Hit the Spot

Book 2: Dirty Deeds

by J. Daniels

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

Fate. Hate. Love. Lies.

Which four letter word will change their lives forever?

New York Times bestselling author J. Daniels brings us the second book in her Dirty Deeds series. Hit the Spot features Jamie and Tori’s story.

This book can be read as a stand-alone.
Book 1—Four Letter Word

Release date: December 6, 2016

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 400

Sample

Prologue

“Sheesh. It’s like a ghost town in here. I’m bored outta my mind,” Shay commented, coming to stand beside me at the counter where I was leaned over, propped on my elbow and doodling hearts on a napkin.

I didn’t need to look up and survey the room to know she was right. It was like a ghost town in Whitecaps, the hip, ocean-front restaurant where I worked. Not a lot of people were venturing out today in the freezing rain-snow mixture going on outside.

When Nate had hired me a month ago, he said things slowed down in the winter. That made sense. Who hung at the beach in December?

I preferred being busy, as did Shay apparently, but I didn’t mind the slow pace today. It gave me time to doodle. I liked to doodle. When I was happy, I doodled a lot.

And holy crap, was I happy.

Shay’s shoulder nudged against mine. “Who’s Wes?” she asked, pressing close. “He your boyfriend?”

I traced his whimsically scripted name with the dark blue pen and nodded.

“How long have you been together?”

“Few weeks,” I answered, looking over at her. “I met him at the market right after I moved here. He was behind me in the checkout line.”

Shay smiled.

“Aw, I love tha—”

A loud banging noise coming from behind swung my head around and jolted Shay.

Sean, the cook Nate hired two weeks ago, stalked out of the kitchen holding a rag to his hand, snarling and spitting profanities through gritted teeth while his profile held hard and sharp with irritation.

He was tall and cut out of muscle and bone, no fat or softness to him from what I could tell, covered in tattoos, and either didn’t have the ability to smile behind his thick beard or never felt the need.

Intimidating? Absolutely. Scary? A little.

But he seemed cool, stayed quiet and kept to himself, and wasn’t bailing on a job that had him surrounded by women seven days a week who never kept to themselves and hardly stayed quiet.

I thought that was saying something.

He crossed the room, lifted his big biker boot, and kicked the men’s restroom door open, disappearing behind it.

“I think he cut himself again,” Shay guessed, communicating my own speculation. “That’s seven times now, right?”

I did a mental count from what I’d either witnessed myself or heard about after the fact. Maybe someone else should be chopping vegetables for him.

“He should change his name to Stitch,” I suggested, looking to her. “Fits him.”

Shay’s mouth twitched. Her dark brown eyes flickered wider.

“I’ll call him that if you do,” she said a little quieter, as if she was afraid he could hear.

“Deal,” I chuckled. I leaned over and began doodling again, darkening in some hearts and heavily outlining the others, my mind on Wes and the date we’d be having this upcoming weekend.

I was really looking forward to it.

He was always working long and late hours during the week. I hardly saw him. Hardly spoke to him either, unless he was calling me back after getting a free minute.

Thank God for texts.

“I’m gonna go see if my one lonely table needs anything, again, even though I just asked them, and until Stitch stops bleeding and gets back to cooking their food, the only thing I have to give is refills and my wit.” Shay slapped the counter, twisted away, then stopped frozen on a gasp. “Sweet. He’s here,” she whispered.

“Who?” I asked, head down and eyes focused on my Wes doodle.

When Shay didn’t answer, I lifted my head out of curiosity, followed her gaze across the restaurant, and met the eyes of the man she had to have been referring to.

I blinked and stood a little taller but stayed angled forward, keeping my weight on my elbows.

He blinked back. And somehow, that blink…was…sexy.

I had no idea what qualified a blink as being sexy, but whatever it was, this man was hitting all those qualifiers and could easily take home the trophy for sexiest blink.

Ever.

I am not one to exaggerate either. This was an honest observation.

I realized quickly after moving to Dogwood Beach that there wasn’t a shortage of good-looking men here. In fact, I was convinced the sand and salty air did miraculous things to the male race, boosting cellular regeneration and gene quality, making even hard-looking men like Stitch beautiful in their own unique way.

I waited on attractive men frequently at work. I saw them around town. Hell, I was currently dating one. This was nothing new. Looks were a dime a dozen in Dogwood.

That being said, I was unprepared for a sexy blink, not to mention the degree of attractiveness belonging to the man responsible for that blink.

The man I was currently staring at, who just so happened to be staring back, directly at me.

Tall, with broad shoulders and long, muscled limbs covered in layered Henley thermals and dark faded jeans, dirty blond hair that looked hand-raked messy and a little damp from the rain, causing it to curl at the ends around his ears and where it lay on his neck. Bright eyes. Thick eyebrows. A perfectly straight nose. He looked model perfect and camera ready, except for the five o’clock shadow speckling his jaw. That roughed him up a bit. And if he wasn’t already scoring points in the looks department, boom, dimples. He…had…dimples.

And he was giving them to me as he smiled, big and broad, like he was happy to see me.

Like we already knew each other. Or like he wished we did…

And I had a feeling this man wasn’t interested in knowing me the way I knew Shay or Stitch, or even Nate, my boss, who I was friendly with on an employee-employer level.

That wasn’t the level Tall, Blond, and Stupidly Gorgeous wanted to be on with me. No, sir. Absolutely not.

“Who is that?” I asked Shay, watching her customer from the two-top stand and cross the room to greet Sexy Blink, though I couldn’t make out the words from this distance and over the 311 song playing overhead.

“Jamie McCade,” Shay answered. “He’s a pretty BFD around here.”

“A what?” I asked.

“Big fucking deal.” Shay turned her head, met my eyes, and shrugged. “Or so they say. I’m not a huge surfing fan. Tried it once and ended up swallowing my weight in ocean water. He’s the best, though. Has been for years. Ask any local.”

I studied Jamie’s hair and decided it looked more wave-tussled than hand-raked messy.

A surfer…Yeah, that fit. That absolutely fit this guy.

Lowering my gaze, I saw he was back to staring at me and back to smiling. I cleared my throat, cut my eyes away, and looked down at my doodle.

Wes. I had a boyfriend. I had a boyfriend who made me happy. I was simply noticing another man’s good looks. That’s all. I’d have to be blind not to notice.

So why did I feel guilty noticing in the first place?

“I’m gonna go get him seated. Be back.”

“’Kay,” I muttered, keeping my head down and my hand busy as I darkened Wes’s name even further, the blue ink saturating the paper so much that now it appeared nearly black.

Black, like my noticing, treacherous heart.

Unbelievable.

“You’re up, T.”

I snapped my head up and gaped at Shay, not because of the new nickname she’d just thrown on me—I liked it and hoped it would stick—but because of the two words she’d just used preceding my new, cute nickname.

“Huh?”

Shay giggled, then reached out and took the pen out of my hand while her other slid the napkin away from me.

“He requested your section. Lucky girl. You’re in for a treat. He tips like he invented money or something.”

Shay began doodling on my napkin.

I looked across the room again and saw that Jamie was indeed sitting in my section, arm draped over the back of the booth, smiling and waiting to be served.

Well, this was just terrific. Now I had no choice but to look at him.

Whatever.

I had a job to do. I couldn’t just stand around and doodle.

“Right.” Straightening up and snapping into professional mode, I smoothed my apron, pulled out my ticket book, and leaning across the counter, snatched my pen away from Shay.

She smirked. “It’s cool. I’m gonna make sure Stitch didn’t hack off a finger.”

Shay moved around the bar to get to the kitchen window, hopped up on the edge of the counter, and sat there, swinging her feet and waiting for Stitch.

I took a deep breath and headed across the room, wetting my cherry-painted lips and stretching them into a friendly smile when I reached my destination.

He liked to tip? Awesome. I liked getting tips. Time to put on the charm.

“Good afternoon. My name is—”

“Fuck me, babe,” Jamie muttered through a thick, sex-soaked voice, cutting me off as his eyes skimmed up and down the length of me. “You make that ugly-ass uniform look fuckin’ good. No shit.”

My head jerked back. “Excuse me?” I asked, losing my smile. I glanced down at my uniform, which consisted of a white polo top, khaki pants, and a black apron tied around my waist. “These uniforms aren’t ugly,” I argued, lifting my head. “They’re cute and super comfy. Honestly, I’ve worn worse.”

“Legs, trust me, they’re nothin’ to look at,” he argued back, tipping his head. “But on you, yeah, different story. I’ll look all fuckin’ day.”

I blinked. “Legs? Did you just call me Legs?”

What in the…hell? Who calls someone that?

Half of Jamie’s mouth lifted, revealing one killer dimple.

“Fuck yeah, I did,” he answered, dropping his eyes to my limbs and lingering there. “Seen a lot of good ones. Had a lot of good ones wrapped around me, but yours? Babe, seriously.” He looked to me again. “Yours take the fuckin’ cake. I’d give my left nut for a feel. Straight up.”

I stared at him.

I was never a woman of few words. Never. Not even when I needed to be. In situations that didn’t warrant talking, I was still a talker. I got shushed at movie theaters because I felt the need to comment or ask questions regarding the plot line. I was that girl. Words never failed me.

Yet here I was, stripped of my vocabulary for the first time in my twenty-four years of life, all because a man wanted to chop off his left testicle to cop a feel.

Unbelievable.

Jamie laughed, low and rumbly in his throat, and hearing that, I broke out of my speechless haze.

“Do you offer up appendages to all the women you meet?” I asked.

“Why? Curious if anyone’s ever taken me up on it?” He gestured at his lap. “Go ahead and check. I’m down for a strip search if you wanna give it, Legs. Just know…” He bent his elbow on the table, leaned forward to get closer, held my eyes, and with a lowered voice, promised, “You touch me, and I am definitely putting my hands all over you.”

Breath caught in my throat as I quickly sucked in air.

I felt my cheeks warm, knew Jamie could see my reaction to what he’d just said, and further knew I needed to get far away from the topic of him putting his hands anywhere near my personal space.

I shouldn’t even be reacting at all. What was wrong with me?

Forcing focus, I clicked my pen open, poised it on my ticket book, and asked nonchalantly, “What can I get you started with?” as if Jamie hadn’t just painted a very descriptive picture in my head.

His smile was slow and satisfied as it moved across his face.

“I don’t know. You offerin’ yourself up?” Jamie smirked through his question as he sat tall in the booth, his one arm still stretched behind him and his other relaxed on the table next to the menu. “’Cause if that’s the case, I’ll take my order to go. Your legs would look unfuckingreal spread wide in my backseat.”

I sighed. Okay. This was getting ridiculous.

“I am not offering myself up. I have a boyfriend,” I told him with a little attitude, watching his face and waiting for the expected surrender and disappointment to shadow his arrogance.

It didn’t. I looked harder.

And still, nothing. Not one bit of change.

Jamie didn’t flinch. Didn’t lose the smirk he was wearing. Hell, it didn’t even falter.

I opened my mouth to repeat myself but he shut me up fast when he finally spoke.

“Not sure what that has to do with us,” he said, keeping the arrogance, keeping the smirk, and keeping at me like what I’d just shared meant nothing. He shrugged, then continued. “Affects him more than anything. Handle it now or wait, whatever. Just know, once we get started, you need to drop him, babe. I don’t share.”

My mouth fell open. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Once we get started?” I echoed, lowering my arms to my sides. “What makes you think—”

He cut me off quick.

“Guessin’ you don’t know who I am, considering I’ve never seen you around here, and trust me, I would’ve seen you, so let me fill you in.” Jamie’s face grew serious. “I want something? I get it, and I don’t fuckin’ lose. Ever. No shit. I’m not just blowin’ smoke up my own ass, babe. When I say I don’t fuckin’ lose, I mean, I do not fuckin’ lose. That applies to a lot of shit, Legs, and it sure as fuck applies to you. I won’t back down, boyfriend or not. You gotta know that.”

Something sick twisted deep in my stomach as I studied Jamie, at his eyes wild with promise, because I knew then exactly what kind of man he was and it had nothing to do with his surfing record or good looks or the money lining his wallet.

He was a loser. A player. A jerk. He didn’t respect me or the relationship I was in.

He didn’t respect love.

And that disgusted me.

“I am not interested in being gotten,” I snapped, nostrils flaring. “Like I said, I’m with someone. I’m happy. I’m taken. Maybe that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it sure as hell means everything to me. In terms of losing, you’ve already lost. I’m not available. So if that’s all you’re here for, you can go ahead and take your conceited ass right on back out into the storm. If it’s not, you’ve got five seconds to give me your order before I walk away for good. I like tips, but I don’t need yours. It won’t be any loss to me.”

“You ain’t taken, babe. And I did not fuckin’ lose,” he repeated, a little firmer this time.

Apparently those were the only parts of my speech he’d heard.

I brought my hand clutching the pen up to my hip and fisted it there, knowing if I didn’t, I’d probably end up throwing a punch, and if I did that, I’d be out of a job. For sure.

And I really liked this job.

“Three seconds,” I hissed.

He smiled, looked at my hand fisted at my hip, studied it for two out of the three seconds he had left, and then met my gaze when he quickly ordered, “BBQ chicken biscuit. Extra sauce.”

“You want something to drink with that?”

“Cherry Coke.”

“We don’t have Cherry Coke.”

“You got Coke and grenadine syrup?”

I did a quick mental scan of the bottles we had lined up underneath the counter.

“Yes,” I murmured, having remembered spotting the grenadine bottle.

“Then you got Cherry Coke.” Jamie slapped his hand down on the menu sitting in front of him and slid it to the edge of the table.

I reached to retrieve it, tugged on the corner with the two fingers not clutching my pen, and met resistance when he refused to lift his hand.

He stared at me, at my eyes, my lips, the line of my neck revealed from my hair being gathered over one shoulder, and lower, my breasts down to my toes and back up again.

I glared at him, watching his eyes do this appraising wander, and the longer it went on, the more irritated I became.

“You finished?” I grated.

“With you?” He met my gaze. His eyes were burning now. “No fuckin’ way,” he growled.

“I’m taken,” I repeated.

“You ain’t taken, Legs. Not unless you’re with me.”

This jerk was mental. “That will never happen,” I promised. “And my name is Tori. Not Legs.”

Jamie grinned. “We’ll see about that,” he said, lifting his hand and allowing me to take the menu.

I didn’t know if he was referring to the taken argument or the nickname and I didn’t want to ask. Truth be told, I just wanted to get away from him.

If he grinned at me one more time, I might actually throw that punch.

I spun around, walked to the hostess podium to drop off the menu, ignored the eyes burning into my profile coming from the loser’s booth, and marched toward the kitchen, weaving between tables all while jotting down the order on my ticket book.

Shay saw me coming and slid off the counter. “Great news!” she squealed when I reached her. “Stitch doesn’t care if we call him Stitch. He’s cool with it.” She turned her head and asked through the window, “Right, Stitch?”

Stitch was facing the stove so I couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t miss the slight jerk of his head as he acknowledged Shay.

“That’s about all he’s been giving me,” she whispered. “I took it as a good sign.”

Shay stepped away.

I watched her walk over to her two-top, then risked a glance in Jamie’s direction and caught him smiling at me.

Squaring off, I reached into my apron pocket like I was searching for something, lifted my hand back out, keeping all but one finger curled under, and flipped him off.

Anytime, Jamie mouthed.

Ugh! Jerk!

Grunting, I spun around, ripped the ticket off my book, and slid the thin paper across the metal lip of the window.

I opened my mouth to alert Stitch of the order when a piece of food flipped off the grill and onto the floor. It went sliding across the tile when he kicked it out of the way with his boot.

Hello, fantastic little lightbulb flashing above my head.

Rolling up onto my toes, I leaned closer to the window and inquired, “Is there any chance you’d be interested in letting a piece of BBQ chicken hang out on the floor for five seconds before sliding it onto a biscuit? I got a loser who needs a lesson in manners.”

Stitch turned his head and peered at me behind the pieces of long blond hair hanging in his eyes.

I rocked back onto my heels.

“He deserves it,” I quickly added, worried I was pissing off the hard-looking man by requesting this and blowing my shot at payback. “Really. I wouldn’t ask if he didn’t.”

Stitch didn’t say anything for several stress-filled seconds, then shook his head and muttered a rough “what-the-fuck-ever” under his breath, turning away and going back to the food he was cooking that hadn’t been dropped yet. “You take the fall if this comes back to me,” he ordered.

“Deal.”

Yes! Eat shit, Loser!

I spun around, nearly doing a twirl I was so happy, looked across the room directly at Jamie, and watched that jerk’s smile turn into a full-blown grin that no longer bothered me.

The tile floor back in the kitchen had to be disgusting. He’d get sick from the food. Sick enough he’d never want to eat here again. There was no doubt in my mind.

This would be the last time Jamie McCade ever stepped foot inside Whitecaps.

And knowing that, I couldn’t help myself.

I grinned right on back.

Chapter One

Nine months later

“He’s here again,” Kali whispered in my ear as I stood at the bar facing the kitchen, filling a mason jar with sweet tea for one of my patrons.

I breathed deep through my nose.

God…damn it.

I didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. I didn’t need to turn around.

There was only one “he” that she could’ve been referring to. The same “he” that everyone was always referring to when I didn’t catch the Loser walking into Whitecaps myself and had to be told about it.

Jamie McCade. Gorgeous dickhead.

Local asshole.

Biggest player on the planet.

And the man who would not catch a hint and leave me the hell alone.

I didn’t get it. I was never in the mood to see him, meaning I was never even remotely nice to him when he came in here, giving him nothing but shitty service and killer attitude, and still he kept coming back for more.

And he apparently never got sick!

That was seriously annoying.

I was sure he’d have caught something by now with the amount of germs covering the food I was serving him, but nope. Nothing. He always looked bright-eyed and stupidly energetic, which had me convinced: Jamie was either on a constant dose of antibiotics or had the strongest immune system in the entire world.

I was betting on the antibiotics. He was probably a regular at the local clinic for STD treatment. In fact, I was certain he frequented it so often he was getting reward points toward one free prescription of choice.

Disgusting.

He…was…disgusting. And he was sitting in my section—this I knew for sure without turning around—because he was always sitting in my section, and for some reason, my girls didn’t have my back and were always seating him in my section.

Take sweet-faced Kali, for example. Awesome girl with an adorable kid. And currently blushing because she’d been the one to seat Jamie where I’d be responsible for serving him even though I’d asked her and Shay repeatedly not to do such a thing.

It wasn’t entirely her fault, or Shay when she let it happen, this I knew. And it was why I couldn’t get mad at either one of them for it.

Jamie had proven time and time again that it didn’t matter if he was seated in someone else’s section or not. After being greeted by whichever waitress he ended up with, he’d tip her for the greeting, stand up, find my section by process of elimination, and move to it.

Every. Single. Time.

Now? Shay and Kali took him to my section on the first go because what was the point?

He wanted me as his waitress and he got me as his waitress. He’d make sure of that.

I was officially stuck.

I could be a bitch. I could give him shitty service. I could grow a new disease on his food and make him eat it.

Jamie McCade was unstoppable.

And the parts of me that didn’t mind looking at something so beautiful hated him for it.

Yes, unfortunately on top of being the most irritating man in the history of irritating men, Jamie was beautiful.

He was cocky. He was unashamed. He was over-the-top pigheaded and spoke like a Neanderthal wielding a club.

And he was beautiful.

It sucked.

Seriously.

I’d noticed the first day he walked in here and I’d been noticing ever since. But I would never admit it. No way.

Not to him. Not to Kali or Shay, who I knew would agree with me. Not to Syd, my best girl, who I admitted everything to.

Not to anyone. Not ever.

He’d always be a loser. He’d always be a player. He’d always be the man who disrespected my relationship, even though my previous relationship with Wes turned out to be nothing more than a joke—one I wasn’t in on until I was being introduced to his wife and sweet-looking daughter in the middle of a crowded mall—didn’t matter, though. Jamie wasn’t in on the joke either and so, unknowing, he still disrespected it.

It didn’t matter how he looked. His heart was ugly. His soul was ugly. And nothing was going to change my opinion.

“What are the chances he hasn’t spotted me yet and I can sneak out the back?” I asked Kali, turning to her after setting down the pitcher of sweet tea. “I get off soon anyway. You could cover for me with Nate if he asks where I am. Say I’m sick. Say I was kidnapped. Whatever. Just make up something.”

Today had been a great day. A ten-hour-shift delight. Great tips. Friendly customers. I really didn’t want to end my night on a low note and go home grumpy.

So if I could find some way of getting out of serving Jamie, I’d take it. Even if it meant getting shit from Nate.

“He already spotted you,” Kali replied without pause.

I pinched my eyes shut and muttered a disappointed “Damn.”

“Yeah…sorry. It was pretty immediate.” I watched Kali look over my shoulder, wince, then look back to me to add, “He’s currently spotting you right now.”

Of course he was.

I turned my head and saw dimples and brilliant blues.

Then shifting my attention left, I saw a group of teenage girls sitting in the booth next to Jamie, whispering and talking closely with one another while craning their necks around to stare at him.

Perfect. Just feed his ego, why don’t you.

“Whatever,” I sighed, turning away to pop a slice of lemon into the tea. “Maybe today will be the day he catches something fatal from the food and I’ll never have to look at him again.”

Fingers crossed Stitch tracked in something deadly back there and coated the tile with it.

“I don’t think I want him to die,” Kali admitted quietly. She bit her lip when I frowned at her. “Just…maybe he could get sick but with a full recovery? I could support that.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You’re just as bad as Syd. You know that?” I clipped. “She’s so Team Jamie at this point, I’m certain her first child will be named after him. I don’t even believe her anymore when she tells me she got Stitch to do something to his food. I think she’s faking it.”

Syd was the only other person Jamie ever allowed to wait on him, and I swore she loved every second of it.

I think it had everything to do with her being locked down with his best friend.

Brian and Syd were magical. Meeting under the craziest circumstances a few months ago and then building something from that, something beautiful. I was over the moon happy for my best girl and couldn’t imagine anyone better suited for her than Brian.

He had all the potential in the world.

Syd was over the moon happy, too, blissed out and fanatically in love, and because of this, she was wanting to pair me up with her boy’s closest friend, I just knew she was. The signs were all there.

And they were becoming more obvious with each passing day.

She was constantly bringing Jamie up and bragging about him whenever we were together, throwing his name into conversations he had no business being in but doing it casually so as to not raise suspicions until I later thought back and realized what she’d been doing.

Plus, there was the whole assigned seating arrangement during Sunday dinner—the tradition Syd started a few weeks ago that had everyone, including Jamie, gathering at her and Brian’s house and eating together.

Syd was putting out place cards now, and every time, without fail, mine would be directly next to Jamie’s.

No way was that coincidental like she was always telling me. I was so onto her.

“I just don’t think he’s an asshole like you think he’s an asshole,” Kali explained, pointing at her chest. “I know assholes. Believe me. I know them all too well.” She shifted her eyes away, then lowered them, pulling her lips between her teeth and appearing deep in thought.

She was referring to her son Cameron’s father. Although I’d never met him, I’d heard enough to know he was definitely an asshole. Kali didn’t deserve his shit, but she still got it dished on her anyway.

And because of this, I decided to drop the asshole debate. Then my eyes caught sight of the cute side braid she was rocking, and I had a perfect subject change.

“Your hair looks really sweet like that, by the way,” I said. I’d meant to tell her earlier but kept forgetting when I got caught up in waitress duties.

Seeing as she was getting quiet on me and most likely thinking about the shit her ex was always dishing out, now seemed like the perfect time to boost her spirits with a compliment.

And I was right.

Kali looked up, reached for the braid that was hanging over one shoulder, and wrapped her hand around the end of it. “Thanks,” she said, smiling big. “That means a lot.”

“Of course, babe.”

I gave her a wink before I turned around and walked out from behind the counter with the mason jar.

After checking on all my tables twice, I finally took my time walking over to Jamie’s booth. And before I could utter the most impersonal greeting in the history of impersonal greetings, I was forced to witness fangirl flirting on an eye-rolling level.

“You’re Jamie McCade, right?” asked one of the girls from the booth next to Jamie.

She stood on her knees, angled forward with her elbows resting on the back of the seat, her head tipped down as she dragged the tip of her finger across her glossed bottom lip and gazed at him from behind her false lashes.

Her friends giggled with their hands to their mouths.

Give me a break.

“The one and only,” Jamie replied with a smirk.

“Oh, my God. We are your biggest fans,” another girl quickly said. “Like, in the entire world. We love watching you. We think you’re so hot.”

Squeals and muffled “oh, my Gods” erupted from the other side of the booth.

Jamie laughed quietly under his breath.

I was a giggle away from choking on my own vomit.

The first girl elbowed her friend, shushing her, then turned back to Jamie and, with a voice sounding years older than she most likely was, said to him, “I hear you give private lessons. Do you think you could teach me? I’m a fast learner and very eager to please.”

“Wow,” I murmured through a chuckle, looking between desperation and head-up-his-own-ass. “How ’bout I give you two a minute to work out your little underage arrangement. I don’t need to witness this. I’ll be back.” I moved to turn and step away when a hand gripped my forearm, halting me. I whipped my head around and glared at Jamie, yanking my arm out of his hold. “Get off.”

“I’m ready to order,” he told me, his face serious. He turned to the other booth and said, “Call Wax. You can set up your lesson time over the phone.”

The girl looked down at my arm as if Jamie was still attached to it, narrowed her