Casting Stones (Stones Duet #1) Page 5

  As the sun begins to set, I’m satisfied with the work I’ve done. Another sixteen pages of my paper is another sixteen pages closer to the end. I close my laptop and set it down. My body is achy and my shoulders hurt from hunching over for so long. I stand and stretch my arms way above my head, letting out an obnoxiously loud, God-awful yawn mingled with the words, “Shit, I’m tired.”

  “Hey there,” I turn to see Mr. Abercrombie model standing there shirtless, looking at me with sweat dripping down his perfect face.

  I realize immediately just how loud I actually was.

  “Was that you?” he asks with a laugh and I want to smack myself for liking the sound of it. I want to gouge my eyes out for looking down at his shorts, wondering how big his junk is.

  Annoyed I ask, “Was what me?”

  “That loud yawn.”

  I roll my eyes at his playful expression. “What? Country club girls don’t yawn? I bet they don’t fart either.”

  “What?” he chuckles as he slides the white T-shirt on, covering his bare chest, leaving his short, dirty blond hair a sexy mess. Instantly, I’m saddened by the inability to look at his nakedness or check out the tattoos I noticed. I force my damn eyes to look anywhere but at him.

  “Nothing.” I mutter.

  “Do you mind if I sit?” he pants, pointing to the bench. He’s actually waiting for me to reply. Most guys would just plop themselves down.

  “Last time I checked it was a free country so you can do whatever you want.”

  A look of complete confusion stretches across his face. “Have I offended or insulted you in some way?”

  “No,” I huff with a sharp tone that implies he can’t offend or insult me.

  “Are you sure?” he teases.

  “Yep. I’m sure.”

  His handsome face pulls into a grin. “So you’re just always this bitchy?”

  Now I am insulted and I want to hit him. “I’m not bitchy.”

  “Listen, I have a sister so I know bitchy and you are definitely bitchy.”

  “Whatever.” His comment makes me want to smile, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

  “Do you have your period or something? Do you need some chocolate?” He smirks.

  “What?” I bellow as my eyes bulge and nearly fall out of my face. The nerve of this guy! Who asks that question anyway?

  “Relax! I’m just kidding around. C’mon, you have to admit, I almost got a little smile out of you.” His eyes match the boyish grin on his tanned face.

  Stupid laughter, laughter that betrays the look on my face, slips through as I open my mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be bitchy. I’ve just got a lot going on.”

  “Apology accepted.” The blue in his eyes shines brighter as he sits back.

  I smirk and shake my head in disbelief at his audacity as I shove the rest of my papers into my bag before slinging it over my shoulder diagonally.

  “Oooh, that looks bad.” He eyes my forearm, making me unroll the long sleeve quickly.

  “It’s fine.”

  “What happened? Did you get into a fight with the coffee machine?” he asks, struggling to conceal another smile.

  “Yeah, something like that.” I pick up my bike and for some stupid reason, I stand there and look at him. “I’ll see you around.” I think my shocked expression matched his, each of us surprised by my words.

  “I’d like that.”

  I adjust the backpack as I shift my weight with one foot on the pedal.

  “Hey,” he calls.Again, I have to suppress this unfamiliar feeling racing through my body at the sound of his voice. “If you ever want to hang out or talk, I’m here… free of charge. Tips are optional.”

  I toss back a fake smile and give a “thumbs up” before I continue to ride out of the park.

  MY MOUTH DROPS open and I widen my eyes as I blink rapidly, attempting to put mascara on. Why couldn’t my mother give me her long eyelashes instead of her big, curvy ass? I hope it’s not too hot out or else I’ll look like a drowned raccoon with circles under my eyes by the time I meet my advisor for our weekly meeting. I flutter my eyes in the mirror and freeze when her soft cries combined with my name startle me.

  “Shhhh…you’re okay.” I smooth away the hair from her face. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.” I glance down at my mother and sigh heavily; sometimes my heart feels heavy at the sight of her so broken and helpless. Other times, I want to slap her across the face for the choices she’s made.

  “I’ll be back later this afternoon.” I close her bedroom door and walk down the narrow hallway. The bowl of soggy Ramen noodles is still on the kitchen counter where I left it before I went to bed. I wonder if she even noticed that I was gone all day yesterday.She used to make an attempt to sit by the window to listen to the chimes of the church bells welcoming all into the God’s house. I remember walking past the church on Sunday mornings, wishing I could be like all the other little girls who wore pretty dresses. My mother would squeeze my hand tightly and tell me that God didn’t love girls like us.

  As I ride my bike through the narrow alley, I sigh with relief upon seeing the bags of garbage from last week have been removed; only the vile stench remains.

  “You’re here early,” Lenny says as he helps me wheel my bike into the tight space behind the dumpster door.

  “Couldn’t sleep. And besides I owed you one from last week. You know I hate to be late.”

  “Did you have a good weekend?”

  “Same as usual.” I shrug.

  “Remy.” There’s a hint of sadness in his voice.

  “I’m good, Len.” I lie through my smile as I tighten the black apron around my waist and head up front to brew a pot of coffee.

  Jenna arrives twenty minutes after I do and goes about refilling ketchup bottles and setting up tables for the Monday morning rush.

  Every time I open my mouth to tell her that I ran into Mr. Abercrombie at the park yesterday, nothing comes out. I can’t help wonder if there’s really anything to tell. I guess some rich guys can be a little nice sometimes.

  6:08, in he walks, all freshly showered, smooth faced wearing black dress pants and a white button down shirt and looking sexy as hell. I wonder if his girlfriend irons his clothes or maybe his wife does it for him. The thought makes me want to gag, but instead I roll my eyes.

  “Good morning,” he greets me as he sits.

  I offer a tight-lipped “Morning” in return.

  “Coffee and a muffin?” I ask evenly.

  “Please.” He smiles, revealing a small dimple in his right cheek.

  I pour a cup of coffee for him. “So I guess you’re not hungover today.”

  He sips the hot black coffee and coughs, his lips forming an O. “What?”

  “Weren’t you hungover the other day?” I ask even though it’s none of my business. After all, what I do is none of anyone else’s business either.

  “Yeah.” He looks down as his tanned cheeks flush with embarrassment.

  I place the blueberry muffin in front of him, grab the butter knife, and slice it right in half just like he does every time.

  “Thanks.” He looks up from the muffin and smiles. There’s a slight hesitation before he asks what my name is.

  I point to my name tag pinned to my white polo shirt. “Can’t you read?”

  His eyes roam around my shirt before settling on my boobs, which continued to grow throughout my teenage years even after the rest of me stopped growing.

  “You don’t…”

  “Eyes up here, buddy,” I say sternly.

  “But…” He reaches forward as if he’s going to touch me and then pulls back.

  “Don’t touch me! Keep your damn hands to yourself.” I raise my voice and cause the other people sitting along the counter to look over. No one touches me without permission. Ever. The mere thought of a man’s unwanted hands on my breasts makes the hair on my neck stand and my back stiffen.

  “Everything all right out there?
” Lenny asks from the food window.

  Mr. Abercrombie’s hands fly up, palms facing out as he displays his innocence. “Whoa…easy there, I wasn’t going to touch you.”

  I narrow my eyes and turn back to Lenny who’s asked the question now for the second time. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “You’re not wearing a name tag. That’s all.”

  “What?” I drop my eyes to my chest where my name tag should be but isn’t. “Oh…sorry,” I mutter to hide my overreaction. I inhale briefly and smile, hoping it will serve as a peace offering for my abrupt change in behavior.

  “Remy. My name’s Remy.”

  Mr. Abercrombie extends his hand carefully. Even his blue eyes are filled with reservation.

  “Shane.”

  So Mr. Abercrombie even has an All-American, Abercrombie name. Great. I slip my hand into his and as much as I hate to admit it, I like the way his hand feels around mine. There’s a soft current that flows between our touch and I feel my skin prickle.

  “Shane,” I whisper his name. “I’ve never met someone with your name before.” Most men I’ve ever known were called John.

  “And I’ve never met someone named Remy,” he counters. “Is that a family name or something?”

  “Yeah, something like that.” I shrug.

  “Well, enjoy your breakfast.” I turn away and serve the other customers once their orders have been called.

  Jenna takes care of him the rest of the time before he pays his bill and leaves without so much as a goodbye. I know I’m stupid to feel a little hurt, but I do.

  “You totally like him.” Jenna snickers in my ear as she wipes the counter off.

  “He’s nice.” I admit quietly, feeling my cheeks heat up. “He’s kind of cute.” Cute isn’t how I would describe the man I get naked with in my dreams.

  “Oh my God, listen to you! I swear to God, I’m giving you a week. If you don’t let him know you’re interested, I’m going for it!” she warns.

  “Do whatever you want. I don’t have time to date anyone.” The sad truth of my life hits like a wrecking ball. Even if I were interested in dating someone, no man goes to the back of the store to rummage through the damaged goods. They go to the top of the line where the name brands are. You get what you pay for, don’t you?

  “Who said anything about dating?” Jenna’s backside juts out as she starts to twerkand gyrate with her hands raised high in the air.

  “Cut it out, Jenna!” Lenny yells through the window.

  “Yeah, Jenna! Cut it out!” I agree, sticking my tongue out at her. But the thought of running my hands over his sweaty chest has, on more than one occasion, sent me on a wild and frenzy search to extinguish the buzzing flesh between my legs.

  “FOR THOSE OF you starting your second internship next semester, you should plan to devote much of your free time to reading and getting yourself acquainted with your cases. This is not to be taken lightly. For many of you, this may be the only chance you get to prove yourselves.” David’s voice floats through the lecture hall to the class of twenty two students, but I know he is focused on me. Message is received, David— loud and clear.

  “What crawled up his ass?” Simon asks as he slings his messenger bag around his body.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him much this week.”

  The look Simon gives me is one of incredulity; he knows how close David and I used to be. “You’re so full of shit.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Yeah, okay…Goldilocks.” With quick fingers, Simon musses my hair and teases me, calling me by my childhood nickname.

  “Jerk!” I slap his hand away, laughing at the memory of us fighting as kids.

  “Remy, I need to see you in my office,” David’s stern words wipe the smile from my face.

  I glance up at him and realize that it’s not a request. “Sure. Give me a few minutes.”

  David acknowledges Simon with a brief nod and then leaves the large room. The air temperature just dropped to sub-zero freezing.

  “You’re in trouble,” Simon sings through a chuckle. “Better you than me.”

  “Shut up,” I bump into his shoulder, causing him to lose his footing and knock into Magda. The Indian girl huffs loudly, rolls her eyes and once again calls him an asshole as she bends to pick up her strewn papers.

  “Sorry, Magda,” I apologize to her.

  “Whatever. I don’t understand how you two are in this program. You don’t take anything seriously. I’m sure your Mommy and Daddy are enjoying seeing their money go to waste. How much did they pay for your internship?”

  “What did you say?” I seethe as my eyes bulge and then narrow at her ignorant comment.

  “I saw the list. It appears that you both are applying for the best internships in Boston. I wonder how that happened.” She breezes past me before I have a chance to defend myself or correct her obvious misinterpretation of who I am.

  “Leave it alone, Rem.”

  “Leave it alone? She basically called me a spoiled brat who lives off of my parents’ money!”

  My phone signals an incoming text.

  “That’s not too far from the truth, babe.” Simon replies as I reach into my back pocket for my phone.

  “Oh, yes, that right! I forgot what a charmed life I’ve lived. See you later, asshole.” I blow a kiss in his direction before I walk toward the building where David’s office is.

  I raise my hand to knock on the heavy wooden door that’s slightly ajar, but decide to wait when I hear whispered voices.

  “We will soon. I promise.”

  “Thank you,” a woman’s voice purrs.

  When I realize the sound of their footsteps are coming closer, I retreat quickly and sit in the metal folding chair.

  A woman steps through the door and smiles tightly at me. “Remy.”

  I rise quickly and stand to greet her. I don’t know who she is; I’m surprised she knows my name. “Hi,” I squeak awkwardly to the dark-skinned beautiful and statuesque woman who exudes an aura of confidence and elegance.

  David stands beside her and places a hand on her back. “Remy. This is Dr. Chanel Taylor. Chanel, this is Remy Scott.”

  A long, well-manicured hand extends, offering a firm grip when I accept it. I suddenly feel self-conscious about my short unpainted nails. I pull my eyes from our clasped hands to find a smile across her face.

  “Hi, Dr. Taylor.”

  “Please call me Chanel. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  I grin and flash my eyes to David playfully. “Don’t believe a word he says.”

  “He speaks very highly of you.”

  I turn my eyes away to hide the moment of embarrassment. Some people accept compliments easily; I do not. The compliments I usually garner are about my body, particularly my ass and boobs. “Thank you.” I meet her inquisitive eyes again.

  “Well, I’ll leave you two alone. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  Chanel smiles warmly and leans in to kiss David’s cheek. There is no denying the fact that something is going on between them. That kiss was no friendly kiss goodbye; it was a promise of things to come. I stand there awkwardly, feeling like a third wheel until she nods, turns and walks down the long corridor into her own office.

  I close the door to David’s office and follow him to the leather couch that sits in front of a huge bookcase filled with rows and rows of books. I take a moment to appreciate his calm yet confident demeanor as he sits and crosses his legs. With a head full of jet black hair, the subtle hint of grey around his temples is the only sign of his age. He’s maintained his body, keeping it fit and trim like he always has.

  I want so much to ask him about Chanel and the reason behind the slight smirk on his face, but when we speak at the same time, his tone is more reserved and I immediately realize it’s business as usual.

  “So, Remy, tell me. How are things this week?” The way in which he asks softly
, without the hint of judgment, reminds me of a therapist.

  I shrug, annoyed at his question and his tone. “They’re okay. I’m managing.”

  Hazel eyes behind square- framed glasses see through my lie. “What can I do to help?”

  I scrub my hands over my face and freeze immediately when I realize that I’ve just rubbed my mascara-covered lashes. “Goddammit.”

  Here comes the judgment at my slight use of a vulgar word. “Sweetheart, don’t take God’s name in vain and don’t use foul language. You’re too beautiful to use those words. Tell me, what can I do for you?”

  I roll my eyes dramatically. “You do realize I’m not a child, don’t you? And for the record, ‘Goddammit’ hardly qualifies as a curse.”

  “It is to God. And I’m well aware that you’re an adult, but it doesn’t change the fact that I will always look out for you or reprimand you when you act like a child.” I suppress the chuckle that is trapped in my mouth. Reprimand me? His formality drives me crazy sometimes, but that’s just his way. It’s who he is.

  “So tell me. What can I do to help you?”

  “Wanna give me an A on my paper? How about you give me a million dollars? I know, you could give me a new mother or maybe a father who gives a shit about me, or even better yet, how about a new life!” The cynicism is clear in my voice even through my feigned laughter.

  He bristles at my outburst. “Remington, language!” He leans forward until he has my full attention. “Listen to me. You can do this. I know you can. For as long as I’ve known you, you have been a fighter not a quitter. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

  I look up and meet his serious gaze. Hazel eyes are filled with deep care and concern. I exhale slowly and close my eyes because I don’t want to see the disappointment that I’ve seen so many times before. Disappointment for words of deceit. Disappointment for poor choices. Disappointment for empty promises. And I know if I were completely honest with him, he wouldn’t understand. The world is not black and white as he thinks it is; there are so many shades of grey. If I could just tell David what I’m doing and the reason for it, I know he would argue that there has to be another way. Lord knows I don’t want to keep doing what I’m doing, but right now, I don’t really have much of a choice.