Elle reached for the door and locked it.
She appreciated what he had done for her. What he was still doing, never mind how disgusting it obviously was for him to stick around her, but he exasperated her. It was his black-and-white, unbending attitude. His arrogant superiority. His my-way-or-the-highway. That air about him that demanded obedience.
“Five, six, seven. Let’s shake those booties, ladies,” Dolores screamed as hip-hop blasted from the speakers. She loved loud music and flashy lights. Part of the sexy experience, she always said.
Before the first song was over, Jack was at the door, trying to open it. Elle could pinpoint with maddening accuracy the second it dawned on him that it was locked because his icy-cold eyes flashed with fury.
She turned to him and with an I-told-you-so smile, waved at him. She would have thrown an air-kiss his way, but she wasn’t sure the glass door would hold if he rammed it, so she refrained.
Dolores was a stickler for punctuality—a fact that had landed Elle in trouble many times—and hated people coming late or interrupting, so she ignored Jack, which suited Elle just fine.
Through the glass she watched as he reached for his pocket and took one of those antacids he seemed to gobble nonstop. He might have looked tense before, but now it was much worse. The vein at his temple was about to burst and he was grinding his teeth.
Screw him. His fault.
For a whole hour, Jack stood in front of the glass walls, his arms crossed, his eyes spitting fire while Elle did her damnedest to make him pay.
He was sweating more than she was, especially when she did the floor movements. She could swear his muscles had increased in size, his silhouette big and ominous. The few men who dared to brave Jack’s threatening demeanor didn’t even get close enough to see too much. Jack made sure of it.
Once the class was over and the girls started marching out, she expected Jack to rush inside but he didn’t. He waited for her, immobile, his expression inscrutable.
She walked past him, trying to hide her smug expression, but failed miserably. “I saw you at the door. Would you have wanted to join us after all?”
He remained quiet, but it cost him a hell of a lot, she could tell. His knuckles were white, his jaw about to split.
They walked to the truck in silence. The engine roared to life.
“Don’t you fucking ever lock a door on me.”
She lifted her eyebrow, dying to tell him he was dreaming, but she refrained and went back to fiddling with the radio.
“Can I tempt you? I make a mean mojito and you look like you need one,” Paige said, the bottle of white rum in her hands.
Jack didn’t need a mojito; he needed a whole bunch of them, but he shook his head. He’d seen the results of Paige’s mojitos many times. Besides, he was still supposed to drive. Elle had some sort of unplug session or low-key jam or whatever the fuck she’d called it after working at Rosita’s.
If this was what Elle understood by keeping things to a minimum, he didn’t dare speculate what her normal day was like. Crazy running from one place to another until she crumpled exhausted into bed, he bet.
Not that she wasn’t enjoying putting him through the wringer, because she so obviously was. Like the twerking shit this morning. Man, oh man, that had been fucking torture.
“Hard day?” Paige asked with a smirk. “Wednesday is twerking day.”
She was trying not to laugh.
“If it is any consolation, she goes out of her way to bug you. Most guys only get indifference. Or mild interest at best. You must be doing something right.”
How sick was it that Paige’s statement felt good?
It was past twelve and the last customer had left five minutes ago, so when the front door opened, Jack turned immediately.
In came an almost seven-foot, two-hundred-fifty-pound Japanese American guy with Yakuza-looking tattoos coming out of the T-shirt collar and peeking from the leather jacket sleeve.
Kai.
“What are you doing here?” Jack asked in a growl.
“Came for Elle. Is she around?”
“She went upstairs to get ready,” Paige offered.
“Right. I’ll wait.”
Fantastic; this day couldn’t get better.
Kai and Jack went back a long way, but there was no love lost between them. They had their brushes when both had been young and stupid and Kai was doing something much more dangerous than tattooing people. And far more illegal.
He admired how Kai had managed to change his life and extricate himself from his family, but that didn’t mean he liked Kai. He didn’t. And that he had had some kind of relationship with Elle, or maybe still had, didn’t help matters in the slightest.
Paige noticed the tension in the air and without even trying to make small talk, she got busy clearing the counter. Clever girl.