Friction(33)

"Ass," I mutter through a smile, and I send her emoji back to her.

I take another bite of my pizza just as the kids on the pinball machine give up on it and race across the restaurant, their pockets jingling, to join their parents. Another text vibrates my phone, but my heart stutters when I look down and see that this one isn't from Jamie, it's from my boss.

He's sent me the name of a bar—The Mission Tap House—the address, and a brief message.

Don't stand me up, Williams.

I leave the pizzeria twenty minutes later reminding myself that Ash will be with us. And if Ash is there, absolutely nothing can go wrong.



When I worked at WLC, I often joined my colleagues for drinks at a bar a couple of blocks from our building. One of the things that had always stood out to me was that everyone, except for the bartenders, was all dressed up in their suits and ties or their sheath dresses and four-inch designer pumps. The atmosphere at that bar—The Oasis—was like our office: Strictly business, but with a splash of overpriced booze.

As I stand in the doorway of the address Jace sent me, chewing a piece of cinnamon gum to rid myself of the dreaded pizza breath and perusing the crowd in search of a familiar face, I instantly realize The Mission Tap House is a one-eighty from The Oasis.

While I'm still wearing my work clothes—a ruffle collar green blouse, high-waisted black skirt, and green velvet pumps—most of the other patrons are in jeans and tee shirts. I’m overdressed. Buttoned-up, per Jace's observation a couple of weeks before. I strongly consider backing up, making a hasty exit and letting him assume the worst. Hell, my hand is already on the door handle.

But then my hazel gaze locks with the silvery-blue irises that have become a daily fixture in my life. Jace is sitting at a tall table a few feet away from the bar with Ash and a curvy strawberry blonde in a blue midriff bodycon shirt and jeans. Her curvy body is angled toward Ash, but when Jace's lips move, she leans back and delivers a sharp blow to his forearm, rolling her heavily-lined eyes up toward the ceiling. He doesn't notice because his stare only wavers from mine for a split second, and that’s to wander over my body like it’s the first time he’s seen me all day.

"Come here," he mouths.

My breath quickens, and I cast another glance at the exit. If I leave, he’ll give me hell on Monday, but maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—

But then I look at him again, he crooks his finger, motioning me to join them, and I move in his direction. My heart slams into my ribcage with every step I take. By the time I reach the table, my chest is sore from the pressure, and I grip the back of the empty chair to steady myself.

"Whoa! She made it," Ash chuckles and tips his drink to his mouth. Based on his ruddy cheeks, I can tell he's tossed back a couple too many already. The woman reaches over to him and ruffles his shoulder-length hair. He catches her fingers in his and plants a kiss in the center of her palm, which spreads a flush across her cheeks. "I've never been one to turn down gambling, so Jace bet me twenty bucks you'd bail. Glad to see this fucker will be treating us all to drinks."

His eyes still glued to me, Jace reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a brown leather wallet. "Don't worry, I'll have Daisy take it out of your pay." He rifles through the bills before withdrawing twenty dollars and tossing it in Ash's direction. The bill flutters to the table between the blonde's water and her tiny clutch. She snatches it up, holding it high to examine it under the light dangling over our heads.

"You’ve got to watch Jace, he'll sneak you Monopoly money and you'll be too drunk to notice," she states, and Jace tells her she's full of shit. Handing Ash's winnings over to him, she winks at me as I readjust my pencil skirt, so it won't rip right down the seam when I sit down. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jace scooting toward me. He leans forward slightly, so that his body is closer to mine, and it takes all my self-control not to turn into him.

"I'm Gwendolyn Exley, Jace's cousin,” the blonde says.

"And my DD." Ash clears a good amount of his dark amber beer and wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He gives me a moment to introduce myself to Gwendolyn then he slides Jace's money across the table to me. "For the sweetest shark I’ve ever met because nobody—nobody—should go thirsty on a Friday night."

Other than my first day in the workshop, Ash has spent the majority of the last couple weeks working in silence with only his music as company. At first, I was worried that he was offended by me, but Daisy promised that's just his personality—he's quiet and just likes to get his work done. To see him drinking and talking so much makes me pause, and I momentarily forget that Jace’s blue gaze is burning into the side of my face.

"Take it.” Ash groans when I don’t rush to pick up the money. “Because if you don't I'll have to buy myself more drinks. Do I look like I need another fucking drink?"

"I guess not." It sounds more like a question and concern drips from my tone. As I reach for the money, I open my mouth to add a thank you, but the hand on my forearm halts my words. A beat passes, then two more, before I move, and Jace’s fingertips skim an electrifying path from the inside of my wrist to the tips of my fingers as I pull away from him.

I meet his stare—and the half-smile he’s sending my way—and my head spins.