Page 4 of Tap Left
“You’re right,” I agree. “And for the record, Tom, the answer is no. No to anything else you might ever want from me again.”
1
Lola
“Hmm… no that’s not right.”
There’s nobody around to hear my random thoughts, but it feels like an abomination to have the Jane Austen display right next to the horror section. I don’t care what anyone says, Jane Austen and zombies do not mix.
I squat down and start pulling books until a shadow falls over me. When I look up, my only employee- Britt- is hovering over me with cotton candy pink cheeks. She’s all of eighteen. Sweet and cute and she doesn’t really have a clue about books, but she tries hard. What she is good at is social media, and I’m not, so she helps me get the word out about the shop.
She wiggles my cell phone in her hand, and she’s trying to play it cool, but she isn’t playing it cool at all. Her reaction tells me it could only be one person on the other line. Britt is still obsessed with him from the one time she saw him in the shop over a year ago.
Adrian Daire.
Otherwise known to me as just Daire. AKA Satan’s spawn. I should have known he’d be calling today. I blow the errant strands of hair from my face and stand up.
“I didn’t even hear it ring.”
“That’s because you had it on vibrate.” Britt rolls her eyes. “Again.”
I bring the phone to my ear, and Britt watches in fascination before I shoo her off.
“Hello, Daire.”
“Happy Birthday, LB.”
His voice is deep. One hundred percent sin and twice as much trouble. That’s Adrian in a nutshell. He’s the absolute definition of a cold-hearted bastard. Reclusive, blunt, and downright mean. And yet it’s this masterful combination of chemistry that seems to bring even the most well put together women to heel.
“Did you get my bouquet?” he asks.
“I did.”
Every year he sends me the same thing. And every year I am conflicted when I receive the Twizzler bouquets. It’s a nice gesture, but Daire isn’t doing it to be nice. There’s a thin line between hate and tolerance, and it seems to sit squarely between us.
"You've been avoiding me.” The vibrations of his voice ricochet through me like a bullet, tearing another path of destruction through my flimsily crafted Daire-proof armor.
"I haven't been avoiding you."
Lie.
"Don’t bullshit me, Lola.” My name sounds bitter on his lips. “When can you meet me for dinner tonight?”
I absently pick at my nail polish while I glance at the calendar. It's been a month since I’ve seen him. I could easily go another five, and I know Daire could too if he was honest. He tells me that Ryan would have wanted us to stay in touch, but we both know that’s a lie. His guilt is the only driving force behind these meetings, and if I had my way, we’d never cross paths again. But Daire has the personality of a bull, and I’ve learned the hard way that it’s better to go along with the pretense rather than deal with his boorish temper.
“I’d rather not come to the shop,” Daire adds. “But I will if that’s what it takes.”
"No, you wouldn't," I argue. "It's on the bad side of town."
“I’m from the bad side of town,” he reminds me.
It isn’t something he’d admit to anyone else, but he doesn’t have to hide his truth from me. I knew Daire before the suits. I knew him before he claimed the title of CEO. And I also know his darkest secrets. It’s a history that can’t be re-written no matter how hard we try. Normally I could suck it up and make it through one forced dinner with him, but I’m worried that he’ll know something’s up this time.
I don't want Daire to know my relationship with Tom failed. He always goaded me about Tom, and I always held my ground, insisting that we were right for each other. I don't need him to be right about this. I don't need him to see me floundering through life. But there's no hiding it from him either.
“Clock’s ticking, LB,” he says. “What’s it going to be?”
"Fine," I groan. "I'll meet you. But it's my turn to pick."
