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  Guess what they say about waking chicks up is true.

  Lo was never that way.

  She lived for mornings.

  I lived for her.

  Fuck.

  “Well, if I tried moving like that, I’d fall on my ass. Yet here you are, a professional. Green or not, you’re bendy,” I argue, shoving any and all twinges of pain about her out of my mind. It’s not the time. It’s never the time. She’ll never leave me. She’s left a stain on my soul, and no cleaner—no matter how potent—will ever be able to erase our memories. Our past. Our lack of future. “And Gumby is a fucking classic. Don’t dog on him.”

  “Fuck you,” she spits, her anger rises along with my amusement.

  “I’m sure I’ve done just that, Gumby. I mean, look at us. Naked. Jovial. Just fucking dandy. I’d call that an after fuck fest affair.” I wink at her, and the sound of annoyance that slips past her rosy lips has me chuckling. Being an ass shouldn’t be this enjoyable, yet I find myself really smiling for the first time in years. A time when alcohol isn’t what’s making me forget. This, I want to remember. The way she glares, the feel of her hateful words lashing me as a whip would, and the scent of stupid fucking flowers that’ll be laced into my memory like a sewing string to fabric. I want it all to stay in my mind.

  And that’s new.

  “You’re incorrigible,” she hisses. After her last few twists, she’s finagled her jeans on and is barely tossing her shirt over her shoulder before storming past me. “Let’s pretend this didn’t happen.”

  “Easily,” I muse, waving her goodbye. Even as the lie leaves my lips, I’m sure I’ll never omit the memory of her.

  She stops in her tracks, her back stiffening, probably realizing she’s still topless. “Where’s my bag?” Her fear mounts, and she hesitates, turning toward me. Confused and scared, she’s full of animosity.

  Unable to stop myself from taking her in once more, her perky tan nipples stare back at me. They’re stiff, reflecting her hardened exterior. My eyes catch on the tiny barbell on the left one, wondering why she only has one. Then my gaze travels to a tattoo curving her right breast, wondering what the simple words mean.

  When she catches me gawking, she covers herself, and I find myself getting lost at her toned stomach and the tiny belly button with another silver glinting jewelry piece dangling from it.

  Goddamn.

  Never thought I’d think piercings were appealing, but here I am.

  “Hey, old man. My eyes are up here.” She snaps her fingers aggressively. “I asked you a question.” Our eyes meet as a challenge both of us seem to be unwilling to lose continues.

  “Old man, really?” I finally hiss. I’m not that old. But compared to her, I might be. “I haven’t seen your purse.”

  “Bag,” she grunts. “Purses are for prissy bitches. As you can tell, that’s not me.” With her last words, she’s finally slipping on her cropped top. Her midriff shows beautifully, and her perky little nipples tent the fabric as I look, making me feel like a pervert. I need to stop staring. This could be bad. She could be a teenager. Fuck. No. I could never...

  “I haven’t seen your bag,” I clarify. “I just fucking woke up for chrissake.” If she could narrow her eyes further, they’d be shut. That’s what she looks like now, barely seeing, trying to drill every annoyed strand of her displeasure into one expression. I rub my eyes, trying to convince my brain to stop looking at her.

  “Definitely needed your beauty sleep,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes. “Wrinkles are hot for old people, I guess.”

  “What’s that, Gumby?” I ask, knowing exactly what she said.

  “What, can your old man ears not hear?” She smirks, folding her arms across her chest haughtily. Amusement glints in her expression, and it’s as charming as a dildo stuck to a ceiling.

  “It’s called selective hearing, doll. Every grown man learns it.”

  “Grown. That’s for sure.” She eyes me from head to toe. I’ve had it with her attitude and sassy mouth. Yeah, patience is a virtue, but it’s one that seems to have skipped out on me when Lo did. I inch forward swiftly, uncaring that I might scare her. Just as I thought... her eyes widen a smidgen right before she puts her guard up, testing me. I grip her face, wanting to be gentle, but it tends to lead to memories of her, and tenderness is the last thing I can offer. Joey’s so tiny below me, her head barely hitting my shoulder. Bending so we’re eye to eye, I hold her gaze.

  Hers is full of disdain and annoyance.

  Mines mirror hers to a fault.

  “Only a grown man could fuck you to completion, Sous.” She shivers at my words, her body unbending in my hold. It’s beautiful, knowing she won’t conform to my touch but also realizing she can’t hide the excitement in her expression either.

  “Obviously, it wasn’t to completion if I’m still walking,” she spits back, jerking her face free of my hold. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes pure amber fire, and my dick reacts like she’s the hottest fucking steak on the grill.

  “Guess a redo is in order. Since you seem to question my skills.”

  “Pass. Have places to go, people to do, things to accomplish... and riding your dick isn’t on that list,” she rebuts, her face lighting up with a win I didn’t concede to.

  Chapter Two

  Three Days Earlier

  Joey

  “Headed home already?” Robbie asks as I take off my apron for the last time. Robyn Goode, my tall and slender co-chef, stands opposite of the working counter.

  Her hair isn’t tucked into her chef toque yet. It’s long and russet brown, strikingly straight and thick, but never done up. In the entire year I’ve known her, she doesn’t do anything special to it. Not even when we cater events.

  She’s the sweetest person in this hellhole, but she’s also the softest spoken. One day, I hope she’ll flap the wings she tucks into and free herself of the burden of fear.

  She doesn’t know, but I was fired.

  Technically, I’m walking out before he can say it. I’m surprised Lucien didn’t make a bigger deal and scream at me like he usually would. Guess it helps that I have leverage.

  Like the fact that he’s a pervert.

  And I have proof.

  “Actually,” I start, not knowing how to word it without sounding like I’m the bad guy. “Today’s my last day. To new adventures and whatnot.” Shrugging my shoulders, I act like it’s nothing, but really, the knowledge that I’m pretty much jobless weighs heavily on my shoulders.

  She eyes me, her face one of confusion. Believe me, girl. I feel you.

  In an attempt to alleviate the situation, I smile. Throwing my apron in the trash with a full good-fucking-riddance feeling, I finally feel content. While being without a steady income isn’t in anyone’s best avenue, being tortured by a pig in my own workplace wasn’t big on my to-do list either.

  I’ll overcome it, I always do. Sometimes, we don’t have any other option.

  “Where will you go?” she asks meekly, her face sinking with actual sadness. Her voice is uncertain, her body closed off and filled with anxiety. It’s not a pleasant look, but she’ll be fine without me. Maybe she’ll flourish without competition. Envy can squander someone’s hope, but something tells me her unassumingness isn’t from me being the better chef.

  In the past year we’ve worked together, we have grown close. Well, as close as two chicks can get in a workplace that houses the devil himself.

  We bonded through gossip and built each other up when our boss brought us down. It wasn’t something to write home about, but it definitely has been more than a hello and goodbye. We aren’t friends friends. We don’t speak outside of work and events surrounding it. I don’t have her number, and she doesn’t have mine. It’s not for lack of trying on either of our parts, but relationships outside of work tend to mess me up.

  I’m not loving.

  Or lovable.

  But we exist and bring some odd comfort in the days of unpleasant menu items and sc
reaming matches.

  “I don’t know,” I finally reply, offering honesty. That much I’ll always give. I pride myself in always being up-front. When you’re lied to as much as I’ve been lied to, honesty is the only vital option. “I just need somewhere to go where I’m not the victim anymore. Branch out. Be free...” As I trail off, understanding licks her features. Why does she stay? I know why I have. My dad stopped helping me out, and I had to make a name for myself. But our boss is brutal to her too. Did he proposition her?

  “Why do you stay?” It slips free, though I’m sure I already have my answer. She scrunches her face in displeasure, her eyes haunted and full of disdain. It’s not directed toward me, though. I can tell it’s for whatever makes her stay.

  “I don’t have a choice,” she utters, her voice so small at the moment.

  “If he—” I start, but she places a finger over her lips, her eyes scanning the room to point out the cameras. Her posture and stance tell me to keep quiet.

  “Need a smoke? I definitely do,” she states, eyeing the back exit. She knows I don’t smoke anymore, which means she needs privacy. Lucien is one of those tedious restaurant owners who has cameras everywhere. Every corner. Blind spot. Any place a person would pass or go to hide for a little privacy, he has a camera.

  With our luck, the bastard probably has one in the bathroom.

  As soon as we leave the back door, she lets out a large breath. “I’m stuck here because he has something on me,” she finally speaks, pulling out a smoke at the same moment. After lighting it, she inhales so much in her first drag that I’m sure she’ll die from lack of oxygen.

  It’s sad when you can see the desperation coming off a person in waves, bleeding, suffocating, drowning them with each passing breath.

  “Fight it,” I say poignantly, knowing that his threats are only words, especially for what he does when he thinks no one’s around. “He won’t do shit to you. He’s too much of a pussy.” She shakes her head vehemently as if I know nothing. Maybe I don’t. She’s been here a lot longer than me.

  “Two summers ago, we took a trip to Paris for that new restaurant he opened—”

  “Le Grand Oui?” I interrupt.

  “That’s the one.” She nods absently, tapping the ashes off her cigarette. Grabbing the rail, I look out at the city. Hawthorne doesn’t appeal to me. It’s nicer than Hollow Ridge in many ways, but the vibe is just as stagnant and haunting, with no promise of a future. A place where the rich stay rich and the poor get poorer. It’s such a sad reality, especially for someone who barely makes it from paycheck to paycheck. If not for moving to Savannah Cove and getting a little apartment, I’d be homeless. It isn’t easy living in California. Prices are inflated, jobs lack in pay, and the housing is infuriating.

  Tears stream down her face all while she keeps puffing on her cancer stick. “We went to the grand opening, and there was a banquet. I’m not sure how, since I only had one glass of wine, but I ended up in bed with him.”

  Her body trembles.

  It’s a warm day today with no wind or chill. She’s not cold, not in the physical sense. When people experience trauma, it inscribes itself in your bones, attacking each layer of skin, muscle, and vein until it reaches the barest of parts. It eventually grinds on the bones, showing you just how deep it can carve until you’re forever stuck in a horrific memory.

  “I swear, Joey, I never would have slept with him.”

  My stomach churns with this information. Did he drug her? It’s not like I haven’t experienced his disgusting tactics. Maybe he hurt her, too.

  “I believe you.” When her watery eyes meet mine, they’re full of hope and gratitude. “Honestly, it’s why I’m leaving,” I add.

  She opens her mouth in shock. “I don’t mean to sound like a bitch, but I thought you two were together.” She emphasizes the together part like it’s a dirty word.

  “Absolutely not,” I balk. “He’s foul and loathsome. I’d never...” I swallow the bile rising in my throat. “He tried. Several times. I told him to stop, or I’d report him. To who, I wasn’t sure. Since he’s the sole proprietor, he gets away with his repulsive behavior. Inside, though, I knew something needed to be done. Last week at that stupid catering conference for Collins & Co, I recorded him. I’d just finished the Crème Brûlée for the dessert table, and he grabbed my ass.” I’m shaking from head to toe in anger, trying to keep my voice even. “He asked if he could talk to me, and I nodded all sweetly.” She laughs, knowing I’m not one to be sweet. I’m bitter and haughty, that’s why they call me Hotwheels.

  “I followed him to the lounge room, the one connected to the bathroom in the commons area.” She nods, accepting my information, and I continue with bated breath, hating what comes next. “While he searched the room for lingering staff and attendees, I turned my phone’s recording on. He didn’t even lock the door. His confidence astounds me to this day because he believed he’d get what he wanted from me. It was easy after that; his delusions are what made him fail. If you call him forcing himself on me easy. He started telling me how much he liked me working for him, and that if I was a good little chef-in-training, he promised me a future at any location I wanted. He groped me, and I told him to back off, that I wasn’t interested. He proceeded to call me a slut and a tease, and that if I didn’t fuck him, he’d fire me and blacklist me from working for any five-star restaurant in the future.”

  Her cigarette, all but forgotten to the point that the ash is long enough to break off itself, falls to the ground as she hiccups. Tears flood out, her body shaking like mine. Instead of anger, hers are shudders of disgust and sadness. “But I’m okay. I kneed him in the balls and threatened to turn him in if he so much as brushed past me again.”

  Robbie comes over to me and brings me into a hug. I’m not much of the hugging type, but brushing her off seems callous. She squeezes me for a moment longer while I inhale deeply, reminding myself she’s not him. She isn’t hurting me. “Instead of staying somewhere I didn’t feel safe, I left before he could find a way to fire me.”

  “I’m so sorry, Joey.” After Robbie takes a long drag, she grinds the bud using the heel of her work boots, then turns back to me with a frown.

  “I’m not. He reminded me why being strong is important. Now, you need to be strong, too.” Robbie pulls back, her eyes red and puffy. She probably thinks I’m crazy for not shedding a single tear. But when you have certain life experiences, you tend to grow stronger, not weaker.

  “I-I—” she stutters, “I don’t know how.”

  I nod, understanding her entirely. You don’t know how strong you are until it’s the only option left. She needs that to be her only option. “I don’t want to scare you, Robbie, but you need to walk away. He’s sexually harassing you, and I wouldn’t doubt that he put something in your drink that night to take advantage of you. It won’t get better, no matter how many times you tell yourself otherwise. He’s a sleazebag.”

  She seems so small right now, like my words are hurting her more than this man ever did. “How are you so wise for such a young woman?” Her question shocks me. Age is only a number in the game of life. You can experience so much at such a young age. It can define you, it can even break you, but the choice is entirely yours. My dad doesn’t even know the half of it. How could he? He lives in a blissful bubble of ignorance. A palace of his own making where the only thing that matters is her and money.

  Either way, I’m wise because it’s the path I took.

  It’s the only choice I decided on after France.

  No pity parties or slaving away at scars, it’s pure drive to never be a victim ever again.

  “Experience,” I reply in short, watching as awareness flickers in her gaze. I nod, not wanting to talk about it. It’s the past. That’s not a page I ever intend to turn back to.

  Looking down at my arms out of habit, where my scars reside beneath the knitted fabric of my long-sleeve shirt, I sigh.

  The past has the ability to destroy
you if you don’t leave it behind.

  Scars don’t define you, not if you don’t allow them that right.

  “Either way, he reminded me of the future I’m working for. He was only a step in the long staircase of my journey. It’s time to move on, and you should follow suit. You’re only twenty-three, Rob. You’re too young for this to be your only option.”

  “You’re right. Thank you.” Her words aren’t sharp or pointed, just acceptance. And with that, I turn and leave Lucien’s chop-block for a new road. Too bad my rent is due and my boyfriend doesn’t like when I’m late with my half. Not that he ever seems to be on time, but of course Joey can’t fuck up—it’s unbecoming.

  We don’t share any more sadness or stories after it’s said and done. I plug in my number on her cell, telling her to text if she ever needs me.

  Chapter Three

  Three Days Earlier

  Joey

  As I make my way back to my shared apartment, I smile. I’m free. There are no strings attached any longer, and I can search for a new job. My dream job. It may be another breakneck kind of hell I’ve been doing for the past year, barely scraping by, but it’ll be for a much better company, I’m sure of it.

  Wesley and I live in the lesser half of Savannah Pines. Even though it’s a Podunk town, it’s all we could afford outside of Hollow Ridge. At first, when I met Wes, it was a nightmare. He was that guy, and I avoided him at all costs. But everything changed when Dad married Marsha. I’m sure that’s what drove me to him. He’s everything my dad hates. Bad boy with long surfer hair. Pothead. Careless. He dropped out of school, got a job at the fresh age of sixteen, and worked his way up at this tiny surf shack at Savannah Cove.