Page 24 of Don't Speak

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I couldn’t sleep at all last night, and it wasn’t because of a nightmare this time.

Consider me officially worried. It’s been weeks since the original news story broke about Sean’s release.

Is it him? Did he find me? If it were, I feel like I would have noticed him taking a photo of us in the bar, considering it was empty except for the staff.

I know what I should do, but since when do I do anything I should do?

I had taken the photograph and placed it with the other one, hiding them away in my nightstand. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

I’ve been staring at the wall in my living room for what feels like hours.

When I woke up this morning, I stress-cleaned.

The house looks immaculate. All of my laundry is completed, carpets are vacuumed and shampooed, everything is dusted, and my kitchen floor is so clean that I could probably eat off it. I won’t, but I could.

After finishing every last task I could think of, I had nothing else to do but waste time.

I work the night shift tonight, so I need to start getting ready soon.

I feel lost. My brain is battling between doing what I know I should and just ignoring it, hoping it will go away.

I have always told myself to never get attached to a city, knowing I’d have to pick up and leave after a few years anyway.

I thought it would be easy. When you move around a lot as a kid, never staying in one place for more than two years, it really affects your ability to make friends, knowing you won’t be around long enough to develop a strong bond with someone else.

Heaven forbid I allowed myself to. If I did, I opened myself up to the pain of having to leave them behind.

By the time I was in 5 th grade, I had gone to five different schools.

I just want to know what it feels like to belong.

Amelia moved here specifically to be close to me.

When I had to move from the city where we originally met, she wouldn’t let me go alone.

There’s no way I could leave her behind.

And now that Dean is in the picture, I really don’t want to leave.

My heart and my brain are battling to the death, it seems. One will win eventually, and I know that no matter what, I won’t like the outcome.

Getting up off the couch, I head into the bathroom to start my routine of getting ready for work.

The bar is packed tonight. There are two bachelorette parties and a birthday party, and the local college frat boys are here partying it up post-finals week.

There are so many people here that I am unsure how anyone is able to move.

I am glad to be behind the bar at this point.

But with a large crowd comes a busy night.

We haven’t stopped making drinks since the club opened four hours ago, and since we were given a heads-up about the events tonight, we were able to prepare for the crowd by having three bartenders tonight.

Dean, Cora, and I are all making drinks.

Cora is making a martini, Dean is making an old fashioned, and I’m making a Long Island.

We are all in a groove, knocking out patron after patron.

It’s going to be a tiring night, but the money we'll be pulling in from tips will be worth it.

“This Dean guy is smokin’ hot, girl,” Cora says while making her next drink.

“Isn’t he?” I chuckle, a blush gracing my cheeks.

“Oh, you like him, don’t you?” she taunts, giving me a wink.

“What? No. You know I don’t get attached, Cora,” I respond, ringing up a patron and swiping his card.

“Who says you have to get attached? Just fuck him. You know, a one-night stand and shit.”

“I can’t have a one-night stand with my co-worker.

That would be a disaster. Besides, I don’t want to lose this one.

He actually knows how to do his job.” I giggle.

We have had some shitty bartenders come through here.

Cora and I even begged Ben to fire some of them, and we offered to work every single day until someone competent enough was found.

“While that could be the case, I think this one would be worth it.” She winks, turning to place the drink on the bar and sliding it to the customer. She adds the drink to his tab and takes the next order.

“Besides, I’ve caught him checking you out at least ten times since the shift started,” she teases. “He’s been watching you every time he makes a drink.”

“You’re seeing things. If he’s checking out anyone, it’s you,” I tell her. It’s true. The girl is drop-dead gorgeous and has a banging personality to go with it.

“Not this time, sis,” she states. “This one is most certainly checking you out. And rightfully so. Because you are just as gorgeous, and don’t you ever think otherwise.”

Outside of Amelia, Cora has been the only other person I feel comfortable enough around to share who I am with. She knows about my past and my insecurities, and while we don’t hang out outside of work often, I know she is always there for me when I need her.

I’m finishing up a strawberry margarita when she leans over and whispers, “It’s okay to let yourself feel, Nikki. You are deserving and worthy of love and companionship.”

Immediately, my eyes start to well up with tears. I look up at her and give her a small punch to the shoulder before saying, “Come on now, don’t get all sappy on me.”

She just gives me a small smirk before shaking the mojito she’s making in the shaker and pouring it into a glass.

It’s times like these where I feel validated in not wanting to leave this city. I’m so tired of running. I don’t want to run anymore. I’ve decided that whatever happens, I’ll handle it as it comes.

That was one hell of a shift. We made over $1500 each in tips. I guess you could say that is a perk of working at one of the only bars in this small town. There’s one other bar called the Roadhouse, but it’s occupied mostly by the town drunks and the older crowd who like less of a party scene.

Almost everyone has left, and only Dean and I remain.

We stayed to ensure everything was taken care of for tomorrow so that no one had to come in earlier than needed since tonight was such a busy night.

Cora was going to stay back to help, but the little minx decided to bow out when she realized Dean was staying.

She gave me a little brow wiggle and wink before she scurried out the door.

Dean and I haven’t talked much since the incident in the bookstore.

We chatted here and there tonight, but it was mostly about work.

I wouldn’t necessarily say things are awkward, but you can definitely cut the tension with a knife.

Maybe I should just fuck him and get it out of my system.

It’s not like he wants a relationship with me or anything, so why not have a little fun?

I decide that if he makes a move, I’ll take it.

I’m drying off the glasses when Dean comes around the bar, having finished wiping down the tables lining the walls around the bar.

“So, what’s your story, little lioness?” he asks me, my heart immediately racing at the question.

“What makes you think I have a story?” I respond coolly, making it a point not to show him that his question makes me uneasy.

“Oh, you have a story. I can sense it,” he says, making his way over to me.

“I—” I start, but I’m cut off when he presses himself up against me, his front to my back, taking the glass from my hand and placing it on the bar. He grabs both of my hands and places them on the smooth wood. “Don’t move from this position,” he demands.

“Dean,” I whisper softly, my panties suddenly becoming wet.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me. You want this just as much as I do. And fuck, do I want this. But I want to hear you say it. Tell me you want me.”

“We can’t. It will change things. It will make things awkward,” I tell him.

“Like fuck it will. I won’t make it awkward if you won’t. Now, tell me you want me.”

“I… I want you,” I breathe.

My shorts are suddenly pulled down to my ankles without warning, the black lace thong being the only barrier between him and my most intimate part. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I lift my hands to cover myself, but he grabs them and slams them back on the bar.

“I said don’t fucking move, little lioness.”

A sharp sting settles across my ass.

“Did you just fucking spank me?” I screech, looking back at him.

“Oh, I plan to do much more than spank you. But consider it your punishment for disobeying me.” He grins devilishly.

Fuck. Consider me drenched. Do I like this? Why do I like this?

His rough hands move down my body to my ass, where he gives it a squeeze. Smack. “Fuck!” I yell. But the sting is rubbed away by his hand. He repeats this over and over. Smack. Rub. Smack. Rub. I’m practically squeezing my thighs together to get some form of relief.

With his hard body pressed against me and my ass pushed against his hard cock, he leans in and whispers, “I’ve been dreaming about tasting this pussy.”

I let out a moan, his filthy mouth increasing my already pulsing arousal.

“Is my little lioness wet enough for me yet?” he asks, snaking his hand around to the front of me, dipping his hand into my underwear. His fingers find their way to my clit, and I thrust my hips toward them, seeking the friction.

“I guess I have my answer.” He chuckles.

I’m suddenly spun around, facing him, before he’s hooking his hands under my legs and hoisting me up on the bar. He pulls my thong off at lightning speed. I’m fully barred to him, my pussy glistening under the bar light.

“Fuck, little lioness. You have a beautiful pussy,” he purrs. I feel the blush creeping up my neck. No one has ever talked to me like that.

Without warning, he leans down, throwing my legs over his shoulders, and dives in. His tongue flattens against my pussy, licking all the way from my opening to my clit, and swirling around the bundle of nerves.