“I’ll take care of him,” I say, flashing a smile made purely of fake sugar.

While I deliver the shots to a table full of intoxicated college guys, I don’t let my eyes wander to Blake. He’s watching me . . . I feel it. I decide to play a little game, an attempt to get a one-up on him.

One of the college guys can’t seem to keep his hands to himself. The backs of his fingers graze my bare thigh, and instead of knocking it away, I place my hand on his shoulder and smile.

“Are you guys out celebrating tonight?” I ask. His fingers move upward, brushing against the bottom of my shorts. Inside I cringe, but I don’t let my smile falter.

“Just blowing off some steam,” one of them answers.

Without warning, the guy who’d been touching me pulls his hand away and yanks me onto his lap. I feel his excitement pressed against my ass, and scoot forward to avoid the intrusion. This is just flirting, I tell myself.

“And you picked this place?” I ask.

“This place has the best view in the city. What are you doing after work tonight?” the guy whispers against my hair.

“I’ll probably just go home. It’s going to be pretty late.”

He grins at me, licking his lower lip. My stomach rolls.

Before either one of us can say anything else, a warm hand wraps around my arm, pulling me up. “This one’s going home with me tonight!” Blake growls, trying to shove me behind him.

I do my best to step out of his reach. He’s the Hercules to my Popeye without spinach. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he seethes, glaring back at me.

“Fuck off, Blake. Or better yet, find someone to fuck and leave me alone.” I use anger to loosen my arm from his grip and walk back to the bar. If Charlie saw all that, he’s going to kill me. Luckily, he looks preoccupied with a couple of guys at the other end of the bar.

I feel Blake watching me but don’t look back. It might give him some satisfaction, and I don’t want to give him anything of the sort. I grab another round of drinks, taking my time to set each glass on the table with ease, knowing Blake’s tracking my every move. He can suffer; I doubt he really came here for a drink anyway.

On my way to his table, I stop to wipe off a few that are now empty and push in chairs. Charlie’s probably watching me, wondering what the hell I’m doing, but I highly doubt he’d fire me over this. I’ve mastered this job in a matter of days.

I saunter up to the small table Blake occupies all by himself. It’s a sad sight really—an attractive guy sitting alone in a shit hole like this. “What would you like to drink tonight, sir?” I ask.

“Sit,” he says simply.

“I’m working.”

His brows knit together as his eyes scan the room. “There are three fucking tables. Now sit.”

I cross my arms over my chest like the defiant only child I am. “You’re going to get me fired.”

“That old prick won’t fire you. Trust me . . . you could walk out of here right now and you’d still have a job tomorrow.”

Looking over my shoulder, I spot Dana leaning against the bar, watching us intently. She nods, mouthing, “I got this.”

As I turn back around, I see the smirk on Blake’s face. He saw the whole exchange and knows I’m all his. I’m really starting to hate this guy.

“Fine,” I say, sliding in across from him. “Did you need me to sit to take your order?”

“It didn’t look like you were having any problems sitting a few minutes ago. You better watch yourself, Lila.”

“Maybe I like him,” I tease, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.

“You’re not that stupid.” He stares at me, eyes smoldering.

“Or, maybe I am, and you just haven’t figured it out yet. What’s your deal anyway? Nothing better to do than follow me around?” I ask, leaning in.

He shrugs. “My sister would kill me if anything happened to you, and believe it or not, she’s the only person I give one fuck about besides my parents.”

“By the way,” he adds, pulling the list I left on the counter from his pocket, “this is bullshit.”

“You came here to talk about the house rules?” I ask, feeling even more annoyed.

“These aren’t house rules. It’s pure fucking bullshit.”

Regular Blake is good-looking, but there’s something a little extra special about pissed off Blake. Naughty Lila wants to pull him into a closet and shut him up with her body, but Nice Lila would never allow it.

I rest my elbows on the table, leaning forward even more. “I don’t think so. No loud music before noon seems pretty reasonable.”

He laughs, leaning in. “Is it the music that bothers you or the sex?”

My face flushes. Good thing the lighting sucks in here. “Music,” I answer, swallowing hard. The sex bothered me. It bothered me a lot because it made me feel stupid jealousy that I probably shouldn’t.

“And what’s this shit about being quiet in the kitchen? I can’t fry an egg without a pan, Lemon Drop.”

“Did you just call me Lemon Drop?”

His eyes twinkle, even under the dull bar lights. “I’m pretty sure that’s what I just said. Answer the question.”

“I’m a light sleeper.” Our faces are inches apart, but I’m not backing away. It would be an admission of defeat.

“Then get some earplugs.”

“It would be a lot cheaper for you to be quiet.”

For a matter of seconds, we just stare at each other—a simple battle of wills. It’s a variation on one of those stupid staring contests I used to have as a kid. Eventually, one of us will blink, and it’s not going to be me.

He finally leans back, dropping an arm over the back of his chair. “See the garbage can next to the door?” I don’t have to look. I know where every stupid garbage can is in this place. “That’s where this list is going on my way out.”

“How mature of you,” I say, trying not to show my frustration. He doesn’t deserve to know how much he gets under my skin. I stand up and push in my chair, anxious to get as far away from Blake as I can.

“I meant what I said about being your ride!” he yells behind me.

I keep walking, tired of him—the way he looks at me, the crap he says. It’s a good thing I already asked Dana for a ride. He can wait around here all he wants, but as soon as my shift ends, I’m sneaking out back with her.

AFTER ONLY TWO DAYS OF WORK, it already feels like my days off are well deserved. I spend the day at the Museum of Contemporary Art, and then head off to the store for some much needed groceries. Dinner, wine, and a good book sound like the best medicine after a difficult week. Besides, a snowstorm is blowing in, and I’ll be lucky if I get out for the next few days.

It’s a little after seven when I finally get back to my apartment with a full bag of groceries in hand. Seeing that it’s quiet and completely dark, I breathe a sigh of relief. Almost twenty-four hours, no work, no Blake—it’s almost as if I’ve landed in the life I was supposed to live.

My stomach growls as I unpack everything, leaving the ingredients for homemade pizza on the counter. It’s something my mom makes all the time on cold winter nights, and I could use a slice of home right now.

I plug my iPod into the docking station and blare Boyce Avenue throughout the apartment while I chop peppers, mushrooms, and onions. While waiting for the sauce to simmer, I pour myself a glass of red wine, bring it to my nose, then let the first sip coat my tongue. This day was exactly what I needed, I think, as I relax against the counter. It’s these little things in life we should never take for granted.

As I swallow down the last sip from my wine glass, the lock clicks and the door to the apartment swings open. Blake appears in the same clothes he had on last night. No jacket, just his signature gray stocking hat. His dark eyes find me right away.

“Found another ride home last night, did you?” he asks as he sets a brown paper bag on the counter and stands over the stove, inhaling the tomato and garlic aroma.