Page 8 of Jump-Start
“Oh, but I would. It’s not forever, Starling, only until you apologise,” I assure her, turning to leave when her voice, so soft and hurt, sends a wave of guilt through me.
“I’m sorry,” she says and drops to her knees to have Benz run to her. My girl wastes no second to get to her best friend.
“What happened today?” I ask again, Starling’s eyes fixated on my dog’s bright blue ones.
“I’m sorry about bringing up money. I know it’s a sensitive topic for you.” Her apology sends another wave of guilt through me. Fuck, sometimes I am the biggest arsehole. “Please don’t take her away from me. She’s one of my three pure sources of happiness,” Chiara adds, the tears from before returning to her eyes. She swallows them back down as Benz licks her cheek. I’m going to kill Tim. No one fucking tears down Starling this way.
“If you don’t tell me what happened, Chiara, I can’t help you,” I say, keeping my tone light even though I want to physically harm a man.
“You haven’t called me that in years,” she points out, and I realise she’s right. Bloody hell. Why did I use her actual name? I never do that. “You can’t help me either way, Leonard. Whether I tell you or not, there is nothing you can do,” she says and steps inside her room again, poking at the hole in her sweater. That woman needs new clothes. I don’t remember a single article from her closet that isn’t torn or worn way beyond it should be.
“I think you underestimate how influential I am,” I remind her, and she lets out a small snort.
“Since when do you care about my life, Champ?” she asks, and I shake my head, frustrated with her now.
It’s a good question. Since when is her well-being of such importance to me? We don’t like each other. I can’t stand being in the same room as her for more than five minutes because we always end up in a fight. Some people might call it an overload of passion, I call it two stubborn people being too much alike to make a conversation work. She’s so fucking infuriating, it drives me wild.
“I don’t. Like I said, I don’t want my brother to suffer if you’re in a shitty mood,” I lie again, hating the fact that it is indeed a lie.
“Sure, if you say so,” she says with a smug look, and it lets me know she’ll be fine. “Now, get out. I’ve got to get ready for my job,” she says, sending a wave of confusion through me.
“Work? At this hour?” I check my watch to see it’s close to ten in the evening.
“Yes, Leonard,at this hour. I’m bartending at a club to pay for my bills because my other three jobs don’t pay enough.”Other three jobs? Jesus fucking Christ.
“How many times a week do you—” I cut off because the thought of her in such a dangerous occupation on top of three other jobs makes me nauseous. Why the hell does it make me nauseous?
“You want to know my schedule?” I nod, which causes her to shake her head and sigh, but I can tell this amuses her. “I work at the club six days a week, at the bookstore Monday through Friday, but mostly in the evenings. I walk dogs every day very early in the morning and then after I go straight to the gallery. They don’t always have shifts for me, so it changes around a lot.” I’m going to be fucking sick.
“When do you sleep?” I croak out, which seems to confuse her because her eyebrows draw together in response. I clear my throat, crossing my arms over my chest again to contain my racing heart.
“Barely,” is all she says as she steps around the room to gather an outfit together.
“How many hours?” I ask, and she lets out a sigh.
“I don’t like it when you decide you love to speak. You talk too much,” she says, but I have no time to be bloody amused.
“How. Many. Hours?” I demand to know, and Starling turns to me, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“Fuck. Off. It’s none of your business. Now, get out. I have to change,” she says, and I stare at the clothes in her hands. Something that looks a hell of a lot more like a bra than a top, a short skirt, and something with fishnets. That won’t cover anything. Hell, it will showeverything.
“It’s too cold for you to wear that,” I blurt out because the thought of Starling in an outfit like that, surrounded by horny men who don’t know how to control themselves, makes me violent again.
“Okay, nosey man. Out. I don’t know why you suddenly give a shit about me, but I still haven’t learned to give one about your opinions. I don’t plan on changing that either, so get out,” she says, pointing at her door.
I leave without saying another word to anyone. Graham is preoccupied with watching the men on the field kick the ball around, and I have to blow off some steam. Chiara De Luca is none of my business. She hates me, I can’t stand her. That’s how it has always been and always will be. Whatever the hell is going on in my chest, it’s unimportant. I just have to find a way to keep it from restricting my breathing, and I don’t seem to be able to figure it out, not while the thought of her getting harassed by Tim and countless other men at her job floats around in my mind.She’s a trained fighter, I keep reminding myself, but it’s not nearly as soothing as I wish it was.
I need to get her out of that job, out of all four, no matter what. She’s going to break herself working as hard as she is, and I can’t stand by and watch it happen. It doesn’t matter how we feel about each other. Starling isn’t going to snap herself in half to achieve her dream. I won’t let her.
I will… help her.
CHAPTERSIX
chiara
The next four weeks are strange. Leonard doesn’t spend a lot of time with Graham anymore, and when he’s at our place, he seems off. I know it can’t be because of his job. Leonard has won all three races since the season started. He’s doing incredibly well and so is his entire team. I would know. I watch every single race with my best friend. I’ve been to see Benz whenever he isn’t home, but Rena, Leonard’s mum, is also busy and doesn’t have time for me to see Benz whenever I can. I miss her a lot. Usually, Leonard makes sure I get to see her when he comes over to hang out with Graham. Since he isn’t spending a lot of time with his brother at the moment, I don’t get to see my girl as much. I’ll have to bother him about it the next time I see him.
“Chiara? Can we talk for a minute?” Graham says, and I shift my gaze to him. His black hair is short, buzz-cut, much unlike his older brother, who always keeps his in tight braids. They suit him annoyingly well.
