights burn intensely with every step and everything feels so distant—so far away. It’s freezing out and there are a few specks of snow floating around. Good thing I wore my boots and brought my gloves.

  I turn and make my way towards my usual destination, cutting through different alleys to make the walk shorter. Liam always says it isn’t safe to go through the alleys of New York at night but I always ignore him. I refuse to walk the longer distance and risk the chance of missing the subway. The snow beneath my boots crunches as I continue to pace forward. Puffs of breath blow in front of me as I head through the alley and spot the end of it where the next street meets.

  Surprisingly, Jules is on my mind and thinking about him makes my walk seem a bit shorter. I have so many questions, so many things that I want to know. He truly is different and mysterious—but I like it. I love how he keeps my mind wondering.

  Footsteps scuffle around behind me and I glance over my shoulder quickly, hoping that it is just a stray dog or cat, but I am sadly mistaken. It is a silhouette of a tall person walking rapidly to catch up with me. I begin to walk faster, my heart banging in my chest like an untamed animal stuck in a cage. Now I see what Liam means when he says that I shouldn’t walk the alleys of New York at night . . . alone. Stubborn Alexandria. You never listen.

  The footsteps pound against the asphalt and the street ahead seems farther away than I thought it was but I pick up my pace and begin to do a half-run, half-walk. My pulse climbs frantically and my mind refuses to believe that the person may be after me. The other end of the alley is closer—I can almost feel my escape—but just before I can reach it—just before I can step onto the sidewalk—the person grips me by the shoulder, yanks me back, and I land flat on my back. I groan and gasp at the same time, wincing from the numbing pain. The ground is cold and the puddles of water from the melted snow seeps in through my coat, making it harder for me to get up. But that isn’t the only reason that I don’t want to make a move.

  I now realize that the person that has yanked me back is a very tall man with dark, beady eyes and all black on. I gasp and try to scream but he pulls me up to cover my mouth before I can. “Don’t do it. I can kill your ass right now,” he threatens, whispering in my ear. The panic within me prevails as I try to cry out muffled screams through his calloused hand but it is no use. I squirm, twitch, and turn to get out of his arms but he is strong and he isn’t going to let me go anytime soon. “You said you were a spy and that anyone that talks to you will die, right?”

  My eyes widen and suddenly I remember his voice and the conversation from last night. But it can’t be. He seemed so helpless and drunk. Why would he come after me and how long has he been watching me? He pulls his hand away and I gasp as he turns me around to face him. “It was a joke! I was joking!” I wail, feeling hot tears prick at my eyes as I shake my head.

  “Shh,” he coos with a smug smile. “You have pretty green eyes.” He leans closer, taking a deep whiff of whatever I smell like and, for some reason, he is delighted by it. His nostrils flare before he opens his eyes to look at me again. Tears form at the rims of mine as I look away from him, still trembling and panicking. “Spies don’t cry,” he says through rotten yellow teeth. “So if you aren’t a spy, whose going to kill me?”

  “I will if you don’t let her go,” a deep voice calls from down the alley. I gasp, turning to face the one person that I wouldn’t expect to see. His jaw is clenched and his feet are shoulder-width apart—as if he’s been preparing for this exact moment to happen.

  Jules.

  He’s still wearing the same leather jacket and jeans but without his sketchbook attached to his side, he looks somewhat incomplete.

  “So you are a spy then?” the drunk man asks, gripping my arm and tilting his head at me. I wince from his squeeze and Jules grunts while rushing forward to push the drunk man away from me. The heavy impact causes me to stumble backwards and land on my rear but I’m a witness to everything. The fury in Jules eyes, his bright gold glowing fists pounding into the man. Glowing? Yes, I am not mistaken. His hands are glowing and his eyes are, too, but his eyes aren’t brown anymore; they are a sparkling honey—a rich, sunlight honey that shines and pops out like the flames and rays of a setting sun. Topaz.

  I gasp as I slide away and scramble to my feet. Jules lands his last blow then immediately stands to face me but I am in a complete shock. The man groans before his head falls. I know he’s lifeless because he’s not breathing and by his brutally battered face, I know that even if he were alive, he won’t be getting up anytime soon.

  Is this really happening? Is this real? I seriously hope that he wasn’t glowing and that a lamp post from above had
decided to work and shine down on him. I stare into his eyes that fade from the blazing gold to their original dark-brown. The normal dark-brown. I expect him to explain and tell me something—to at least let me know how he knew I was in trouble—but instead he begins to walk backwards, panting heavily with wide and regretful eyes. He glances at the man, still taking slow steps away from the both of us. He then glances at me once more, staring at my twisted face before spinning around and dashing back down the alley rapidly without saying a word and without looking back.

  HIDDEN REASONS

  I may seem calm and collected on the outside, but on the inside my nerves are a jumbled mess, I think I’m going crazy, and I’m peeking over my shoulder at every corner to make sure that no one else is after me. I really hope that that wasn’t real—that I had envisioned the whole thing and that Jules was just wearing different colored contacts and had a flashlight in his hands.

  Ugh. Who am I kidding? That was real and I wasn’t seeing things. I rush up to my apartment door, pulling my key out quickly with trembling hands before barging in. As I step around the corner, Liam is well rested on the usual suede brown love seat with his feet propped up on one arm of the couch, his head resting against the other.

  “What’s up, Alex?” he asks as he spots me stepping around the corner.

  I groan as I slump down on the sofa across from him. Well, besides the fact that I just saw the unbelievable, nothing new.

  “Just tired,” I say softly.

  He nods as he looks into my eyes. Liam and I have the same eye shape and color. People say that we look exactly alike—that we could pass for twins—but I don’t see it. His nose is slightly bigger than mine and he has really pink lips. Mine aren’t that pink—well at least I don’t think they are. He has the same silky blonde hair as me (only his is on the shaggier side) and he’s really tall. Lots of girls find him attractive but he never pays attention to anyone else besides himself or me.