“What the hell are you doing here?” Hazel folded her arms, pressing her tits against that uniform shirt and making the cartoon pepperoni-speckled slice do a nipple dance. “I told you, I never wanted to see you again.”
“You did no such thing.”
“I did!”
“When?” I asked, the smile slipping out despite my best efforts. “Was it when I was eating you out? Or balls deep inside you?”
“Oh my god, shut up!” She patted the air, looking left and right. Her sister had already turned the corner and was out of earshot.
“No, really I’m curious,” I said, pushing off from my Porsche Cayenne and swaggering over to her. I towered as I’d done the night before and dropped my tone low and gravelly. “Was it when I was tongue-fucking your pussy or when you were grinding it against my lips? Or was it when—”
“You did not tongue-fuck me,” she said, jabbing a finger into my chest.
A redhead who’d just emerged from the pizzeria carrying her carboard box stopped dead and stared.
“Sorry,” I said, waving at her. “She’s got Tourette’s.”
“That’s not funny,” Hazel hissed. “Mental illness is not a joke.”
“You’re right.” My thoughts turned dark, instantly, and I stepped away from her, losing myself in the past for a couple seconds. Images threatened to lift and taunt me, but I shoved back against those memories.
Keep it together.
“Whatever,” Hazel said. “What are you doing here? Is this your attempt at a joke? It’s not funny.”
“We have a lunch date.”
“What?” She said it like she’d never heard the word ‘lunch’. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Lunch. You and me. At the Plaza.”
Her eyes widened at the mention of the Plaza. “I never agreed to go out with you.”
“Yes, you did,” I said. “Last night at the club. You agreed that we’d grab some dinner together because I’ve got something to tell you that you’re gonna want to hear about.”
Hazel’s eyelashes fluttered. She wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup. All-natural, all-beautiful, all-fuckable.
Shit, I had to keep it in my pants. Last night had been a fluke. A one-off mistake that we wouldn’t repeat because it would throw a giant dick-shaped spanner in the works. Or was it pussy-shaped?
“I’m going to say this one last time.” Hazel lifted a finger. “I never want to see you again.”
“What, naked? Or…?”
“Ever. Just in general.”
I grinned at her.
“Stop it, Woods. I’m serious. I’m too busy for your bullshit.”
“Too busy with what?”
Hazel chewed on her bottom lip and glanced back at the pizzeria. Inside, the girl at the counter was preoccupied with customers and hadn’t noticed her absence.
“With work,” she said.
“Work.”
“Not this work.” She gestured to the pizzeria.
“The café.” I’d already done my research on what’d happened, but I wanted to hear it from her. The harder it was for her, the better it would be for me, as sick as that sounded. “McCutcheon’s?”
“Right. The café.”
“I wondered why you weren’t working there,” I said. “Why’s that?”
“None of your damn business.” Hazel looked about ready to turn and storm off, but still, she lingered. Ill-advised but not surprising. I had this effect on women.
“You lost McCutcheon’s,” I said.
“Who told you that?” She’d gone pink.
“No one,” I replied. “We hardly run in the same circles, Hazel. It was an educated guess.”
She shrank back a step or two, shaking her head. “Yeah, you’re right. We don’t run in the same circles, and we never will. Now, if you’ll kindly stop stalking me, I’ll get back to work, and you can get back to… whatever it is you do when you’re not being an arrogant douchebag.”
I held back another laugh. I’d been called worse, but it always stung coming from her. Maybe because I’d always given too much of a shit about what she thought of me.
“So, you’re going to renege on our lunch date.” I stroked a hand over my sleeve, dusting off lint that wasn’t there. I had a meeting with Seth in an hour, and while I was looking forward to catching up with my brother, I doubted it would be a pleasant catch-up.
I’d have preferred to take out Hazel. Flirt with her mercilessly, bend her to my will, float my proposition, and watch her squirm.
This would be fun.
“There is no lunch date,” she said. “The lunch date is something you imagined. Look, are you doing this to make me feel even more awkward about last night? Or it is because… oh shit, you’re not seriously going to try get in my pants again, are you?” She drew closer, but only because she didn’t want anyone else to hear our conversation.
She’d been a shy girl back in high school. A sweetheart. That hadn’t changed, no matter how many layers of spice and sass she’d slathered on to cover it.
“I have no interest in repeating mistakes,” I said, gruffly.
She didn’t recoil, not physically, but her eyes told a different story. She hated me, but she wanted me to want her.
“But I have a vested interest in succeeding.”
“What does that even mean?” she asked. “I have nothing to do with you or your success.”
“Not yet, you don’t,” I replied. “But you will.” I’d grown tired of the back and forth, as well as the concentration it took not to want her. “I’ll pick you up tonight at eight.”
“Say what now?”
“Tonight at eight.” I didn’t repeat myself often. “Wear something nice.” I opened the driver’s side door of the Porsche and got inside.
“Hey!” she yelled. “Damien, what the hell do you think you’re playing at?”
“I’m helping you,” I replied. “You need money, right?”
“It’s none of your business what I need.”
“You want the café.”
She couldn’t deny it—it was written all over her face. She was desperate for it. Hazel had loved that café. It was one of the few facts about herself she’d shared with me, and I’d admired her focus back in high school. While other girls had been out partying, she’d been studying and waitressing at the café.
“I can help you get it
