OBTAINED (Book One) Page 5

  “Put it on me,” I demand as he clutches it. He rolls his eyes with a sigh but I ignore him by spinning around so he can put it on. He reaches around me and the cool, soothing jewels press against the center of my chest. I rub my fingers along the rubies as Chris latches the hook.

  “All done,” he says. He turns me around to face him but I am smiling like too much of an idiot to realize that he is trying to tell me something. He grips onto my forearms and I wince.

  “Ouch! Chris.” I jerk away with a frown.

  “Sorry! I’m just trying to get your attention. Hot guy to your left,” he whispers through his teeth, cocking his head twice with wide eyes.

  I glance to my left only to spot Jules sitting at his regular corner table beside the window. A flash of anger blinds me. Why is he here? What would make him want to continue to show his face around me? I continue to stare until he meets my gaze in the midst of pulling his sketchbook out. He begins to smile but as he spots the necklace that is resting against the center of my chest, his eyebrows stitch together rapidly.

  “Ooh, the evil scowl face. What did you do?” I turn to face Chris whose arms are folded again.

  “Nothing! I didn’t do anything to him.”

  “Sure,” he says before turning around to step into his office. “That situation is all yours!” I groan as I roll my eyes then turn to look at Jules again. He is still staring at me, staring at my necklace. Does he know that it’s from Felix? How in the hell would he know?

  I make my way to the center of the counter where the register is, forcing myself to remain calm but that subsides quickly as Jules stands and makes his way towards me. Oh, no. My hearts starts to bang uncontrollably. I’m not sure what he’s going to say this time. Is he going to say that he watches me walk home? That he knows my middle name? That I like to pretend that I’m a pop star by singing with a hairbrush while standing in front of the bathroom mirror?

  I watch as he gracefully steps between the tables and the sofas. His walk is slow, gradual and sexy but his eyes are focused on me and they aren’t elated. He has an edgy look about him that makes me fidget uncomfortably. I can’t tell him off—at least not here. Chris would have a hissy fit and say that the customer comes first. Plus I can tell that Chris has already chosen Jules’ side and he doesn’t even know him.

  He’s only a few steps away now. His hair sways as he continues to step forward. His vintage boots seem to be all that I hear as they press down against the hard marble floors and not once do his eyes drift from mine. They look eerie, deadly. His jaw clenches as he finally meets up to the counter. He eyes me but I refuse to speak first. I cross my fingers in front of me, waiting for him to begin his raid of creepiness.

  “Hello, Alexandria,” he says casually, finally looking away. He glances up at the menu above my head, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times.

  “Jules,” I address without any form of eye contact as well.

  His eyes drop to look at me again. “I’d like my usual.”

  “And you think I know what your “usual” is?”

  He chuckles smoothly. “Oh, you know,” he says, rather correctly. My cheeks burn. Damn it! He’s always embarrassing me. He looks into my eyes, his lips hinting at a smirk as I wait for him to say something else.

  I groan. It’s best if I just get him out of my way. I press the button on the register for the white-chocolate mocha, the coffee cake, and then look up at him again. “Four dollars and thirty-five cents,” I say dryly. He nods while digging in his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He takes out a twenty-dollar bill but I frown as he hands it to me.

  “What?” he chuckles. “It’s the smallest bill that I have.” He sneers with a light shrug. I shake my head, tossing the bill into the register and then handing him his change back. I head for the mocha machine and whip up his drink quickly. I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every move carefully. I finally turn back around to hand him his cup. “No sleeve?” he asks. “I don’t want to burn myself.”

  I reach for a sleeve underneath the cabinet and hand it to him. I then open the glass door for the desserts and reach for a wrapped coffee cake. “Anything else?” I sigh.

  He takes a sip of his mocha before nodding. “Ah, I love it when you make my mocha’s,” he notes, purposely ignoring my question. “You always put the right amount of crème and that right amount of extra espresso.” He smiles but I grimace. Creep.

  “Anything else?” I ask again, this time through my teeth.

  “Actually, yes.” He places his cup on top of the grey marble countertop. He begins to unravel the plastic from his coffee cake and by the smug sneer on his face, I know that he isn’t going to leave me alone anytime soon. “Where’d you get the necklace?” The smugness fades and his eyes darken as he examines it again.

  “It was a gift,” I say, reaching for the wet rag and wiping the counters to pretend that I’m busy.

  “From whom, might I ask?”

  “Since when has that become your concern?” I ask, frowning and placing the rag down.

  He raises both eyebrows as he presses his lips together. “It is just a question, Alexandria.” Ugh. Why does he have to say my name like that? It’s arousing and it’s really hard to be annoyed by him when he has this kind of effect on me. All he has to do is look me in the eyes, say my name, and my knees buckle. It’s a guilty pleasure that I’m sure he adores. I move the rag aside as he plops a piece of cake into his mouth. “Would you like to go back to my table and have a chat?”

  “No thanks,” I mutter.

  “Do you think I am going to hurt you?”

  Hell yes I think you’re going to hurt me! That’s what I want to say but he’s lucky I can’t say it right now. Not while I’m on the clock. “It’s not that,” I lie, “I’m just on the clock and I have a lot of stuff to do before I can go home. I don’t have time to chat.”

  “Oh.” His face falls, his lips lock, and the weight lifts from my shoulders because I’ve finally ended this annoying conversation. “What time are you off?” he asks. Well, at least I thought I’d ended it.

  “Eight tonight.” I shouldn’t have told him at all. I should have said I was closing or that I had another date with Felix. I bet that would have made him leave me alone . . . or would it have?

  He smiles and it’s that same smile that makes him seem so irresistible. His perfect but slightly crooked teeth, perfect lips—oh, stop it, Lustful Alexandria. “I do believe that I can wait,” he beams.

  “Of course you can.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” he asks between chuckles. I fold my arms and his face softens as he tilts his head, still gazing into my eyes. “Look, I know you think I’m crazy, a stalker, a freak, a murderer—or whatever else you may have in that book of yours about me,” he starts. Creep. You forgot creep. “But I’m not, Alexandria. There is a lot that you must know and I would like to tell you as soon as possible, if possible.” His eyes become mellow and a terrible pang of guilt strikes at my emotions. He looks so defenseless, so helpless when his features aren’t hard. His butterfly eyelashes bat at me and his eyes become glossier. Oh, how could I be such a bitch to him? Maybe he knows something that Liam and I should know. I’m not sure what happened or why I had really lost my memory but maybe he really was there, witnessed everything, and wants to give us the truth about what he may have seen. But if that is the case, why wouldn’t he have told us sooner? Why now, when things seem to finally be running smoothly in my discombobulated life?

  “Fine,” I say, giving in. He smiles widely then picks his mocha up.

  “See you at eight then,” he says, raising his cup in the air as if to say ‘cheers’. I nod and watch as he spins around to make his way to his corner table. He sits and immediately digs in his pocket for a pencil. He reaches for his sketchbook and begins to sketch and not once does he look at me during the rest of my shift. He is focused and, as usual, his hair is falling over his perfect, statue-like face. It always does that when he is drawing
—like he’ll mess up if he stops or reaches to push his hair back. And it’s odd because I always want to be the one to push it back and tuck it behind his ear. My feelings for Jules are beyond weird and confusing. I’m not sure if I should be annoyed and freaked out by him or if I should be relieved and joyous that Mr. Mysterious is finally showing some sign of interest—and possibly isn’t gay for Chris to enjoy.

  Oh, goodness. What are these gorgeous men doing to me?

  FAMILIARITY

  I’m purposely being slow about clocking out. I’m stalling because the truth is that I don’t want to go with Mr. Creep. I don’t know what he really may be up to and I’m not sure where he will take me because I refuse to bring him to my home. But there is just something about him that compels me to him, something that is making me trust him. He just seems too familiar—too humble for me not to trust my instinct. There is just something about him that is reeling me in, taking advantage of the softness of my heart. I peek over my shoulder at him just as he is checking his watch and closing his sketchbook. He then takes a quick sip of his mocha with a sigh. What do I have to lose? He’s already saved my life once before, I’m sure he can do it again. I groan as I reach for my grey trench coat and black beanie. I smash my beanie down on my head, slide into my coat, and then make my way around the counter.

  “Goodnight, Alexandria,” Chris chimes from behind the register. I look over my shoulder at Chris who is now winking at me and giving me spirit fingers beneath his chin. I try to bite back on a smile but I can’t hold it. He knows exactly what I’m about to do and who I’m going with.

  “Goodnight, Chris,” I say with a teasing roll of my eyes. I turn back around and begin to walk towards Jules’ table again but he is already standing with his sketchbook tucked beneath his arm. He stares at me with his dark-brown eyes, his face hard, serious. Why does he always have to look so serious?

  “You ready?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I mutter then lead the way to the door. I step out into the cool night air and Jules follows after me quickly while stuffing his fingers into his black gloves. “Are we catching the subway?” I ask.

  He chuckles with a disapproving smirk. “No. Right this way.” He leads the way around the corner, pulling out a pair of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket.

  And I’m not sure why I am so surprised to see him stop in front of a shining black 2013 Dodge Challenger SRT8 with gold racing stripes across the hood, the top, and the trunk, but I am. I gasp and Jules glances over his shoulder with a smug smile creeping across the lower half of his face.

  “Th—this is yours?” I ask, coming to a halt. He turns to face me with a tilt of his head. He then presses a button on his key and the head and rear lights of the car blink as it honks twice.

  “Just because I don’t dress as fancy as Felix, doesn’t mean that I don’t have money, Alexandria,” he grins. I look from his eyes to his shining muscle car. How in the hell have I run into two really hot guys with really nice cars and a lot of money? It must be my lucky week.

  “But you were on the subway. I just thought that . . .,” I trail off as I continue to look at the car with broad eyes. I’ve completely frozen in my tracks and I’m not sure if I want to hop into the car with him now—not that I’m afraid, I just wasn’t expecting to be brought to this.

  “I don’t like to drive all of the time and—believe it or not—a subway is much cheaper than putting gas in a tank.” He winks. I nod slowly but I am still amazed. For some reason I’ve always pictured Jules as an average person of New York that finds walking faster than driving. “I like to stay fit sometimes by using my feet to take me places,” he says then makes his way to the passenger side of the car. “Would you like to get in?” He opens the passenger door.

  I hesitate as he smiles coolly. I glance around before making my way to him. He holds on to the door and watches me slide in, my eyes still wide with shock. He shuts the door behind me then passes by the front of the car to get to the driver’s side and I must admit that Jules’ interior is much more fascinating than Felix’s. But maybe that is because Felix seems like the old-school type and likes the classier things while Jules is carefree and on the hipper side with the way he dresses, wears his hair, his muscle car. Everything.

  He finally hops in, tosses his sketchbook in the backseat, and I wait for him to start the car but he hesitates on it. “Are you sure you want to come with me? I’m not forcing you to do so,” he says, clutching his keys. He tilts his head, his eyes narrowed into curious slits.

  “I’ve already made up my mind.” His lips quirk up to smile and before I know it, he’s stuffing his key into the ignition. The music floods out of the speakers as he pulls out of his parking spot and I cannot believe my ears.

  “Is this The Fray?” I ask quickly, leaning forward to listen to the lyrics of “Happiness”.

  He chuckles. “How did you know?” He raises a smooth brow.

  “I love them,” I say softly. Wow. Okay, we have something in common. I love this band and he loves them, too. I guess that makes him less of a freak in my books now.

  “I could take you to one of their concerts one day. They’re better live,” he says and somehow he looks peaceful. I’ve never seen him so calm before. Most times that I look at him, he looks tense or distraught. But not now. Now he looks . . . happy. Satisfied. Do I have that kind of effect on him?

  “That would be nice,” I reply with a small smile. He stops at a red light then takes a peak at me. I shrink back in my seat, feeling his eyes scanning me. He is so adorable. So simple. I feel terrible for calling him all of those names. I feel awful for bashing him and dragging him through mud and dirt. But then again, I still know nothing about him.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as the light switches to green and he pulls off. I spot the freeway ahead and he takes it.

  “My place, if that is alright with you.” He flicks his signal light to merge into the left lane, shifts gears, and then speeds up quickly, knocking me back and causing me to sink into my seat even more. “Sorry,” he mutters with a slight smile.

  I nod as I readjust myself to a more comfortable position. “Where do you live?”

  “Not too far.”

  I look away with a slight roll of my eyes. I really can’t stand his short responses but I am kind of thrilled to see where he lives and what kind of place he has. I wonder what he does for a living. He’s young as well, probably the same age as I am. We continue to drive silently for a few miles until he flicks his turn signal again and takes the ramp off of the freeway. The Fray is still playing and I’m actually calm. Being calm was not what I was expecting while being with him. One of my favorite bands is on shuffle, I’m riding smoothly in a sleek muscle car, and I’m being taken to the home of a really hot guy that I might not consider a freak anymore. So far he’s alright with me.

  But as he drives along a dark road, the feeling that I may possibly be sitting beside a serial killer overwhelms me. I steal a glance at Jules but he is facing forward. His features are still calm as they shine from the candescent blue lights of his interior.

  He looks toward me quickly then back at the road. “You alright?” he asks.

  “Fine.”

  He nods before turning down another road surrounded by tall, massive trees. He slows down and I gasp, disbelieving the home that is sitting in front of me on a hill. It isn’t huge but it seems to be too big for just one person. Glass windows are all over the home and it is surrounded by even more tall trees that are full of leaves. Gold lights are shining all over the outside of the stone house and a few lights are on inside.

  “Wow,” I mumble.

  “We’re here,” he says, pulling into the driveway. I glance at him and he smiles widely. “Were you expecting anything less?”

  “To be honest, yes,” I say then jerk my gaze forward to stare at the beautiful home again.

  He chuckles as he turns the car off, hops out, and trots past the front to open my door. I hop out and stuff m
y hands into the pockets of my trench coat. Now I really feel terrible for judging and accusing him. He obviously has a life if he can afford a place like this. He presses a button on his key then offers his hand to me.

  “Would you like to take a look inside?” he asks with a simple smile. I nod as I grab his glove-covered hand and he leads the way up a flight of stone steps that are shining from the tiny sidelights. He reaches the large door, sticks his key in, and then releases my hand to open it.

  He flicks the light on as we step in and it is really warm but the warmth of the house isn’t what I’m stunned about. The interior of the house is beyond beautiful. He leads me to his sitting room and a smooth, cream-colored L- shaped sofa is resting a few inches away from the wall behind it. The floors are made of solid hardwood and a sixty-inch plasma television is mounted to one of his tan walls beside the vintage-brick fireplace. I glance around the entire sitting room, noticing that he has lots of paintings. I make my way to the painting closest to me and it is very eloquent. The different colored strokes and designs aren’t like the usual and I can tell that it was painted with patience. The other colors pop out but the gold and purple hues stand out the most. My eyes meet the bottom of the painting and the signature J. Maddox is painted at the corner in thin script. I turn around to face Jules who is already looking at me.

  “You painted this?”

  He nods while shrugging.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whisper, turning to study it again.

  “It was always your favorite one.” I turn around to face him again, slowly this time.

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugs, removing the black leather gloves from his hands. “Never mind.” He marches to his left and rounds a corner. I listen as glasses clank around and then I hear him pouring something. Please don’t let it be alcohol. I cannot get drunk with him. I don’t trust him, nor do I know him enough to be drinking alone with him. He finally comes back with two glasses of red liquid in his hands. “Juice?” he asks. I exhale, relieved.