Chapter Two
Renata
The guy is wearing all black leather. I watch warily as he walks towards me with sure steps. He claws a hand through his blonde hair, further messing it up. Blue eyes survey me with a twinkle as he comes to a stand in front of me and gives me a lazy smile. "Hey!"
I reply with a tentative smile. Without another word, he plops into the empty seat in front of me and immediately begins grumbling about something to do with a woman. He sounds like he's rehearsing for a soap opera.
Somehow, my eyes drift back to the green-eyed stranger but he's already watching me, a wide smirk lining his lips. At this moment, I realize I'm impulsive and stubborn to a fault, and before common sense kicks in, I fill my glass and raise it. "Cheers to not being interested," I say to him.
A flaming tongue.
A shuddering breath.
An erratic heartbeat. . .
My eyes sting. My teeth shatter.
A chest, so fiery, it's like I swallowed a damn volcano.
I'm trying to keep it together, but even a blind man can spot my struggle. Oh, hell no, I won't let out even a squeak.
My eyes water but I hold down that man's stare like a queen sitting on her throne, ready to execute the worst of traitors.
Something blazes in his eyes.
Something hauntingly familiar.
Something alive. Hungry.
And then, just like that—it vanishes.
He seems to shut down, boredom washing over him like a tidal wave. He breaks our stare, and only then do I dare to exhale the whoosh I've been holding. My tongue has cooled, and the inferno in my stomach has abated.
Dammit.
What kind of poison did waiter boy serve me?
I glance down and my jaw drops.
Scotch.
Freaking scotch.
I ordered wine, not this.
I whip my head around, scanning for the culprit, ready to unleash a torrent of words on his backstabbing self.
"Are you even listening to me?"
I look into blue eyes that are assessing me with a mixture of upset and irritation. I'd completely forgotten all about Leather guy sitting in front of me.
Seeing as he's gotten my attention, he resumes whatever he was saying. "I think Arlene is cheating on me." I blink slowly, trying to process this drama unfolding before me.
When he registers my stare, he leans in, all intense and broody. "I'm positive, Ree. I've been calling her number back to back for the past twenty minutes, and. . ."
He stops when he notices the way I'm staring at him.
This man definitely knows who I am, and wait. . . he mentioned a name.
"What did you call me just now?"
He gapes at me like I sprouted an extra head, then he sighs like I'm the biggest inconvenience in his life. "Out of everything I just spilled, that's what you focus on?"
I slide forward, mimicking his pose, inches away. "What. Did. You. Call. Me?"
Eye-roll of the century from him, then he huffs out a breath. "I usually call you Ree, short for Renata." He shrugs, leaning back with a twinkle in his eye like he's just dropped a bombshell.
R.e.n.a.t.a.
I roll the name in my mouth like it's a fine wine. I can't help but grin. "So you're telling me --?"
"Unless you've changed your identity between yesterday and now, yes, your name is Renata." He leans in again, anticipation radiating off him. "Now, can we get back to my life unraveling? Arlene—my girlfriend—won't answer my calls, and I'm convinced she's playing around."
Just as I'm about to sink into the juicy gossip of his melodrama, someone coughs to steal my attention. We both look up to find Waiter boy hovering like an unwanted ghost. My glee at having a name knowledge deflates, replaced by irritation. I clear my throat, ready to roast him alive. "How dare you serve me something different from what I—?"
My voice falters as he hands me a receipt. I gulp, my throat constricting like I just swallowed a rock. I look down at the one thousand-dollar bottle of scotch that almost turned me into a fire-breathing dragon.
I immediately reach for my purse, but retrace my hand when I remember that my phone is the only thing inside it.
"Dude, you did NOT just buy a whole bottle of scotch," Leather jacket guy exclaims as he picks up the scotch. It looks like his eyebrows are trying to escape his forehead with how surprised he looks.
I look at him and let out a nervous laugh. "In all fairness, I asked for wine?" I lean closer, practically invading his personal space, and whisper, "Please tell me you have some money to pay?"
"Me?" He squeaks like a bird caught in a trap. "No. There's no ME here. You did this all on your own. You called me to join you here. I thought you were gonna pay for our drinks. Now, I come here to find you causing absolute chaos? Seriously, Renata, how are you gonna get out of this one?"
Well, well, well, Leather guy is full of surprises. It dawns on me that we aren't dating, but we are definitely close. Thank goodness for that first fact because the thought of dating someone like him is as appealing as licking a cactus.
Second, there's no way he'd let me go to jail over the one-thousand-dollar tab I racked up. He might be an annoying ass, but at least he has a heart buried somewhere beneath that leather jacket . . . hope.
Oh, and third, why in the world am I inside this high-scale bar?
Do I not have money?
Am I broke?
This whole mess is clearly Mr. Green Eyes' fault, I surmise.
Yeah, right, like he twisted your arm into ordering an overpriced drink with a name you can't even pronounce. A voice in my head chimes in with its harsh reality check.
I push it aside, sending an accusatory glare at the handsome troublemaker.
His eyes are already on me, a full-blown smirk anchored on his devilishly handsome face. Damn it, why does he have to look so good while I'm in crisis mode?
Still holding my gaze, he casually beckons the waiter, who makes an impatient sound in the back of his throat before striding away. Like, really?
"Oh, you're in deep shit now," Leather guy intones with a flair for the dramatic. "That dude looks like a million bucks and then some. Maybe he's going to pay for your bills?" A glint of mischief lights up his eyes.
Rolling my eyes with an exaggerated flair, I'm nearing the end of my patience with him not standing up for me. He's going to know it too. I turn to him, ready to unleash my feelings like a hurricane, when Waiter boy struts back, clearing his throat once again, as if that can somehow salvage my dignity.
If I had a dime for every time he cleared his throat beside me, I'd probably be running this joint myself. I close my eyes, gathering my thoughts, and then open them like a determined warrior before looking at him, "Look, I'll pay, alright? I just—"
"Mr. Ricci has so kindly decided to waive your bill," the Waiter boy says in a haughty tone. His voice dips. "I would advise that next time you waltz into a fine establishment such as this, make sure you have some cash."
With that, he struts off like he owns the place, leaving me speechless. I open my mouth, hoping for a comeback, but nothing makes it out. Typical. I close my mouth and shake my head in disbelief. Leather-jacket guy, for once, has chosen silence, but I can practically feel his inner monologue brewing.
I can't bring myself to look at him, and I definitely don't want to glance at Mr. Ricci, aka Mr. Green Eyes, because let's be real, he's the root of this mess. Defeated, I focus on the table and mutter, "Let's just go."
I stand up, not bothering to wait for the leather-clad distraction to follow. I hear shuffling behind me—oh, great he's decided to tag along. I bolt for the main entrance and slip outside, finally allowing myself a breath of relief.
That sigh is short-lived, though, because the chaos of honking cars and chattering people crashes into my ears like a bad party I never wanted to attend. I know I should be a rational human being, but all I can do is speed walk away from the noise like it's trying to swallow me whole.
"Hey, wait up!" Leather guy wheezes from behind me. "Geez, Ree, I'm not exactly training for a marathon here—slow your roll!"
Who does this guy think he is? My personal cheerleader?
Before I can voice my thoughts, he chimes in, "And just so you don't question why you put up with me, remember—I'm your best friend. The only one you've got."
Wow, way to lay it on thick, buddy. His words hit me like a ton of bricks—everything that's happened lately is just too much to deal with. Suddenly, I'm busting up in loud, racking sobs that can rival a soap opera.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," Leather guy says, awkwardly holding my shoulders and pulling me into a bear hug. Great, just what I need—a group therapy session on the sidewalk.
I pull back a bit, peering up at him with my tear-streaked lashes. "It's not okay! Something's happening to me. I don't remember... hic... you. I don't... hic... even remember... hic... my name!"
He falls silent for what feels like an eternity, which is odd given that he usually has more commentary than a reality TV host. When I think he might never respond, he finally sighs and cups my face in his hands. "It's probably nothing to worry about. I think it's just temporary amnesia." He shrugs. "You've been stressed lately, and—"
"Stressed?" My ears perk up, practically electric now.
"Yeah, you know. . . " He waves his hands around - as if that should unlock my lost memories - and gives me a lopsided grin, as if that would solve everything. "I know this woman --- a psychic. She's pretty good at unlocking repressed memories. What do you say we—"
Oh great, a psychic. What's next? A crystal ball and a fortune cookie?
"No!" I back away from him as if he's suddenly sprouted horns and shake my head emphatically.
Something about what he said rubs me the wrong way—no, scratch that. It grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
"What's wrong?" He follows me, practically inviting me to retreat into his personal space bubble.
"It's nothing," I shrug, tossing my hair over my shoulder in an exaggerated fashion. "Just like you said—temporary amnesia. I'm sure it'll all come flooding back any second now."
I plaster on a wobbly smile. We lock eyes, he looking all furrowed and intense, and those hands of his—they're back around my face again. His gaze has that glazed look like he's about to deliver a speech, and then his bottom lip parts.
He flicks out his tongue and slicks it across his lip.
I'm still trying to navigate this confusing mental maze when suddenly, someone shrieks. I mean, it's theater-level shrieking.
"Liam! Liam!"
And then—boom! A bull, no, scratch that—a raging freight train of a woman bulldozes right into me.
All I know is I'm suddenly flat on my back, head spinning fast, and my behind is numb. I blink up and see a short woman with long dark hair, clutching Leather-jacket guy—Liam—with a look that can melt steel.
She shoots daggers at me before redirecting her intense gaze back to Liam, cradling his head in her hands like he's the last potted plant in her apartment. "Are you hurt, sweetie?"
Liam glances my way, and I can practically see the emotions colliding in his eyes. Alarm? Okay, I get it. Pity? Sure, I can take that. But then there is something else—something deeper—and heaven knows I don't want to unpack that baggage. So, I promptly look away and jump up.
"Are you hurt?" Liam is all up in my space again, reaching out like he's about to give me the world's most awkward pep talk. I recoil quickly.
"I'm fine." My voice comes out hoarse. "It's fine."
He shoots a glare at the short, venomous version of a social media troll standing next to him, who is still fixated on me like I'm a bug under her shoe. And then it clicks. This is Arlene, his girlfriend. Oh great, she probably thinks we were plotting some escape together.
"Arlene, apologize immediately to Renata," Liam commands, full-on hero mode.
Arlene rolls her eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't get stuck. She saunters right up to him, invading his personal space like it's her right. "I didn't do anything. Let's go. Remember, we have a reservation at Kent."
She raises a long red fingernail, trailing it down his neck like she's marking her territory.
Liam turns back to me, and I flash a smile. "It's alright, you can go."
Arlene is already dragging him away like a hunting trophy, but Liam holds his ground and comes back to me. "Here's your purse, Ree. Your phone is inside. My number is saved in your contact list as Liam. That's my name, by the way."
He tries to crack a smile like he's some clown, expecting a laugh in return. But when I don't deliver, he coughs, nods, and retreats.
Call me, he mouths, and I nod, turning away. I have no intention of sticking around to catch another dose of Arlene's venomous glare. Ugh, drama much?
As I start to walk away, my phone buzzes in my purse. I check it, expecting a banal notification, but instead, it's a text from an unknown number.
"I'm watching you, Renata. You can't run forever."
I freeze, the weight of the message crashing down on me like a ton of bricks. What have I gotten myself into?