Page 7

Chapter Six

Lux

My body protests the idea of more movement as I heave myself up the stairs. What a shitty night.

Of course, the one night I’m hoping to make major bank at The Velvet Room, none of the regulars show up. Instead, we got bachelor parties, rich frat boys, and drunken girl’s nights—the trifecta of bad tippers.

I round the corner, sighing with relief that my door is still attached to its hinges. I slide my key in, palming the knob, and it falls off in my hand. I stand there, holding it stupidly, staring at my door.

Did my doorknob really just break off? That’s some shit luck, even for me.

I try to turn my key, but it sticks, although the pressure of my hand nudges the door gently and it swings open with a creak. I drop the doorknob, letting it clatter down the hall.

There’s no fucking way.

I listen for noise and peek in, sweeping my gaze across my tiny apartment. It looks completely undisturbed. No clothes on the floor, no broken furniture. Weird, maybe the lock simply just decided to die on me.

I slip inside, shutting the door behind me and flip on the lights. Pushing an armchair up against the door, I walk through the studio, checking every nook and cranny. Everything seems to be in its place.

I flop onto the sofa, exhausted and confused. A stack of books topples onto the floor and I freeze. Those were definitely not here when I left earlier today.

I grab the books, sifting through them, and stand up to look at my bookshelves. Even with my chaotic brain, I wouldn’t have pulled five random books from five different shelves. I also wouldn’t have left them on my couch without remembering it.

Slowly, I tuck the books back in. That’s when it hits me.

Men’s cologne.

I sniff, taking a deeper breath. A rich, smoky scent fills my lungs. It smells like a rich man, like the guys that frequent The Velvet Room. Goosebumps explode all over my body, and fear shoots up my spine.

There was a man in here.

I sprint to the bathroom, throwing the door open. It’s empty. I run to my bed, opening the curtain that divides it from the main room. Empty.

Someone must be messing with me. First, a break-in without any missing items. Now, this? I shake my head and whip my phone out of my pocket. I practically stab the screen with anger, typing out a message to my landlord.

It’s past two a.m. and I’m not expecting a response, but my phone dings immediately. I flip it open.

Don’t worry. I’m replacing all the locks in the building tomorrow morning. Sorry about that.

I don’t even question why he’s suddenly decided to become Landlord of the Year. Instead, I send him a thumbs-up emoji and pass out, fully clothed, on my couch.

***

The next morning, I’m straight-up depressed. It takes all my willpower to crawl off the couch, wash off last night’s makeup, and throw on clean clothes.

I drag myself to the kitchen, knowing my fridge is empty. A small part of me hopes I have a drop of milk left to make some coffee. Caffeine is the only thing that can save me right now.

Yawning, I pull open the fridge and slam it shut right away. I back away, rubbing my eyes. I must be dreaming.

Wait, am I dreaming? I pinch myself. Nope, definitely not dreaming.

I slowly tiptoe back to the fridge and crack it open again. Bagels, cream cheese, a fresh bottle of milk. I pull it all the way open and kneel down, yanking out the vegetable drawers. Apples, tomatoes, lettuce…

Dumbfounded, I stare at my colorful, fully stocked fridge. There are eggs, an expensive brand of bacon, and salami—my mind reels.

I’ve had my share of bad luck over the years. I’ve gotten myself into some weird situations. The Grand Turkey Abduction five years ago, the time some rich dude hired me to catch rabbits in his backyard—but nothing was as weird as this.

Someone breaks into my house and leaves me $200 worth of groceries? I stand there, staring at the fridge in dumb shock until I realize I’m going to be late for work. I quickly throw together a bagel and cream cheese and make a coffee to go.

“Thank you,” I say to no one in particular, shrugging. This puzzle can wait until later. I dash down the stairs, past the locksmiths installing new locks, and into my car. It starts immediately, and I shake my head, a smile plastered on my face.

The morning goes by in a blur of deliveries, but I don’t get lost, lose any packages, or crash my car. I head home and follow my landlord’s instructions, retrieving my new key from my mailbox.

The first thing I do is run to the fridge to see if I was actually hallucinating this morning. I throw open the door and there it is—all the food I could ever want. I grin and practically dance into the bathroom to take a shower.

I thought about this new development all morning and decided not to question it. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of righting all the bad luck I’ve had lately. As I shampoo my hair, I realize I have the rest of the day free.

No more afternoon shifts at Rocky’s, The Velvet Room is closed on Sundays, what am I going to do with all this time?

I run through a mental list of fun activities I could do, then consider more job hunting, but nothing feels right. I towel off my hair and walk into the living room, confirming that the shades are drawn. My next-door neighbors do not need to see all of this for free.

I check my bank account to find that Rocky deposited my last paycheck, plus a little bit extra. My heart warms for him and I’m momentarily sad that he chose to fire me. Then I make up my mind.

I’m going to go get absolutely shitfaced drunk tonight.

The constant stress, exhaustion, and worrying about money, on top of all the weird shit going, has finally broken me. Even though I don’t usually drink, I need to get all this tension out. A cheap, divey bar and some vodka sodas sound like just the thing.

I toss on a band tee and a pair of cutoff denim shorts and pull on my boots. Deciding to let my hair air dry, I contemplate putting on some makeup but scrap the idea. I’m not going out to impress anyone anyway.

The Wild Goose is a crappy little dive bar around the corner from my house. I’ve only been there once when I first moved to the city and had time to explore. I remember it being low-key, with cheap drinks and a bartender that doesn’t talk much.

Perfect .

I stroll down the block, feeling the sunshine on my face, and my troubles seem to disappear a little more with every step. A few drinks to get me nice and buzzed, maybe a shot or two, and then back home to drunkenly cook dinner and pass out.

The bar is dim and almost empty when I stroll in. It’s one of those places that always has sports playing on mute and a couple of regulars at the bar. The wooden floors are sticky, road signs cover the walls, and the shades are drawn on all the windows.

The bartender, a big guy with a handlebar mustache, leans on the counter eyeing me warily. I quickly make my way to the empty side of the bar and hop onto a stool. He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Vodka soda please,” I tell him. “Heavy on the vodka.”

He grunts and heaves himself off the bar to make my drink. I smile to myself as I look around. The regulars pay no attention to me, staring at their beers or the screens instead. I swing my legs, feeling freer than I have in months.

The bartender reappears and slides a glass and a bowl of nuts at me. I take an experimental sip and feel the alcohol burn down my throat. This might not fix all my problems, but it sure can help me forget about them for an afternoon.

I slowly sip my drink, becoming accidentally engrossed in a football game playing on the big screen. I barely flinch when I feel a light tap on my shoulder. I glance down at my glass, realizing I’ve drained the whole thing already.

My head feels vaguely like it’s filled with cotton candy. I feel the tap again and slowly spin in my chair to find the hottest man I’ve ever seen looking down at me.

“Hey,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “Mind if I join you?”

“You have nice teeth.”

He stares at me for a beat too long and slides onto the stool beside me. “I had a really good orthodontist when I was a kid.”

I shake my head, confused. “What?”

“My teeth,” he says slowly, looking as confused as I feel. “You said they were nice? It’s because…”

“Shit,” I whisper. “That was supposed to be an inside thought. Did I make that an outside thought?”

He laughs and it’s like the heavens have opened up, casting a ray of golden sun on their most perfect creation. Okay, maybe that’s a bit much, but he does look beautiful when he laughs. His dark eyes crinkle at the corners and a single dimple appears in his cheek, highlighting his luscious lips.

I look away, feeling like a creep, but smile anyway. He runs his hand through his dark, wavy hair and calls to the bartender.

“You need another one?” he asks, that dimple making me feel like a giggly middle-school girl.

“Yes, please,” I say with too much enthusiasm. On second thought…

“Actually no,” I correct myself. “Maybe just a water first. I don’t usually drink.”

“No problem.”

The bartender manages to drag himself away from the football game and the stranger orders a glass of bourbon. I stare shamelessly, wondering if he’s another hallucination like the food in my fridge.

Then I remind myself that the food is actually physically present and so is this man. And he’s looking at me expectantly.

“Sorry, what?”

He chuckles, extending his hand toward me. “I said I’m Dominic. Dominic Wolfe.”

“Oh,” I grab his hand lightly. A jolt of electricity runs through my veins and my eyes widen. “I’m Lux Davis.”

That came out a lot breathier than I meant it to. Either I’m really drunk or Dominic and I have an insane chemistry. I glance down at my single empty glass and decide it’s the latter.

I flash him a smile and hear him suck in his breath quietly.

“So, what brings you to The Wild Goose, Dominic?” I ask him playfully, leaning closer. His pupils widen and his lips part. I grin even harder.

The second he smiled at me, I decided that I’m taking him home tonight.

And it looks like it’s going to be easier than I thought.