Falling for the Genie (Genie's Love, Book 1)

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Authors: Dee J. Stone

Falling for the Genie

 

By

Dee J. Stone

Copyright © 2015 Dee J. Stone.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to real life, movies, television, games, or books is entirely coincidental and was not intended by the author.

Chapter One

 

“Waitress? Over here, waitress,” the four teenage guys call and whistle from table number eight. I sigh and give my best friend Macy a look. She lifts an eyebrow.

“Take them,” I say.

She shakes her head. “No way. I served them yesterday. It’s your turn.”

I can’t argue with that. Those jerks gave her a hard time. “Why are sixteen-year-olds so annoying?” They’re only two years younger than us, but it feels like ten years.

“Believe me, they’re no better at our age,” Macy says. “Just take their orders and leave.”

Easier said than done. I sigh again and tuck my curly auburn hair behind my ears. Time to get this over with. Putting on a fake smile, I head over to their table. “What would you like to order?”

One of the guys, a redhead, scans my nametag longer than it should take. “Hello, Lily. What a nice name.”

I try not to roll my eyes. Did he forget he says that to me every time? “Do you want to hear the special?” I ask.

A blond winks. “I already see something special standing before me. How about you come meet me out back when you’re on your break?”

I tap my foot. “We have many people waiting for a table. Can you please order?”

The guys laugh loudly and eventually order, making sure to sneak in obnoxious remarks, which I ignore.

Screw this job. Except, I can’t. How else am I going to pay for culinary school? When I applied for a job here at Inferno—a restaurant known for serving spicy food—I wanted to work in the kitchen, but they wouldn’t hire me because I had no experience. The only other choice was to be a waitress. I took it because it was better than nothing. The more experience in a restaurant I can get, the better.

The guys laugh and whistle when I return with their food. The blond raises his eyebrows and points his thumb toward the back doors. I pretend he’s wallpaper.

When my shift is over, I go to the dumpster to throw out all the trash. A shadow sprints away. Looks like it was someone dumpster diving. We get that a lot.

I’m about to hurl the garbage into the dumpster when something shiny catches my attention. It’s buried deep inside, and I plow through all the smelly trash to get it out.

It’s a lamp. A golden lamp. Not the kind you’d have in your bedroom, but the kind from
Aladdin
. It looks similar to the genie’s lamp. It’s bigger than a football, and has these swirly designs all over that make it look exotic. Like something from a fairytale. Some kid must have had it for a Halloween costume and dropped it in here. It’s a shame to throw it out like that. It’s really a beautiful lamp, but I’m not going to keep it. I’ve learned to never take something from the trash, no matter how gorgeous it is.

I toss it back in the dumpster, except it won’t fall. My fingers are curled around the end of it, and no matter how many times I try to pry them off, it’s like they’re glued. What the hell? I shake my hand, but no luck. The thing won’t come off. Some kid must have put glue on it as a joke, and lucky me got caught. I’m having such an awesome day.

I look to my right and left. No one’s around. How ridiculous am I going to look when I walk into Inferno with a genie lamp attached to my hand? There’s no hiding it, so I figure I’ll just add this incident to the “sucky things that happened to Lily today” list.

When Macy sees me, she smiles. “Finally time to go home.”

I hold up my hand. “I found this in the dumpster. There must be glue on it or something. Can you help me get it off?”

Her eyebrows knit. “Get what off?”             

“The lamp.”

“What lamp?”

I stare at my hand. “The genie la—you don’t see it?”

She gives me a look like I fell from Mars. “All I see are fingers that need to be manicured.”

How can she not see the lamp? Am I completely losing it? I rub my eyes. The lamp is still there.

“Lily, you sure you’re okay?”

No. I’m not sure about anything. There
is
a lamp attached to my hand. I’m not crazy. Am I? “Yeah. Just tired,” I lie. “I need to go home. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Have you called your mom?”

“Twice, but no luck.”

Her face softens. She opens her mouth to say something, when I change the subject. “So what are your plans with Andy for tonight?”

Her boyfriend got an internship over the summer with a great company in Boston and is in New York for the weekend. He and Macy barely see each other.

She knows I don’t like to talk about my mom, and never pressures me. We’ve been friends since kindergarten, but after everything that happened four months ago, we’ve drifted apart. It’s my fault, not hers. She’s been trying really hard to be there for me, and I appreciate it. I just can’t deal.

“He’s going to surprise me,” she says with a smile.

“Have fun,” I say.

“Thanks. Are you absolutely sure you’re okay?”

I force a smile. “Totally.”

We hug before I leave the restaurant and walk through the July heat to my apartment. I live in Brooklyn, five blocks away from work. The people passing by don’t seem to notice anything wrong with my hand. Do they not see the lamp, either? I give it a tug to check if it’s real. It is. What the hell is wrong with me?             

After throwing my front door open, I go straight to my room for Vaseline. I put some on and try to yank my fingers off the lamp. They won’t budge. This is crazy. I’ll have no choice but to try to smash the thing. In the kitchen, I’m about to slam it down on the granite countertop, when it suddenly flies off my hand and drops to the floor. It rolls around like it has a mind of its own. A second later, smoke starts to shoot out of it. It’s so thick that it fills up my entire kitchen. It has a strong smell of exotic spices.

The smoke enters my lungs and I fall to my knees, clutching my chest and coughing.

“State your wish,” a voice says.

The smoke disappears from my lungs and I can breathe again. When I look up, I see a tall guy standing above me with his arms crossed over his chest. I scramble back. He looks about my age, has long dark hair that falls into his blue eyes and an expression of annoyance, yet respect at the same time. He has golden skin. My gaze dips to his chest. His naked golden chest. He has nothing on except for long, black pants. No shoes, either. My eyes spring back to his chest and my breath gets caught in my throat. He’s beautiful. Exotic looking.

“I said, state your wish.”

I tear my gaze off his chest, my cheeks warming up. “W…what?”

The smoke is completely gone from the kitchen. The lamp is still on the floor, but it’s no longer moving. Did this guy come from it?

“State your wish so I can get out of here.”

I get up. “Wish? What are you talking about?”

He makes a face like he’s done this a million times and is bored out of his mind. “You rubbed the lamp. I’m here to grant you three wishes.”

I back up into the counter behind me. I won’t believe this. I
can’t
. My head spins. “You’re a…genie?” That’s impossible. Genies don’t exist.

“Uh huh. Here to grant you three wishes. So let’s get this over with, Master.”

His chest gleams under the strong kitchen light. As he crosses and uncrosses his arms, his muscles flex.

He sighs loudly. “When you make up your mind, give the lamp a rub.” Smoke appears once again, surrounding him.

“Wait!”

But it’s too late. He’s gone.

Chapter Two

 

I pick the lamp off the floor and study it. Did a genie seriously come out of this? I’m losing my mind. I rub it, and just like before, smoke fills the room. It doesn’t choke me this time. The genie appears, annoyed. “Did you make up your mind?”

I hold up my finger. “One second. I need to make sure this is real.”

“Trust me, it’s real.” He waves his arms around, and the kitchen lights turn off, then back on. “Humans,” he mutters.

I’m
not
crazy. This person really is a magical genie who’s here to grant me three wishes. I just stare at him.

“And your wish is…?”

“I have a few questions first.”

He crosses his arms and his bangs fall into his eyes. “Don’t you all. Okay, what?”

“Where did you come from?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? You just appeared?”

“Yeah.”

“Are there more of you?” I ask.

“Not that I know of. Are you satisfied now?”

Satisfied? Excuse me for being curious. “Why are you so rude?”

He laughs bitterly. “Try living hundreds of years in a tiny lamp and serving ungrateful humans.”

Hundreds of years. He’s that old? I raise my hands defensively. “Sorry.”

He laughs again. “Don’t pity me.”

“I don’t pity you.”

“Are you going to wish?”

Not yet. I want to learn as much as I can about him. Also, if I really have three wishes, I need to make sure they’re exactly what I want. “Why couldn’t my friend see the lamp?”

He pushes the hair out of his eyes. “Because she’s not my master. Only my master can see me.”

Master. I don’t like the sound of that, and by the look on his face, I know he doesn’t, either. I don’t want to imagine what it’s been like for him, and I understand how frustrated he is, but he doesn’t have to be rude about it.

“Are you hungry?” I ask. Since I work at the restaurant, I’m allowed to take home food, but I rarely do. I like to cook.

“I don’t eat. Look, can you make your wishes so I could get out of this place?”

I rummage through my cabinets for a pot. “What happens when you leave?”

“You forget I ever existed and I stay in my lamp until my next master summons me.”

It makes sense that humans lose the memory of having a genie. “I don’t remember summoning anyone. I just found the lamp in a dumpster.”

He shrugs. “You rubbed the lamp. You summoned me.”

The person who I thought was dumpster diving must have been this genie’s previous owner. He probably didn’t know what to do with the lamp and threw it out.

I add water to the pot and start chopping vegetables for butternut squash soup. “So you basically go from master to master and you try to do so quickly.”

He nods.

“But then you don’t enjoy your time in the real world.”

He studies me. It’s like he’s looking through me.

I busy myself with the soup. “What can I possibly gain from your world?” he says after a few seconds.

I face him and find him watching me slice the vegetables. He looks interested at the way my hands are moving. “Our world is beautiful,” I tell him. Most of the time, anyway. “It must be ten times better than your lamp, right?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Do you want to help me chop?” I ask.

“Why?”

I shrug. “You look interested.”

He eyes the vegetables, then pulls his gaze away. “No, I don’t want to chop your human food. I want you to wish.”

“Is there a time limit?”

He shakes his head. “No, but wishes give me life, so you’ll have to wish at some point or I’ll die.”

“How long?”

“A while.”

“Is it okay if I take my time? I’d like to think this over carefully.”

He runs his hand through his hair. “Humans,” he mumbles. “Fine. I’ll be in my lamp.”

“Wait,” I say. He turns around. “Can you stay out here?”

My question seems to throw him off guard. “Why?”

“Doesn’t it get lonely in there?” I know I get lonely in this apartment.

He plops down on the floor and bangs his head against the wall. “I don’t feel emotions like humans do.”

I don’t think that’s true. I’ve known him for only a few minutes and can tell he’s interested in this world. He’s just too arrogant to admit it.

We’re quiet as I work on the soup. It smells wonderful, if I’m allowed to admit that. Genie is still on the floor, watching me.

“Do you have a name?” I ask.

“No.”

“That’s sad.”

He shrugs.

“Can you leave your lamp whenever you want or only when your master rubs it?” I ask.

“I can leave whenever I wish, but I can’t be too far from my lamp. And when my master summons me, I have to come. But if I don’t have a master, I can’t leave.”

“At least you have a little bit of freedom.”

He shrugs again.

It gets quiet. He looks at me from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, and I look at him. Neither of us utters a word.

An hour passes before the food’s ready. “Would you like to join me for dinner?” I ask.

His eyes don’t leave my face. “I told you I don’t eat.”

I’m not sure if I should be jealous. It’s awesome not to have to worry about gaining weight or food poisoning, but I can’t imagine not having the satisfaction that food brings.

“Okay. Are you just going to sit there?”

“You told me to stay out here, didn’t you?” His tone is still bitter, but not as bitter as before. Is he warming up to me? Nah, I’m imagining it. Though his eyes don’t seem so hostile.

“I don’t want to force you to do anything,” I say. “You can go back.”

“I’ll stay.”

I grab a bowl of soup and start eating, conscious of him watching me. When I look up, I find a curious expression on his face. “Are you sure you don’t want to try some? What happens if you eat, anyway? I mean, do you not have a stomach?”

“I don’t know.”

I want to know everything about him, but even he doesn’t know his own physiology. “How can you stand not knowing?”

He shrugs. “Things like that don’t interest me.”

“What interests you?” I bring my spoon to my mouth.

“At the moment, you do.”

My spoon freezes midair. My eyes slowly move to his. He has an intense look on his face.

“What’s so interesting about me?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant, when really my stomach is doing weird flips.

He gets to his feet and lowers himself onto the chair across from me. “You’re the first master to ask me to remain with you.”

“Don’t call me master, please.”

“But you’re my master.”

“I know, but I don’t exactly like that word. I mean, I’m not ruling over you and you’re not my servant.”

He leans back against the chair and laughs a little. “I
am
your servant. You are my master and I am your genie.” He bows his head. “Master.”

“My name is Lily Richards.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Lily…like a flower?”

I lower my eyes to my bowl. “My mother loved flowers. She named me and my older sister Daisy after her favorite kinds.”

His eyebrows scrunch. “Your family…why aren’t they here?”

I ignore the pang in my heart. “My mom lives in California. And my sister…” I swallow. “You don’t have a family, do you?”

He shakes his head. No wonder he’s so lonely—even though he won’t admit it, I know he is. He has no one. I place my hand on top of his that’s resting on the table. It’s so soft and warm. A small spark jolts throughout my body. He looks at my hand, then at me. I quickly remove it, my cheeks feeling hotter than a furnace.

I clear my throat. “Do you want to pick a name for yourself?

“Isn’t it normal for someone else to name you?”

I wave my hand. “Nah. Pick whatever you want.”

“Name me.” His eyes shine with excitement. It’s the first real emotion I’ve seen from him. So much for him claiming not to have any emotions.

I push some hair off my shoulder. Name him? It seems too…intimate. “I don’t know you. I don’t know what’ll fit you.”

“What’s your first impression of me? What do you see when you look at me?”

I gaze into his eyes. They’re so blue, super sexy compared to my dull brown ones. “I see a lonely guy with a hard shell who has a kind heart inside.”

“I’m not lonely. Why do you always pick on that?”

I play with the corner of the tablecloth, avoiding his eyes. “I’m lonely a lot.”

He’s quiet, and when I look at him, I see something flash across his face. I’m not sure what it is. Maybe sympathy. He doesn’t ask questions. Maybe he figures I don’t want to talk about it. He’s right.

“How about Sebastian?” he asks. “Do you like that name?”

“Do you?”

He nods. “I’d like your opinion on it, though.”

I smile. “I’ve always loved that name.”

“Then Sebastian it is.”

I smile again and the room grows silent.

“How old are you?” I ask after a bit. “Do you stay the same age?”

He tilts his head to the side. “I don’t have an age, but I’d guess somewhere around your age.”

“I’m eighteen.”

“Then I’m eighteen, too. And yes, I’ve always been this way.”

It’s nice to be young forever, but I wouldn’t want to live forever, not with all the pain I carry in my heart.

“You’re getting that look again,” he says.

“What look?”

He bends close, so close that our mouths are only a few inches apart. If not for the table, we’d be close enough to kiss. I glance at his lips. They’re golden, but a darker shade than the rest of his body. I won’t let my eyes wander to his chest.

“Sadness,” he says softly.

Memories fly into my head before I can stop them. Mom working crazy hours to take care of Daisy and me. We didn’t have a father, and of course I felt like one was missing, but Mom took on both roles. She tried really hard to give us a happy life. And we had that. Until four months ago, when my sister died in a car accident.

I shut my eyes. “I’ve been through a lot.”

“I’m sorry.”

I brush all of this away and try to put on a brave face. I’m not sure I’m succeeding.

The room is very quiet and I can’t help feeling anxious. I wish I could erase all the memories, but I don’t really want to do that. I don’t want to forget her.

“Maybe I’ll try some of that food after all.” He nods to the pot on the stove. “It looks and smells delicious.”

As I scoop some into a bowl, I say, “You’ve never tried human food?”

He shakes his head.

“Then why do you want some now?”

“Like I said, it smells and looks
really
good.”

My stomach does another weird flip. I don’t know why. He’s just complimenting the way the food smells and looks. It’s not like he tasted it. But he will soon. I don’t know why that makes my heart pound against my ribcage.

He watches me curiously. I feel my cheeks flush as I join him at the table and set his bowl down. He inhales, shutting his eyes and releasing a satisfied sigh. “Amazing.” Then he digs his spoon inside and brings it to his lips. He gives me a small smile—I can’t believe he’s actually smiling—before sticking the food into his mouth. His eyes widen in delight. “This is great.” He takes another spoonful, then another. He’s eating so fast, it’s like he’s zapped with super speed. “Can I have more?”

I’m so caught up on the fact that he loves my cooking that I don’t know what he’s saying. Did he say something? Or am I imagining it?

“Lily, can I…?” He drops the bowl, letting out a loud groan. Clutching his stomach, he slumps off the chair and collapses to the floor, dragging the tablecloth and dishes with him.

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