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He smirks. "And you liked it. I would have stopped if you didn't. I only came to give you a burger."
My mouth gapes. The nerve of this guy! I slap his arm, without much heat.
We've reached the doors of the dorm. He brings his lips to my forehead, dropping a light kiss there. "Go, rest up. Brush your teeth."
"Fuck you!"
"Definitely. After you brush your teeth."
I stay at the doors, dumbfounded as I watch him walk away.
What was that all about?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Somehow,I survive the weirdest week so far senior year.
After our chat on Tuesday, Jason mostly ignores me. Well, that's not quite accurate. He says hi to me every morning. He occasionally asks how I'm doing. That's it. And more strangely yet, the rest of the school takes a cue from their leader and stops treating me like a leper.
I spend the entire week nervous on several levels. This feels like the calm before the storm. Jason has schemes, plans within plans. I don't doubt he's been honest with me. He's always direct, something I've grown to appreciate. He also didn't tell me everything. If he was truly interested in me, he would have insisted I date him. There's more. I don't think I want to find out how much more. Not yet.
I work at my dad's restaurant, Mio Cuore, that Friday night. I didn't ask for a shift, but I'm barely out of Hulk after driving home from Cross when he begs me to help him out. Apparently, the flu season started and half of his staff's out. After the pandemic issues of the last couple of years, whenever someone's coughing, he wants them out of the building. It's safer that way for his business, but that means he can be desperate for staff from time to time.
I'm always happy to make minimum wage plus tips so I get dressed in my depressingly classical black dress and white apron, and head to work.
I'd like to say it went well. I'd like to say nothing weird happened. I'd also like to win the lottery, pretty please.
I'm almost off the clock at ten when a group is directed to my table.
Seeing my classmates behind their menu, I groan.
Really?
Two tables of eight were put together to accommodate a dozen legacies. Among them, I note my kind-of-friends Melina, Judith, and Manon, as well as Ms. Perfect Yuki and Jacqueline Billington, my least favorite among the Barbie squad. The rest of them are too classy to bully their way to the top of the school hierarchy like the Brooke Vaughns of the world, but Jack? She loves nothing more than to belittle anyone she deems inferior. She was a bitch to Sophia for years, and since September she's made a point of laughing at me, though she, like the rest of the legacies, keeps her hands clean. She isn't the kind of idiot who'd trip me or call me names in public. The legacies are puppet masters, not sheep.
Cain, Rowan, Maverick, and naturally, Jason, also grace me with their presence, along with a few guys I can't stand—Christoph Billington, Martin Lee, and a couple of guys I can't name off the top of my head. The girls wouldn't be caught dead in a small, traditional Italian restaurant that's never been mentioned in any fashionable magazine if Their Majesties hadn't dragged them here.
I plaster my best smile on my face, swallowing any hint of humiliation at serving fellow students at my school.
"Hey, my name is Nadia, and I'll be your waitress today." I beam, wanting to stab myself. Or maybe just stab Jason. I'd be good with that.
Knowing he's doing this on purpose, to see how I react, infuriates me a lot more than when I had no clue what was going on.
Like, how dare he? Seriously. I call bullshit. He's decided he wants to figure out if I fit into his world, without even asking me whether I have any interest of being part of it.
Newsflash, asshole: I don't. And also, you suck. And you smell.
Exquisite. You smell fucking exquisite.
Which doesn't matter. No one cares about Jason Alden's custom cologne.
"Can I get you anything to drink?"
Jason's eyes cut to me and he smiles. "Hi, Nadia. I'll have a glass of wine, if you would."
I could roll my eyes. He's eighteen. Which would be just fine if we were in Italy, but we aren't, so, he can fuck all the way off. I'm not getting fined for serving a minor, thanks.
His pointed stare tells me he's basically guessing every single one of my thoughts right now. He's waiting for my reaction, weighing it, assessing it. I expect he's ready for a conflict. I have no doubt if I ask for an ID, he'd provide one with the right date of birth, stumping me.
