Pretty Little Lies

17. Bay

SEVENTEEN

bay

The restaurant is a tranquil, dark mixture of high ceilings and equally tall windows overlooking the beach and ocean. A light fog has come off the water, but the hundreds of dangling lights with just a warm light bulb hanging from it makes it cozy and intricately serene.

Except for the company I currently keep.

Gathered around an extra-large table with the softest gray tablecloth I’ve ever felt in my life is Emilio, Ramsey, Torin, Reeve, Cairo, and, exhaustingly enough, Vivian.

I was invited to this late-night dinner at my sperm donor’s request. My prediction is that he’s heard of Levi and I’s break up—or so we’re hoping—and he thought to brighten my life with his presence.

I just didn’t know there would be so many more people in attendance.

To top it all off, I’m sitting between Ramsey and Cairo, both equally socially weird in their own way. Although, it’s like Emilio purposely kept the peace by spreading the table so that no one was comfortable.

Vivian sits on the other side, glaring at me through appetizers and sipping on her ruby red wine while she might be considering all the ways she could stab me with the different pieces of glassware on the table. I’d ask her to trade seats so she’d fuck all the way off, except that would mean I’d have to sit between Torin and Reeve and that’s not going to make me more comfortable.

And speaking of Torin, he’s sitting at her side, doing literally the same thing. Every time Ramsey asks me a simple question, it’s like his glower amps up a few degrees and sweat begins to form along my neck and palms.

This is so fucking stupid.

Meanwhile, Emilio keeps yapping away at shit no one seems to care about like we’re all some happy family of misfits. The weather, a new golf course he’s thinking about investing in, the change in the governor seat and the stock market.

I fight the urge to glance at Reeve who has been eye-fucking me every five minutes. And the boys, minus Ramsey, all share something in common.

Not one of them has spoken to me.

Keeping myself busy on the menu, I think everything is in Italian. And why the fuck would someone spend a hundred dollars on a plate of pasta? I’m half-tempted to google half of these dishes, when the last person I thought would come to my rescue does.

“Do you like creamy sauces or red?” Cairo solicits, and I dare not look over at him in fear of a knife flying in my direction.

I measure up the edge of my menu to slightly pass my lips to answer, “Creamy.”

“There’s a dish on here that you’ll never be able to pronounce that’s to die for.” My thumb taps along the plastic covering. “And you don’t have to be so secretive when talking to me. I can handle myself with her just fine.”

I smooth down the menu, feeling like an idiot, but not wanting to cause any trouble while I’m here. I’ve had enough excitement for a hot minute. “Sorry.”

“For which thing?”

“I think the only thing you’d be concerned about is how hot your boys think I am. But, all I want to be is just be . That’s all.”

A brief tick of silence drapes between us, not that it bothers me. Emilio is busy rambling, and I have a menu that’s currently blocking half the table, when Cairo replies, “Join the club.”

My gaze stirs to him, and his does the same. Those mysterious and murky brown eyes that are always menacingly boring down on me appear a tad lighter this evening.

However, there’s still a pair at this table.

“I think you need to tell your biggest fan that I’m not going to make a move on you. She doesn’t have any knives next to her, does she?” I pose, completely serious. These boys might have their own vices, that I’m privy to, but not hers. That entitled bitch vibe—even though she grew up in the same shitty neighborhoods as I did—might have a little more petty built in her.

Wouldn’t that be something?

I mean, shit, she might know some crime techniques from her dad and ask the waiter to poison me.

“She does,” Cairo confirms. “However, she has terrible aim. Tried to throw a vase at me once, and it went a whole two feet. She releases too late.”

Oh.

I bob my head. “Huh.”

Cairo gives a little jerk of his head toward my menu. “Would you like me to order for you?”

“Um…would you taste test it for me?” A line appears on his forehead as his face pinches in question. “Is she diabolical? I haven’t been around her in years.”

He stares at me, bringing about the inclination that the dude thinks I’m crazy.

Or imaginative.

I push my lips out. “I’d rather die and have a cooler story than your girl trying to contaminate my food.”

“And it’s amazing how Wallace broke up with you.” He shreds his focus from me and back to his menu, then mutters, “You’re something else.”

“Something you wouldn’t be able to handle,” Ramsey interjects, thrusting himself into our conversation. “Bay would probably give you a run for your money…and then some.”

“Ramsey, don’t insert yourself and imply what I’m meaning when the only thing you know how to handle is scared dick. Drink your bourbon and pretend like you matter in the grand scheme of things.”

“I do. You have to fight De Leon for yours. How devastating it would be for you to fail your family. Then again, they aren’t your real family, are they? You’re just a stray puppy they felt bad about and took in.”

His words hit home.

So much.

They aren’t your real family, are they?

I never fathomed that the broody asshole who held a top tier for the Forsaken Crew would ever have something in common with me. Was he lied to, too? And how much those words possibly suck for him as well as the reality of what I faced when I found out my true identity.

“Then I must be from the same pound,” I assert. “Because I was living that lie for years.”

“But you’re not anymore.” My light pink cocktail that Emilio asked I try is offered in Ramsey’s hand. “And you’ve handled more than that opulent chick who doesn’t know when not to show her cards.”

I take my drink, happy for the distraction when the waiter comes to my side. “Excuse me, Miss?” Glimpsing up from my shoulder, he gives me a smile and presents, what appears to be, a small note.

I give him a curt nod of thanks, plucking the folded lined piece of paper, which automatically stands out to me. This place is so fancy that lined paper seems too normal and basic.

Spreading it out, it’s maybe a quarter of the whole sheet, ripped carelessly and unevenly to be doubled over and given to me.

And in blank ink are words all in caps.

YOU LOOK PRETTY TODAY. I LIKE YOU IN BLUE.

MEN’S BATHROOM, FIVE MINUTES.

My eyes drift to Reeve, whose hazels I’ve memorized, even when they’re a mile away with the space on the table, are already clinging to me. His full lips are spread into a handsome smirk. Tonight, he’s in a white button-up that rolls over his forearms, the collar teasing the extent of his neck and, looking at it now, I want to lick it.

Random.

As fuck.

Maybe I will. The tension could be served to this whole gathering tonight with leftovers and the need for air sounds incredible right now.

Those five minutes hang prolonged in the air before I’m excusing myself and asking a member of the waitstaff where the restrooms are.

On the other side of the restaurant, I locate them, then pause at the door.

Why the men’s bathroom?

Inhaling a deep breath, I listen for anybody who might be inside. Nothing greets me back as I slide in and pray to God Reeve isn’t late. I just want to talk to someone for a second who doesn’t hate me and could possibly carry me through tonight’s meal.

Inside, the bathroom is a stark contrast to the dining area. Walls of white marble and wood give it a crisp, clean look. It smells like lemon, not a speck of water lying on the wooden countertops or near the sinks. It’s not very big, only holding three stainless steel stalls and urinals, but it’s boujee as fuck.

The bathroom door swings open, hiding me for the briefest of seconds behind it, when in steps Torin. Black dress-up shirt only cuffed once to show off his silver watch. His matching slacks and shiny shoes make him look like the offspring of peril.

“Wildfire.” My name is a mumble, something he’s normally not known for. Those amber eyes skate down my dress, but I steel myself against it.

I may have hurt his feelings the other day with what I said with Matteo. That I was disgusted at the thought of belonging to him.

And, in a way, I kinda would be.

However, history repeats itself, doesn’t it? Foes eventually stop fighting, friendships are born, love affairs are formed.

We’re a new generation of this shit.

Yet, it doesn’t stop Emilio from being a selfish prick or my predicament with protecting my family.

“Thought you’d interfere,” I solicit, pressing my spine lax against the smooth wall. “I’m meeting Reeve.”

His fixed stare skids upward to meet mine. “You look pretty today. I like you in blue.”

I know my face says it all. Slightly widened eyes, lips parting from shock that those words came from his head.

Honestly, I should’ve known.

Meet me in the men’s bathroom.

Reeve would’ve been in the women’s bathroom just out of pure comfort. Torin’s life mission is to shove me out of my security zone in any shape or way possible. To force me to comply or adjust.

“Didn’t think I had it in me, Wildfire?” He looks at me expectedly, but that ghost of a smirk only shows how proud of himself he is.

He would.

Torin breathes, eats, and is arrogant. The Prince of The Landings.

“Not really,” I reply candidly. “What can I do for you, Mr. Wildes?”

“Mr. Wildes?” he repeats with a scoff, stepping forward and causing me to press my spine more against the wall. “Are we gonna be like that now? Coated with formalities and fake bullshit.”

“Everything we have and had is fake and temporary.”

“Not if you keep showing up for shit like this.” His index finger runs down the length of me once. “That dress is an offense against God.”

And it would’ve been a sin not to wear it. The navy-blue material grips my skin in all the right places. The neckline dips dangerously between my breasts and it looks like I belong here. Sophisticated in a simple yet sexy way.

“And you’d only know that because you dabble with the devil,” I retort, but there’s no hostility behind either of our voices. We both share the same exhaustion of the back-and-forth. The push and the pull.

However, the attraction between us is still impenetrable, and I’m having a hell of a time fighting him off when he finds a way to make a hole through my composure.

“Baby, if I have dealings with the devil”—he saunters closer, that swagger and Pretty Boy vibe turning my insides into mush. I loathe that he can hold the body’s inner workings by just a movement, a stare, the way his eyes heat and slither down to transfer over to mine—“then you have that motherfucker in the palm of your hand. It’s taken everything in me to not rip Ramsey out of that seat next to you and, even then…I’m still thinking about it.”

“Don’t.” It’s me fighting with myself more than him. I guess, it’s always been that way with Reeve and Torin. I drive them back and it only makes them want to come back full throttle.

“Why?” He raises his arm, palm falling to the cool marble wall behind me as he leans forward. The smell of a forest, a warm day traipsing through the trees with the fresh air running through your hair, filling my nose. “All I want is to put my hand on one of your thick thighs and keep it there. Promise.”

Yeah, and I’ll starve tonight because I won’t be able to focus.

“The last thing I’d count on is a promise from you, Pretty Boy.”

“I’ve never broken one yet, have I?” His chest brushes against mine, and I involuntarily hold my next inhale. “I told you that if I kept finding you around that I was going to fuck you harder than Emilio and I have. That I’d be around. That I’ve got my eyes on you and I’ll be damned if I can’t pry them off you. The only thing I can be grateful for is that Ramsey wouldn’t touch your pussy with his dick from a football field away.”

“How romantic.”

“You don’t strike me as the type that does romance,” he replies, golden orbs falling to my lips. “I believe you’d rather want a cheeseburger and a good fuck to divulge how a man feels about you.”

My lips curl because—well, he’s not entirely wrong. “You got a cheeseburger laying around?”

“I’m not going to answer that question. However, the boys and I are going to a little get-together after this boring-as-fuck dinner. I was hoping you’d come with me.” I stare at him. because…is he asking me out on a half-ass date? “It’s a concert with a lotta weed and food.”

“Cheeseburgers?”

“If they don’t, I’ll find you one.”

I cock my head suspiciously to the side and can’t help but admire him. “What do you want, Pretty Boy?”

“Haven’t I made that known yet?”

“Why?”

“Because, contrary to your belief, I’ve wanted you for years. You might think it’s just sex…but it’s so much more than that, Wildfire. You fit me. You get me. I like everything about you and even the parts that piss me off.”

“That’s sounding a little too obsessive for me.” However, there’s no fear in that statement nor can I find any way of disliking it right now.

I’m just scared of what his endgame is gonna be like.

“Might be,” Torin divulges. “But I guarantee I’d treat you better than your last.”

I can appreciate how he didn’t mention Wallace’s name in case it might upset me. And that only means he’s conscious of my feelings.

“Alright,” I reply slowly, trying to detect any evil doings in his eyes. “I can’t be out all night, though.”

“The Princess of South Shore have a curfew?”

I narrow my eyes. “Pretty Boy has jokes.”

“Some.” He pushes off the wall before gesturing for me to take the lead out of the restroom. “After you.”

I do.

With the heat of his eyes all over my ass.