Page 25

25

FAITH

I ’m brushing on mascara when April’s voice crackles through the speaker.

“So let me get this straight—you’re ghosting him now?”

“I’m not ghosting him,” I mutter, tugging a brush through my hair a little too hard. “I’m just...not engaging him.”

April snorts. “That’s literally the definition of ghosting.”

“I just need space.”

“You’re getting ready for your shift at the place where he owns the ice machine. That’s not space, babe. I don’t know what that is. Masochism, maybe. If you really hate him, why don’t you just go back to working at your family’s place?”

I groan. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I’m your best friend. And because if the sex was half as good as you described—and I’m still blushing, by the way—you’re not mad he lied. You’re mad you liked him while he was lying.”

I stare at my reflection. My cheeks are flushed, my hair actually looks good for once, and I’ve just spent ten minutes deciding whether to wear the low-cut black tank or the slightly lower-cut black tank.

“You’re not wrong,” I admit.

April, never one to waste momentum, pounces. “So why not lay it out for him? You can’t trust him, fine. So don’t. But if the chemistry’s as stupid-hot as it sounds, why not just hook up? Set rules. No feelings. No future. Just...mutual orgasms.”

My lips curve before I can stop them. “You’re insane.”

“I’m pragmatic. He’s a liar, not your soulmate. Use him like he used that mask. You need a rebound to get over that douche anyway.”

I roll my eyes, but the idea sticks. Lodges itself behind my ribs like something dangerous.

A no-strings deal.

No emotions. No trust required.

Just skin and tension and release.

Could I do that?

Turn off the part of me that wants more?

I swipe on lip gloss and tug the neckline of my top just a little lower.

Maybe I could.

“Okay,” I say. “I have to go. I’ll text you later.”

“Send pics,” April says. “Of your outfit. And maybe of his dumb, guilty face.”

I hang up before she can say anything else, grab my bag, and head for the door.

Tonight, I might just be the girl who sets the rules.

And if Hunter—Thor—whatever-his-name-is can play pretend?

Why can’t I?

* * *

The scent of buttered biscuits and bourbon hits me the second I walk through the front doors of Holloway’s Hideout, but it’s the sly smirk on Daphne’s face that really sets the tone.

She barely waits for me to clock in before she drops it.

“Hunter wants to see you,” she says, popping a stick of gum into her mouth and snapping it once. “In his office. Upstairs.”

My brows lift. “Oh?”

Behind her, one of the other servers—Courtney, I think—whistles low under her breath. “Ooooh. You’re in trouble .”

Daphne just grins. “Or maybe she is the trouble.”

I don’t reply. Just hang my bag in the back and head for the stairs, heart thudding against my ribs like it knows what I’m about to do.

He’s standing by the window when I walk in, arms folded. No hat, no mask, just him. And, of course, those ridiculous biceps straining against the sleeves of his black Holloway’s tee.

“I wanted to?—”

“No,” I say, holding up a hand. “You don’t get to start.”

“Okay...”

I take a breath, steady and sure. “Here’s the deal. The sex? Incredible. Possibly life-ruining. I think we both recognize that.”

His jaw ticks. He opens his mouth like he wants to protest, or agree, or say something poetic and stupid.

I don’t let him.

“But,” I continue, stepping closer, “this isn’t going to be anything more than that. You lied to me for weeks, and while I get why, that doesn’t make it okay. Plus there’s the part about how our families do not get along in the slightest. So we need to be realistic about the fact that this isn’t going anywhere beyond this summer.”

He’s silent. Listening. Watching me like I’m a hurricane he didn’t see coming.

“So,” I say, “if you’re game...we can be friends. With benefits. But that’s it. I don’t want hearts or flowers. I want orgasms and boundaries. And exclusivity as long as we’re doing this.”

A beat passes. Maybe two.

And then his lips curl.

“You’re serious.”

“As a hymnal in hell.”

Honestly? I can’t believe the words are even coming out of my mouth.

They feel good, though. He wants to lie to use me for some fun? Well, two can play at this game, then.

He scrubs a hand over his mouth, then lets out a breathy laugh. “So you want to schedule...what? A benefits package?”

I smile. Slow. Dangerous. “I’m thinking Tuesdays. After shift. Or when the walk-in fridge gets too cold.”

His eyes darken. “And if I ask for a raincheck on the fridge and offer you my place instead?”

I tilt my head. “Depends. Will you be wearing a mask?”

His chuckle is low and reverent, like I’ve just sucker-punched him in the best way. “Do you want me to?”

“You’re lucky I’m even considering this.” I grab the doorknob, tossing my hair back like I’m not still throbbing from the memory of him inside me. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a section to charm and tips to make.”

“Tuesday,” he says, voice low. “I’ll be ready.”

I glance over my shoulder. “You’d better be. That’s tomorrow.”

He doesn’t press toward me. Instead, he steps to the desk, plants his hands wide on the edge, and tilts his head, watching me like I’m a puzzle he hasn’t solved yet.

“So that’s all you’ve relegated me to?” he asks. “Your fantasy sidepiece?”

I smirk. “That’s all. The way I see it? I can’t depend on you. But we may as well have some summer fun.”

His eyes darken, but he gives a slow, crooked smile. “Then I guess I’ll have to be unforgettable.”

I lean halfway out the door, then glance back one more time. “That’s a tall order.”

“I’m a tall guy.”

I roll my eyes and leave before I lose the upper hand—or worse, the last sliver of restraint I’ve got left.

* * *

I wake up tangled in sheets and tips.

Seriously—crumpled bills are still scattered on my nightstand from where I dumped my apron last night. I don’t think I’ve ever made that much money in a single shift. Ever.

Maybe it’s the skimpy black tank I wore. Or the smoky eye. Or maybe…

Maybe something in me’s changed. Opened up.

Not just physically—which, okay, definitely physically—but it’s more than that.

I feel…alive. Charged. Like some invisible cage I didn’t know I was in finally cracked open. And it’s not because of a man, I tell myself. It’s because of me. But if a certain big, lying, annoyingly gorgeous man had something to do with loosening the hinges? Well.

I sigh and roll to the side. No messages. No plans today.

That used to be my favorite kind of day. Now it just feels like too much space to think.

A knock rattles the door.

“Faith?” It’s my mom. “It’s already past noon. You working tonight?”

“Late shift again,” I croak. “What time is it?”

“Almost one.” She laughs. “This came for you.”

I sit up as the door creaks open. She hands me a brown-paper-wrapped package.

“I didn’t order anything,” I murmur.

She shrugs. “Your daddy and I are leaving soon for Grandma’s. We’ll be back late tonight. You need anything before we go?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I’m good.”

She smiles and disappears, and I’m left holding the package in both hands, heart kicking. No name on the outside. Just my address in tidy black ink.

I open it slowly.

It’s a book.

The Alchemist.

I blink.

There’s a sticky note tucked inside the front cover, written in that familiar, blocky scrawl I’ve come to know.

“For when you forget what you’re made of. You’re a dreamer, Faith. You were never meant to stay caged. – T”

That’s it.

Just one short message.

But a tear starts to roll down my cheek anyway.

I swipe at my cheeks, toss on a hoodie, and grab my phone. I sit back on the bed, legs crossed, and type quickly.

Faith: That book. The note. I wasn’t expecting that.

A pause. The bubbles appear, then vanish. Reappear.

Finally his text comes through.

Hunter: Thought we were keeping things professional. Boundaries and all that. This seems more friendly. Like we used to chat.

Faith: We’re friends. So I’m saying thank you.

Hunter: You sound like you’re about to violate some HR guidelines.

Faith: Maybe I am. Or maybe I’m home alone. For the rest of the day. And maybe I was wondering if my fantasy man wanted to stop by and bring a few more surprises. I know we said after work, but we’ve got some time before shift, right?

A slow beat passes. I watch the dots form, stop, and reform several times.

Hunter: Did you find the surprise in the middle of the book?

I thumb through the crisp pages, still wiping at my eyes like some soft-hearted Hallmark character.

And then something slips out.

Lacy. Scarlet. Tiny.

Oh my God.

I blink down at what’s now draped across my lap: a pair of blue lace panties . No bra. Just the panties.

Of course.

Faith: Back to business. Can you be here in an hour?

I toss my phone aside, pulse hammering, and head to the mirror.

If old me could talk to me, she’d ask me the same question I’m asking myself right now.

Faith Easton, who are you? Texting a boy to come over like this…

And I have to say I kind of really like me right now.