My heart swells when I think of him like that.
And then he saw me at the club, and he was angry that I was there.
I chose him, too, even though he didn’t want me. But that’s the thing: I know he did want me before that.
I wipe the table and let my mind run back over the chain of events.
We went back to the Escape room and we got into some kind of fucked-up role playing.
Then we had the best sex of my life.
And he was right there with me. He lost his head, too. It wasn’t one-sided; I know it wasn’t.
I go to the next table and wipe it over, lost in my memories.
Then we had a thing in the shower when we were kissing. We were so completely lost in the moment that we forgot a condom. I scratch my head as I think back. That was definitely the turning point. Things just spiraled downhill from there.
I’m single. Not that it matters.
I wipe all the tables down and peer back out through the window.
I hate that he’s the first guy that has interested me since my divorce. I hate that we met at the club. I hate that we had the best sex ever and that he turned out to be an asshole. I hate that he’s stopped coming in for my bad coffee.
“Excuse me, miss,” someone says from behind me.
“Yes?”
“Do you have a bathroom?”
“It’s just outside and down to the left.” I point out the door. “I’ll show you where it is.”
“Thank you.”
I walk out the front door of the café, and I direct the person on where to go. Then, I look over the bustling crowd walking past.
I just wish I had told him I was only working four shifts to pay for my rent. I wish I had explained myself. I should have said more…
I sigh heavily and go back into the café.
Oh well. He’s gone.
It is what it is.
I sit on my bed and scroll through the places for rent, and I make my list of properties to look at this weekend. It feels great to have options. For the first time in a long time, I have money in the bank, and I forgot how good that feels.
My earnings from Escape Club hit my account today, which means that I now have five thousand pounds to my name. After my shift on Thursday night, I’ll have ten thousand and I can start looking for an apartment. I’ll have enough for the bond plus six weeks’ rent, and I can start to actually move on this.
But I am not sleeping with anyone else.
No way in fucking hell am I making myself have a shit week like this again.
I stare at my computer, and then I allow myself to do something I shouldn’t.
I type into Google: Sebastian Garcia. Architect, London.
The results come up.
Sebastian Garcia. London’s Rock Star of Architecture
What the heck? I speed-read through the information.
Age: 37.
Estimated worth: 15 million.
Marital status: divorced.
I frown as I read on, he’s divorced?
I click on Wikipedia.
Sebastian Garcia is an architect best known for his cutting-edge designs and high-profile clients. Rarely seen without a beautiful woman on his arm since his divorce two years ago.
I click on the images, and my eyes widen.
Fuck.
There’s image after image of him in a black-tie suit with a beautiful woman on his arm. There’s also some of him playing golf. That looks like a charity golf thing.
I go through more images of him on nights out, laughing, smoking a cigar. There are two good looking men with him in a lot of the images. Who are they?
I exhale heavily, as reality sinks in. So, he’s a player.
I slam my computer shut in disgust.
After washing my hands in the basin and looking at my reflection in the mirror, I fix my hair and straighten my apron. The thought of my shift tonight at the club has me anxious. I just have this morning at the café to get through, and then I have two lectures, and then…
Then, I’m halfway there to my financial goal.
“Focus,” I mouth to myself in the mirror. “Ten thousand pounds.”
I fix my hair one last time and make my way up the laneway next to my café. I turn the corner and glance up and over at the congested street. It’s super busy, like it is every day.
And I see him.
Sebastian is walking on the other side of the street, staring over at the café.
My heart jumps.
I watch as he pushes his hands into his pockets and stops for a moment. What’s he doing?
Then he turns around and begins to walk away.
I watch him walk away up the street, and I look around in a panic. What, he’s just leaving?
I run across the street. “Sebastian!” I call. He doesn’t hear me and keeps walking. “Sebastian!”
He turns, and his face falls when he sees me.
“What are you doing?” I throw my hands up in the air. “You’re just leaving without coming to see me?”
He presses his lips together, his eyes locked on mine. His hair is dark, his skin tanned against his crisp white shirt.
Damn, I’ve never seen a man wear a navy suit so well.
For some reason, I feel like I need to defend myself. I can’t stand the thought of him thinking I’m a dirty whore… even though he’s one.
I don’t even understand what I’m feeling, or why.
“I’m only doing four shifts there,” I shrug. “At the club, I mean.”
His jaw clenches.
“I need the money so I can move out of my university dorm. I’m here on a scholarship, and I can’t live there anymore. There are parties every night, and I’m going crazy. You don’t know how bad it is,” I say in a rush.
We’re staring at each other. I’m being open and vulnerable here, and he still has his hands in his pockets, standing there, completely cold and guarded.
“I’m working the next three Thursday nights, and then I’m resigning.”
After a while, he replies, “Why would I care?”
“Because I…” I pause because, damn it, what the fuck am I doing right now? “I don’t want to do a shift there without you. I can’t stand the thought of it.”
His brow furrows.
“I’m not who you think I am, Sebastian.”
His lips twist as if he’s holding his tongue.
“If it wasn’t you, I wouldn’t have had sex that night. It was only because I liked you before I even worked there.”
He stays silent.
I throw my hands up in disgust. “Is that it? Is that all you’ve got to say? I’m begging to see you, and you can’t say a single fucking word?”
His eyes hold mine.
“You know what?” I shake my head. “Forget what I said. I beg for nobody. Don’t bother coming.”
More silence.
“You’re not the only one who’s disappointed,” I snap at him.
He frowns. “Meaning?”
“You’re not who I thought you were either.”
“Who did you think I was?”
I look around at the people surrounding us, so lost in their routines that they don’t even notice us. I turn back to him and shrug. “Someone who was worth it.” I smile sadly. “Guess not.”
Turning and walking back out onto the street in a daze, a car blares its horn at me when I nearly walk in front of it.
I march back into the café.
That’s it. It’s done.
I stare at the reflection of the girl in the mirror with her full face of makeup and her black lace strapless dress.
The buzz in the air is electric. The Escape Girls are excited for tonight. It’s showtime.
The thought of entertaining a man tonight turns my stomach.
I’m not sleeping with anyone. I don’t want to even talk to a man, let alone have sex.
Mr. Garcia well and truly tamed the tiger that was my libido. After taking in the size of him, I was sore for days. But it was my ego that took the biggest hit. I’m still licking my wounds and to make it worse, I begged this morning when I saw him.
Pathetic.
I hear the excited squeal of one of the girls. She peers around the curtain that hides a one-way window that shows the catwalk area. The girl has long dark hair and is drop dead gorgeous.
“He’s here. He hasn’t been here for months.” She dances back to her makeup chair. “I’m so excited, I could die.”
“Who’s here?” someone else asks.
“Mr. Smith.”
“Garcia?” someone else asks.
“You aren’t supposed to know his real name,” another girl says.
He’s here.
The girls all break into excited chatter, and my heart drops.
Fuck… he has a fan club.