Last Hit (Hitman) by Jessica Clare, Jen Frederick Page B
Authors: Jessica Clare, Jen Frederick
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here? That wasn't what I expected him to ask. I make a feeble gesture at my shirt.
"This is not safe," he states. "You should leave."
"I…" I swallow, my words choking in front of his disapproval. I am being such a ninny. Why does it matter if Nick approves of my job or not? "I work here. The next shift doesn't get here until two."
Nick looks upset at this. His mouth flattens into a grim line, and he shifts on his feet, scanning the empty parking lot. "This is not job for woman like you, Daisy. You must quit."
Those bossy words drain all of my awkwardness away. A woman like
me
? Someone who should be sheltered and locked away from the world? Now he sounds like my father. My mouth works into a mutinous scowl. "Are you buying something? Because if not, I think you should leave."
For a moment, he looks astonished that I am talking back to him. Like, completely, flat out astonished, as if I've just cussed him a blue streak instead of disagreed with him. And instead of getting upset, a smile curves his hard mouth.
That smile makes me all flustered again, but I'm still mad. I remember why I'm mad, too. He stood me up. Didn't even have the decency to show up in person and tell me why he couldn't be there. No, he let me sit at the cafe for hours and make a fool of myself. Everyone there thought I'd been stood up for a date. And then he tries to make it better by sending a few texts.
And I feel even stupider, because I'm clearly making more out of our friendship than it is. If I meant something to Nick, he wouldn't have humiliated me like that.
Like I was nothing. Like I didn't matter.
He puts a hand on the counter, and I stare at the letters, which I now know are Cyrillic, tattooed on his knuckles. "Daisy," he murmurs, his voice that achingly delicious thrum that I hate myself for liking. "You are not answering my texts, and I must explain myself."
"There's nothing to explain," I say. "We had a coffee date." Oh no, I used the word date! "And you didn't show up." Now I feel my face flushing at my choice of words. I shift on my feet and step backward since he's moved closer, and I scan the parking lot. Someone has pulled up in a beat-up PT Cruiser. A boy my age, wearing a knit cap, long hair sticking out underneath and in skinny jeans. He's walking in, which means Nick needs to get away from the counter.
But Nick isn't moving. His fingers drum on the counter once, and still he studies me. "I must apologize," he says. "Something came up and I had to leave town. I tried to send you message."
I look at him in surprise, my expression softening. "You left town? Family emergency?" A family emergency will make everything okay. It's awful, but I hope for distressing health for an aunt or uncle, and then hate myself for thinking it.
"
Nyet
."
I know that is "no" from hearing him speak previously. I wait for him to explain more, but he says nothing. After a moment, he types something into his phone. Mine dings, and he's sent me a photo. The attachment has a little broken picture and asks me to download.
"I…can't get your picture. I'm maxed out on my data." I'd have to buy a new phone or add more money to this one, and I can't until I get paid.
"Then it is likely you are not receiving many of my messages."
I stare down at my phone, chagrined. I'm still mad at him, but now I'm feeling slightly stupid about it. Like I'm the one being unreasonable. I don't know what to do. I look at Nick, but he's simply giving me an enigmatic smile, as if that will explain everything.
For some reason, that smile makes me angry all over again. It's like he's saying,
"You see? It's not my fault your things are cheap."
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
"This is not safe," he states. "You should leave."
"I…" I swallow, my words choking in front of his disapproval. I am being such a ninny. Why does it matter if Nick approves of my job or not? "I work here. The next shift doesn't get here until two."
Nick looks upset at this. His mouth flattens into a grim line, and he shifts on his feet, scanning the empty parking lot. "This is not job for woman like you, Daisy. You must quit."
Those bossy words drain all of my awkwardness away. A woman like
me
? Someone who should be sheltered and locked away from the world? Now he sounds like my father. My mouth works into a mutinous scowl. "Are you buying something? Because if not, I think you should leave."
For a moment, he looks astonished that I am talking back to him. Like, completely, flat out astonished, as if I've just cussed him a blue streak instead of disagreed with him. And instead of getting upset, a smile curves his hard mouth.
That smile makes me all flustered again, but I'm still mad. I remember why I'm mad, too. He stood me up. Didn't even have the decency to show up in person and tell me why he couldn't be there. No, he let me sit at the cafe for hours and make a fool of myself. Everyone there thought I'd been stood up for a date. And then he tries to make it better by sending a few texts.
And I feel even stupider, because I'm clearly making more out of our friendship than it is. If I meant something to Nick, he wouldn't have humiliated me like that.
Like I was nothing. Like I didn't matter.
He puts a hand on the counter, and I stare at the letters, which I now know are Cyrillic, tattooed on his knuckles. "Daisy," he murmurs, his voice that achingly delicious thrum that I hate myself for liking. "You are not answering my texts, and I must explain myself."
"There's nothing to explain," I say. "We had a coffee date." Oh no, I used the word date! "And you didn't show up." Now I feel my face flushing at my choice of words. I shift on my feet and step backward since he's moved closer, and I scan the parking lot. Someone has pulled up in a beat-up PT Cruiser. A boy my age, wearing a knit cap, long hair sticking out underneath and in skinny jeans. He's walking in, which means Nick needs to get away from the counter.
But Nick isn't moving. His fingers drum on the counter once, and still he studies me. "I must apologize," he says. "Something came up and I had to leave town. I tried to send you message."
I look at him in surprise, my expression softening. "You left town? Family emergency?" A family emergency will make everything okay. It's awful, but I hope for distressing health for an aunt or uncle, and then hate myself for thinking it.
"
Nyet
."
I know that is "no" from hearing him speak previously. I wait for him to explain more, but he says nothing. After a moment, he types something into his phone. Mine dings, and he's sent me a photo. The attachment has a little broken picture and asks me to download.
"I…can't get your picture. I'm maxed out on my data." I'd have to buy a new phone or add more money to this one, and I can't until I get paid.
"Then it is likely you are not receiving many of my messages."
I stare down at my phone, chagrined. I'm still mad at him, but now I'm feeling slightly stupid about it. Like I'm the one being unreasonable. I don't know what to do. I look at Nick, but he's simply giving me an enigmatic smile, as if that will explain everything.
For some reason, that smile makes me angry all over again. It's like he's saying,
"You see? It's not my fault your things are cheap."
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
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