Last Hit (Hitman) (12 page)

The customer enters the station and comes immediately to the counter, giving Nick a wary look. He halts in his tracks, his gaze flicking from me to Nick and back to me again, as if he isn't sure whether to flee or remain.

"Are you purchasing something?" I ask Nick again. "If not, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

The customer's eyes widen. He takes a step backward.

Nick simply grins at my sassy tone. He taps the glass counter and points at a scratch-off ticket. "I will take lottery ticket."

I calmly pull one off the roll and ring him up. After he pays, he steps away.

And my heart sinks with disappointment, just a little.

But he doesn't leave the store. Instead, he loiters by an end-cap of motor oil, holding that lottery ticket. He's not scratching it. He's still watching me.

The other guy steps up to the counter. "Clove cigarettes, please." He looks exceedingly nervous, as if Nick's presence bothers him. When I hand him the cigarettes, he practically snatches them off the counter and throws his money at me, eager to leave.

Then I'm alone with Nick again.

I'm not nervous like the other guy was. Nick doesn't scare me. He fills me with hurt and embarrassment, but he doesn't scare me. I think of the other day, when I sat in the coffee house for too long, everyone staring at me with pity in their eyes. I'd worn my new favorite bra and panties, just so I could feel pretty for him.

Not that it mattered.

He approaches the counter once more, still holding that lottery ticket in his hand.

"Do…do you need to cash that?" I can't think of another logical reason why he would still be here.

"Is for you. Present." He slides it across to me.

I shake my head. "I can't take it. I actually need to give you some money back. The other day, you spent too much—"

He raises a hand, silencing me. "You must let me apologize to you, Daisy." His voice is a silky caress, his gray gaze intense. "If I had any other way, I would have been there to meet with you. I promise you this."

The intensity of his words makes me feel heated, my pulse throbbing low. Strangely enough, I believe him. "You should have come and talked to me. You know where I live. A text is so…meaningless. Like I don't matter to you."

"You matter." His gaze is suddenly so piercing that I feel pinned to the wall with the intensity of it. "Never doubt that you matter to me."

I feel warm, flushed. Uncertain. "You should have come and told me in person, though. I wouldn't have missed that, and you know my phone is junk." I'm whining. I know it. I wanted to see his face when he apologized. It's mostly just an excuse to see him again. But he's here now, and I'm being a baby about my feelings being hurt.

"
Da
," he agrees. "I should have. I did not. It was rude." He inclines his head, acknowledging this. "Will you meet me again?"

"For coffee?"

"For coffee,
da
."

"I don't know." I'm not used to having friends, much less guy friends. I don't know how I feel about my theoretical abandonment and the missed messages. It still hurts, and I don't want to be set up only to get hurt once more. "I don't want to go to the same place."

I'm still embarrassed by the sympathetic looks the baristas kept sending my way.

"I will do better, then." Nick pulls out a piece of newspaper from his coat pocket and lays it on the counter.

I give him a quizzical look, but he only gestures that I should open it. After a moment of indecision, I do. It is a movie theater schedule. I consider it, touched. Did he notice how hard I'd stared at the posters of the new movies at the mall? How I'd wondered what it would be like to go to one?

I hadn't mentioned it, but Nick had watched me so intensely. He must have noticed and remembered. He'd remembered and was asking me to go to something that he knew I'd love.

"You want to go to a movie?" I ask.

"With you, I will go anywhere." His mouth is still that flat, too-serious line, as if this is a grave matter we're discussing. "But we will start with movie. Tomorrow night?"

"I'm off tomorrow night," I agree eagerly. "I have every other night off. Craig doesn't want me to work every night in a row. Says it'll mess up my sleep schedule too much." And here I am, spouting information like a ninny. I can feel my cheeks pink with embarrassment.

"Then we go?"

My fingers tremble as I run them along the edges of the schedule. Once again, I am speechless. Is it simply an apology? Perhaps he just wants to see a movie and not go by himself? Perhaps he needs a friend. But the words that blurt out of my mouth are none of these sensible thoughts. "Is this a date?"

His mouth cocks up on one side in a smile, a real smile, and I get a flash of brilliant white teeth. He's so beautiful that I feel hammered by the sight of him. "
Da
. Yes. A date. If not tomorrow, then day after."

I should say no. But Nick is smiling at me and the movie theater is calling my name, so I pick up the paper and say, "It has to be tomorrow night, or else I'm working. I can't ask for time off yet."

He scowls, his big shoulders getting stiff. "This is not job for you, Daisy. You should quit. It is dangerous."

"Don't you start that again, Nick." I tuck the paper into my slacks pocket. "I'm my own person, thank you."

He considers this, and me. "Say my name again," he demands.

That feels…intimate. I look around, but we are the only ones in the store. No one will hear me repeating his name just to please him, and I want to please him. So I take a small, shuffling step forward and tuck my hair behind my ear in a nervous gesture. "Nick," I say, and my voice is shy, and I can't look him in the eye.

He exhales slowly. "
Ty tak krasiva,"
he mutters.

"What does that mean?"

"It means…I am sorry I hurt your feelings." He leans closer to me, and we are only a foot apart, the counter between us. "My friend Daisy."

Somehow, I don't think that's what it means at all.

But I don't ask. I'm wrapped up in him. He's leaning close enough that I can smell aftershave and see the faint stubble of a shadow on his neck. He's gorgeous, all masculine power, and I wish he wasn't standing so far away from me. I want to touch him. I want him to lean closer.

I want him to lean across this counter and kiss me. He seems to want it, too.

We stare at each other for a charged, electric moment, neither of us moving. Then, he gently brushes my hand with his fingertips. "I will text you tomorrow.
Before
the date. This I promise."

And then he is gone.

I'm still asleep the next
morning when my phone buzzes on the bedside dresser. I fumble for it and drag it close and then flip the clamshell open. On the tiny, outdated screen, there is a message.

18:00 - your doorstep.

Good morning to you too,
I think. I rub my eyes and then begin the laborious process of texting back on my old phone. I want to send something flirty back, something bold. Something to make him think of me all day long. But I type and delete a half-dozen messages before finally sending back:
Shld I bring n xtra swtr?

Then I want to punch myself in the face for being so silly. Should I wear a sweater? Why not ask him if I should wear granny panties? God. I am such an idiot.

Nyet.
He responds quickly.
I will keep you warm if you need it.

And just like that, I am all flustered and giddy again.

I bound up from bed, no longer tired. I had a late night of work, but I know I won't be able to concentrate. I have a date. I have a date!

It's my very first one. I am twenty-one years old and have never dated anyone. I want this so badly. I think of Nick, and I am afraid. Will he kiss me? My fingers touch my mouth and I imagine his lips pressed to mine.

He's beautiful, confident, and everything I am not. I worry he will stand me up again and I will be a fool twice over. I could understand him wanting just a friend. But dating? Dating is something entirely different.

I need Regan's help. She'll know what to do.

I toss my phone on my bed, and then pause. It's almost noon. I have a few hours yet. This means I have plenty of time to get ready. I head into the living room and Regan is there on the couch, chatting with Becca. I wave to the two of them and pad into the kitchen for breakfast while they chat.

Becca is Regan's friend, and she's intimidating. She's got perfect red hair with subtle blonde highlights in it, and she dresses in expensive clothing. Whereas Regan seems to radiate a cheery warmth, Becca is her opposite. She's icy and aloof, and I can feel her judging my ratty pajamas when I walk in. She's a childhood friend of Regan's, and I get the feeling that she's not impressed with our apartment, that she only tolerates being here because of her friendship with Regan…and her disapproval extends to me as well.

Becca's hard on my new-found confidence. I try to like her since she's Regan's friend and since she drops by frequently, but I always feel as if she's judging me and finding me lacking, and it rattles me. I wish, briefly, that she wasn't here, because I want to ask Regan about what to wear on my date.

I make toast and munch on it while standing in the kitchen. Becca and Regan are having an animated conversation about classes and boyfriends. Becca has just dumped her latest fling and wants to go ‘on the prowl' at a local club. Regan's not sure Mike will be happy if she goes, and I can tell she wants to tell Becca no, but doesn't have the courage to.

Becca's almost got Regan talked into going to the club when Regan glances my way. Her gaze brightens. "Hey, sleepyhead. Glad to see you're finally up."

I smile sheepishly and move to sit across from them in the living room. "I had a late night at work."

Becca's eyes gleam, and she shifts her attention to me, suddenly interested. "Are you working somewhere fun, Pollyanna?"

I wince at the nickname. Regan called me Pollyanna in front of Becca once, and now it's all that Becca calls me. I don't think she means it with the same affection that Regan does, however. "No, I'm working at a gas station."

She recoils slightly, her interest evaporating. "That sounds awful."

I shrug. "It's not so bad." I need it—and the money. If I can work a full forty hours a week for the next two weeks, I can make rent. If not, I don't know what I'll do. I haven't factored in groceries or bus fare, but I will worry about one thing at a time.

"We're going to a club tonight," Becca says in that sly voice of hers, tossing her shiny red hair. "Gonna pick up some men. You want to come?"

I look at Regan, and she crosses her fingers at me, giving me a helpless, pleading look behind Becca's shoulder. She wants me to go. I am guessing it's because if I am there, it will help rein in Becca. I wouldn't mind going because I've never been to a club before, but I have plans. "I can't go. I have a date."

Both women perk. "You have a date, Pollyanna?" Becca asks, as if I've just declared I have three heads.

"That's awesome," Regan says, getting up from the futon to move to my side. "With who?"

"Just someone I met in the laundry room." I don't tell them about the ride on his motorcycle or the shopping afterward, or that I'm wearing panties he bought me.

But now Regan is frowning. "Wait. Is this the same guy that stood you up the other day? That wasn't nice." She remembers how hurt I was.

"I'm giving him a second chance," I say stubbornly. "And I won't be talked out of it."

"Oh, Pollyanna," Becca says in a chiding voice. "You know you don't have to date a guy just because he asks you out. There are plenty of nice men in town. You need to go out with Regan and me more. We'll introduce you to some nice guys." She brightens. "Like, say, at the club."

Regan snorts. "You just want us to go to the club with you so you don't get drunk and hook up with a loser again."

Becca sticks her tongue out at Regan.

But my roommate's attention is back on me. "So where's he taking you?" Regan practically flutters around me with excitement. "Someplace swanky?"

"We're going to the movie theater," I say, voice shy. "I'm excited. I've never been. I don't know what to wear."

"Oooh," Regan says, and looks over at Becca. "First date clothing time! I know someone fabulous with outfits."

Becca stands and grins like a queen accepting patronage. "Lead me to your closet. We'll help you dress for your date. And
tomorrow
night, we'll all three go pick up men."

Regan groans good-naturedly, but she doesn't disagree.

"I'll go out with you," I agree. "But I'm not picking up men. I have Nick."

"And I've got Mike," Regan says, but she sounds less determined than me, more resigned.

Becca only gives us a smug grin, as if she's gotten exactly what she wants. She leads the way to my closet and begins to dig in.

"Boy, this is nice shit you've got," Becca whistles, lifting up a pale pink blouse Nick bought me. "You're able to buy this stuff on a gas station salary?" She fingers the tag still on the sleeve.

"Um, no," I can't explain it to them. I can hardly explain it to myself that my small selection of clothing was bought by some guy I barely know. It sounds…stupid. "The guy I have the date with? Nick? He poured bleach on my clothes accidentally and then felt super guilty so he took me to the mall and bought me some replacements."

Becca's eyebrows are nearly at her hairline. "This shirt cost three hundred dollars." She shoves the tag into Regan's face.

"I know. I couldn't stop him." I squeeze my fingers together in anxiety. What do they think of me for letting a stranger buy me these things? I should have protested more.

"Why stop him?" Regan asks, laughing. "If some guy wanted to buy me expensive clothes, I'd sure let him! This is beautiful stuff, Pollyanna, but not really date wear. In fact," Regan pushes my hangers aside, "all of this looks very conservative."

"I know!" Becca leans over to peer at the clothes. "I didn't even know this brand made conservative clothing."

They're right. Except for the gorgeous and naughty underthings, all the clothes Nick has bought for me are modest. The jeans are tight, but the blouses are intentionally oversized. The sales lady said it was a very hip look, and I liked it. But none of it was something you'd wear to wow a guy on a first date.