Cruel Intentions: Chapter 7

I’m still fucking grappling with what Noah did to me—how I fell for his bullshit and let him twist me around his finger. I was naive enough to believe he was still the kind, loving guy I once knew, but now I see him for the manipulative asshole he truly is.

The worst part? My body still aches for the release he denied me. That fucking prick. But I can’t let myself dwell on it—not now, not when there’s more important shit to focus on.

My nerves are on edge, anxiety prickling as I stand outside the burger joint Sam told me about. She said they’re always hiring, and I’m desperately praying that I land a couple of shifts, maybe more.

I need something—anything—to keep me busy, to avoid the stifling silence and half-hearted conversations with my dad at home. Plus, having my own money means I won’t have to depend on him for food and basic shit. I need this job, not just for the cash, but for myself.

Taking a deep, calming breath, I step forward and push open the door.

Sam told me the owner, Wes, is a former rockstar who still belts out tunes for his customers. The place looks a little rough around the edges, tucked into a sketchy part of town, but the packed parking lot hints at its loyal fanbase.

As I step inside, the smell of sizzling grease and grilled meat hits me, and I make my way to the counter, bracing myself for whatever comes next.

I glance around, waiting for a server to notice me. The place oozes nostalgia, the walls a chaotic collage of rock band posters from every era. But one band dominates, its presence unmistakable. Broken Oasis. The hometown legends. The golden boys who put this shithole of a town on the map and etched their names into the music scene forever. Xander Williams and Ace Roberts. Their faces stare back at me from framed photos, a shrine to local pride—immortalized not just here but back at school, where they’re still revered like gods.

“Recognize those lads?” A deep voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

I turn to see a middle-aged man standing nearby, his bald head gleaming under the neon lights. Chains hang from his neck, and tattoos snake down his arms, each design telling a story I’ll never know. He has a roughness to him, like someone who’s lived through more than a few storms.

“Xander and Ace,” he says with a hint of a smile, his gaze drifting back to the photos. “They used to hang out here all the time. Good kids. Lived and breathed music.” He looks at me, eyes sharp but not unkind. “You need a table?”

“Actually, I’m here to apply for a job,” I manage, my voice steady enough, though nerves flicker beneath the surface. “I heard you were hiring.”

“I am,” he says, nodding slightly as he gives me a quick once-over, like he’s sizing me up. “You ever worked in a place like this before?”

‘No,’ I admit.

‘Alright then… I didn’t catch your name,’ he prompts, his tone casual but his sharp gaze anything but.

‘Aubrey,’ I reply, forcing confidence into my voice even as my nerves kick up a notch.

‘Well, Aubrey, you’ve got five seconds to convince me why I should hire you, considering you’ve got no experience in a place like this.’

My pulse spikes, but I push through. “I need this job, and I’m dead set about proving myself. I’ll show up for every shift, always on time. You won’t regret it—I’m a fast learner, and I’m ready to give it my—”

He raises a hand, cutting me off mid-sentence. The corners of his mouth twitch, caught between a smirk and a scowl, like he’s weighing whether to be amused or unimpressed.

My stomach sinks. I bite back the urge to ramble further, kicking myself for not being more prepared. The fear that I’ve already blown it creeps in. His silence feels heavier with each passing second as his sharp eyes bore into me, scanning me like he’s trying to figure out what I’m made of.

The pause stretches unbearably long, tension coiling in my chest until, finally, he lowers his hand and speaks.

‘So, you’re really in need of this job, huh?’

‘Yes,’ I reply firmly, locking onto his gaze with everything I’ve got, refusing to waver.

He studies me for another agonizing moment before nodding, almost to himself. ‘Alright. Here’s the deal—you’ve got to prove you can handle this gig. If you can, and only if you can, I’ll start you off with three shifts a week—Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Weekends are covered for now, but if we’re short, I might call you in. Think you can handle that?’

“Yes, weekends are wide open for me,” I reply without hesitation, ignoring how desperate I might sound.

This isn’t just a job—it’s a lifeline. I need this to get through the year, no matter what it takes.

“You’ve got the right attitude. I like that,” he says, nodding, his tone softening just enough to feel genuine. “Dedication like yours is exactly what I’m looking for.” He extends a hand. “I’m Wes, by the way. When can you come back for a trial shift to see if you’re a good fit?”

“I can do the trial now, if that works for you,” I offer quickly, trying to sound calm even though my pulse is racing.

A flicker of amusement crosses his face, and he smirks. “Alright then. I’ll have you shadow one of the servers, get a feel for the routine and the layout.” His gaze shifts to the bustling restaurant floor before landing back on me. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I scan the room, and my stomach twists into a brutal knot as my eyes land on a face I know all too well—Jace.

Jace, with that infuriating cocky smirk and swagger that screams trouble. The guy who’s always treated girls like disposable playthings. Back when I was here with Noah, he was always in the background, Noah’s shadow—lurking, laughing, and hunting for his next conquest.

Not him. Please, not Jace, I beg silently, clinging to the faint hope that, for once, the universe might show me some mercy. But deep down, I already know better. Lately, my luck hasn’t just abandoned me—it’s been laughing in my face at every turn.

And just like that, my fears are confirmed.

“Jace, come on over,” Wes calls out.

Jace tosses the damp cloth he’d been using into a grimy water bucket. He takes his time strolling over, his cocky grin growing wider with every step. When his eyes lock onto mine, they glint with a familiar, predatory gleam that sets my nerves on edge.

His gaze drags over me, unashamed and intrusive, and a shiver runs down my spine. I shift uncomfortably under the weight of his stare, hating how exposed and vulnerable I suddenly feel.

‘Jace, this is Aubrey,’ Wes says, his voice steady and authoritative. ‘She’s learning the ropes. Get her up to speed on the basics and keep it professional. None of that inappropriate crap you pull with customers.’ Wes’s tone sharpens, his eyes narrowing. ‘And if you so much as think about trying anything with her, there will be consequences. Got it?’

A flicker of annoyance flashes across Jace’s face, his grin faltering for just a moment before he forces it back into place—tight, insincere, and full of barely concealed irritation.

I can’t help the small grin tugging at my lips at Wes’s words. He’s no fool, clearly well aware of Jace’s reputation. It feels like a small, satisfying win—having someone call him out without me needing to dredge up all the inappropriate things I’ve seen or experienced firsthand.

“Got it,” Jace mutters begrudgingly, his tone sour.

“Well, I’ll leave you with Jace. If you need me, just come find me. I’ll be around somewhere,” Wes says with a nod before striding off, leaving me alone with the one person I was so desperate to avoid.

I glance at Jace and catch him blatantly staring at my tits, not even trying to be subtle about it. Typical. Just what I need.

‘So,’ I say, crossing my arms over my chest, ‘are you going to show me how things work around here, or are you planning on staring at my tits all night?’

His gaze snaps to mine, and a slow, smug smirk spreads across his lips, like he’s savoring the challenge I just threw his way. In that instant, it clicks. I finally understand why Jace Cooper’s name is whispered in the same breath as Noah’s back at school.

His sharply defined jawline, piercing green eyes that seem to dare you to look away, and the way his dark hair falls just right—effortless, like part of some calculated charm—all work together as weapons in his arsenal.

There’s no denying his appeal, and I hate that I’m not immune to it. It’s the same magnetic pull that’s made girls giggle and blush in the hallways, the same pull that’s left behind a wake of broken hearts and whispered regrets.

But no matter how undeniably hot he is, none of it erases the truth: Jace Cooper is the living embodiment of everything I despise. The ultimate player. The guy who lives for the thrill of the chase, only to toss girls aside like yesterday’s trash once he’s had his fun.

Sam’s stories about Jace flash through my mind. Three girls at one party. If that’s even half true, it tells me everything I need to know about him.

Still, I can’t help but wonder if some of those rumors—like the ones about me—are just exaggerated bullshit.

Not that it matters. Whatever truths or lies are hidden beneath Jace’s smirk, I’m not about to let myself become another notch on his bedpost.

“Only if you’re ready to whip ’em out and show me those tits,” Jace says, his smirk widening as he gestures crudely toward my chest, every bit the arrogant prick I expected.

My irritation flares into full-blown anger, and I narrow my eyes at him. “Your crude lines might work on other girls, but not on me,” I snap, my voice sharp and firm. “Save that shit. I’m not interested, and if you cross any boundaries, I won’t hesitate to tell Wes about your behavior toward colleagues.”

The words taste bitter as they leave my mouth. I hate even sounding like the kind of person who’d run to the boss, but Jace doesn’t need to know that.

“I need this job,” I continue, keeping my tone steady. “So let’s keep things strictly professional, okay? Let’s not make this any more awkward than it already is.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. His green eyes wander over my face, lingering too long on my lips, as if he’s imagining something I want no part of.

My stomach twists as the silence stretches between us. Is this idiot even listening, or is he just another clueless asshole who can’t see past his own ego?

Finally, after what feels like forever, he shifts his gaze and shrugs, his tone infuriatingly casual, like I hadn’t just called him out.

“Let’s clean the tables and get them ready for the next group,” he says, brushing off the confrontation as if it never happened.

I follow Jace to the tables, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Working with him is proving to be every bit the nightmare I’d imagined.

Without a word, he returns to the table he was cleaning before Wes interrupted, grabs the damp cloth from the water bucket, and wrings it out. Then he tosses it to me, his smirk all but screaming challenge.

As I lean over to wipe down the table, I can feel his gaze burning into me. I bet the bastards staring at my ass.

I grit my teeth, pushing the thought aside. Focus. Just get through this shift. My hands tighten around the cloth, and I focus on the task, scrubbing harder than necessary as though I can scrape away my irritation.

Jace starts walking me through the restaurant, pointing out the usual shit—where orders go, where the ice machine is, how to restock. His voice, smooth and overly confident, grates on my nerves. But at least, for once, he’s giving me actual information instead of a string of sleazy comments.

As we start serving tables together, something shifts. With each trip to deliver plates or clear dishes, he hands me small, practical tips on how to move faster, how to do things more efficiently. He even—God help me—compliments me on my performance.

“You’re catching on fast,” he says at one point, flashing a grin that feels…almost genuine.

It feels wrong, like a setup. Why would someone like him bother being nice? I brace myself for the usual smirk or a crude comment to follow, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the flirting dies down completely, and for a brief moment, it’s like I’m just another co-worker to him—no games, no bullshit.

But that only makes me more suspicious.

Why the sudden switch? Why can’t he just act like this all the time instead of playing whatever game he’s got going on?

By the time the night finally drags to an end, I’m utterly spent. My feet throb, my back aches, and every step between the tables and the kitchen feels like I’ve run a marathon. Jace is somewhere in the background restocking ketchup bottles, and for the first time all night, I’m left alone to clean the last few tables in peace.

As I wipe down the final table, Wes emerges from the kitchen and heads straight for me.

“You did exceptionally well tonight,” he says, his voice steady and sincere. “I’ve been watching you, and I have to say, you’ve earned the position.”

The weight in my chest lightens slightly, relief washing over me. I did it. Somehow, I survived this night.

‘Thanks, I won’t mess this up,’ I reply. Having the job sorted means I can stop hunting and start focusing. I’m determined to make this work, even if Jace reverts to being a pain in the ass. If he pulls any shit, I’ll shut him down again, no hesitation.

Wes turns, motioning for the other servers to join us. ‘Alright, I’ve already split tonight’s tips,’ he announces, then hands me an envelope.

I blink in surprise as I take it. I wasn’t expecting to get a share of the tips tonight, especially on my first shift. But hey, I’m not about to turn down extra cash.

‘Jace, Susan!’ Wes calls out.

Jace saunters over, having just finished arranging the salt and pepper shakers, while Susan follows close behind. I hadn’t had much chance to talk to her tonight, with everything being so hectic, but her presence speaks volumes.

She’s in her thirties, her face marked with stories of hard-earned experience, including a deep scar that cuts across her cheek. Without a word, she snatches her envelope and disappears into the kitchen.

‘So,’ Wes says, turning back to me, ‘you’re scheduled for Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, five to ten. Paydays are Fridays, but tips get split nightly.’

‘Thanks, that works perfectly,’ I reply, grateful for the stability. It’s Wednesday, so I’m already thinking about tomorrow’s shift and making a bit more cash before the week’s out.

‘Welcome to the team, Aubrey,’ Wes greets me warmly, offering a tight smile before turning and heading back toward the kitchen.

I grab the grimy water bucket, preparing to empty it to where Jace had shown me earlier during his rundown of the restaurant.

With the cleaning done and the restaurant spotless, I finally step outside into the cold, dark night. Ten blocks to go. The streets in this neighborhood always put me on edge at this hour, but I have no choice. Three nights a week—maybe more if weekends get added. This is the routine now, and I just have to push through.

The street is eerily silent, the distant hum of an engine starting the only sound. I clutch my arms tighter around myself, silently cursing my decision that I didn’t grab my jacket. But I hadn’t planned on working tonight—I’d only come to ask about the job.

A car’s headlights flare to life in the lot, momentarily blinding me. I shield my eyes with one hand and quicken my pace, my focus fixed on getting home as fast as possible.

Halfway down the block, a chill creeps up my spine like icy fingers clawing at my skin. My heart pounds harder with each step, fear pulsing through my veins. Footsteps echo behind me, too close for comfort.

I force myself to keep my head straight, quickening my pace without breaking into a run. Every nerve in my body is on edge, screaming at me to sprint, but I fight the instinct.

‘Hey, Aubrey, wait up.’

The voice makes me whirl around, my heart hammering in my chest. ‘What the fuck, Jace?’ I snap; my voice sharp. ‘You scared me half to death. Don’t pull that crap on a girl.’

He raises his hands in mock surrender, his expression sheepish. ‘Sorry. It’s late, and you shouldn’t be walking home alone. I thought we could walk together.’

I hesitate, glancing back at the dark stretch of street ahead. The logical part of me screams to send him away—to walk the rest of the way alone and avoid whatever game he might be playing. This is Jace, the cocky asshole I don’t trust. But the oppressive silence and shadows pressing in around me make my stomach churn. The thought of walking ten blocks by myself, vulnerable and exposed, has me nodding before my brain can catch up.

I turn back toward the path ahead and start walking again, my pulse still racing. With Wes nowhere in sight, the question looms: will Jace revert to the smug prick with the sleazy comments? Will I spend the next twenty minutes fending off his bullshit?

He matches my pace easily, his presence too close for comfort. “We work the same shifts,” he says, his tone casual. “If you want, I’m happy to walk home together from now on.”

His offer sounds almost sincere, like he’s doing me a favor. But I don’t trust favors from Jace Cooper.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” I snap, narrowing my eyes at him. “See if you turn back into the asshole I know you are.” I keep my tone sharp, trying to sound indifferent, but inside, I’m already bracing for the worst. “Where do you live? Is it anywhere near my place?”

If this is some kind of ploy—a game he plays to get under my skin or, worse, into my bed—he’s in for a rude awakening. I’m not one of his easy prey. Tonight, he can go home to his hand and his overinflated ego. That’s all he’s getting from me, and he better get used to it.

‘Nah, I don’t live that far, just two blocks past your place,’ he replies casually, like it’s no big deal.

I stop short, turning to him with suspicion carved into every line of my face. ‘How the fuck do you know where I live?’

A cocky grin spreads across his face—the kind that probably works on every girl dumb enough to fall for his charm. But not me.

‘Don’t get paranoid,’ he says, his voice dripping with amusement. ‘I’m not some fucking stalker. I grew up here. Small town: everyone knows where everyone lives. You’re still next door to Noah, right?’

‘Yeah,’ I mutter, my gaze sliding back to the darkened street. The mention of Noah hits me hard—I try to block it out, but all I can see is his hot mouth on my neck, the way he made my legs shake, how he had me so close to coming without even trying. That asshole. Why the fuck did I let that happen?

Jace’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. ‘So, what’s the deal between you and Noah?’

I glance over at him, catching the flicker of something in his expression—curiosity, maybe, or something sharper. His gaze flicks away, then back to me, like he’s testing the waters, trying to figure something out.

My stomach twists, a knot of suspicion tightening in my gut. Does he know what happened today? Are they all talking about it? Noah, Jace, and Reece—they’re always together, always sharing stories. Did Noah tell them how he turned me down? Did he fucking gloat about how easily I let him touch me, like I was some toy he could play with and toss aside?

I clench my jaw, the heat of anger rising to meet the cold dread pooling in my chest. If Jace knows, if he’s fishing for a reaction, I won’t give him the satisfaction.

I grit my teeth, shoving the thoughts out of my mind. ‘Why the fuck do you wanna know?’ The words come out sharper than I planned, but I don’t trust Jace enough to spill any of this shit. Not when I’m still wondering if every word I say will somehow find its way back to Noah.

Jace shrugs, his tone casual, like he’s got no hidden agenda. ‘I thought you two were tight once.’

He’s fishing, waiting for me to bite. But I’m not that naive.

‘Yeah, we used to be tight, but not anymore,’ I mutter, my eyes flicking to the crescent moon glowing faintly above us. The night feels suffocatingly quiet, and all I really want is to get home. Even dealing with my dad’s bullshit seems easier than this.

We walk in silence for two more blocks, then take a right. Just three more blocks to go, and I can put this whole conversation behind me.

‘So, how’s school now that you’re back?’ Jace asks, his voice feigning casual curiosity. Like he doesn’t already know the answer. The nerve of him, acting like he’s genuinely interested after everything that’s gone on. Does he think I’m that stupid?

I can’t help the sarcasm dripping from my words. ‘Oh, it’s fucking amazing,’ I snap, lacing the words with as much venom as I can muster. ‘But I think you already know the answer to that.’ My eyes cut to him, sharp and unrelenting. ‘I’ve seen you there, right next to Noah, when all the shit went down.’

Jace doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he tilts his head like he’s studying me. ‘So why do you put up with it? You don’t hold back with me, so why let Tia get away with that crap?’

The question hits harder than I’d like to admit. It’s the same thing I’ve been asking myself. Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate to call someone like Tia out, but there’s this stupid part of me—this lingering echo of who we used to be. Sleepovers, boy talk, and those ridiculous mall trips where we acted like we ruled the world. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to cut her off. Because, once upon a time, we used to be friends.

But fuck it. I’m not about to explain that to Jace. Especially not him. Who knows what he might do with the information… From what Sam’s told me, Jace doesn’t have a great track record with girls. He uses them, then moves on. If I tell him anything, would he twist it to his advantage? Use it as some sick leverage to make me do whatever he wants.

I stay silent, biting back every word on the tip of my tongue. The quiet stretches between us, thick and tense, but I can feel him watching me, waiting for me to respond.

I won’t give him the satisfaction. If he wants to pry into my life, I’ll turn the tables on him.

‘So, you want to talk about rumors?’ I say, my voice smooth but cutting. ‘Let’s talk about you. Did you really screw three girls at that party a few weeks ago?’

I watch him carefully, waiting to see if he’ll crack. If he’s going to pry into my life, I’m damn well going to throw his right back in his face.

A smirk ghosts across his lips, like he’s enjoying every bit of his notorious reputation. “Is that what you’ve heard?” he asks as we approach my street.

“Yeah, and I’ve seen how you act,” I snap, irritation cutting through my words. It pisses me off—this whole double standard. I’m branded as an easy slut when the only person I’ve ever been with is Noah. Meanwhile, guys like Jace can screw whoever the fuck they want and somehow come out of it looking like gods.

He glances at me, his expression shifting to something surprisingly serious. “No,” he says firmly, his tone almost defensive. “I’m not the player everyone thinks I am.”

I scoff, not buying it for a second. “So, you didn’t hook up with three girls at once at that party?” I press, challenging him to own up to the stories that seem to follow him everywhere.

He doesn’t miss a beat. “No,” he says, that smirk crawling back onto his face like it belongs there. “I didn’t sleep with them.” There’s a pause, his grin widening, and I know whatever comes next is going to piss me off. “There wasn’t any sleeping involved. Just a lot of mouths and pussy.”

The anger inside me flares, hot and sharp. I want to scream at him for being such an arrogant asshole, but instead, I let the fury simmer under my skin. He’s exactly the kind of guy every girl should stay the fuck away from—cocky, selfish, and completely shameless about using people. And here I am, walking beside him, letting him play the same game with me.

“You make me sick,” I bite out, my voice low but seething. “That’s literally the definition of a player.”

The words hang between us, and as much as I try not to, I can’t help but wonder if Noah’s any different. He and Jace are close, after all. People have whispered about Noah jumping from girl to girl, though Sam’s never said anything like what she told me about Jace. Still, it makes me question everything—if Noah’s just better at hiding it or if he’s really changed.

Jace lets out a chuckle, his arrogance bleeding into every syllable. “What, you want me to deny it? Pretend I didn’t fuck three girls in one night, just to make you feel better? I could lie, tell you what you want to hear, but that’s not really my style.” He says it so proudly, it’s infuriating. And the worst part? There’s a part of me still listening.

Finally, my house comes into view, and relief washes over me. I’ll be done with him in a matter of minutes.

I don’t even look at him when I speak, my voice ice-cold. “And why the fuck would I want to talk to you after hearing that?”

Being seen with him will only fan the flames of the rumors, and I won’t let that happen. Not when I’m barely holding it together as it is.

“Aub,” he says, and before I can make a beeline to my lawn, his hand darts out and grabs my arm, stopping me in my tracks.

‘It’s Aubrey to you,’ I snap, yanking my arm out of his grip. Only Noah calls me that, and I’ll be damned if I let this asshole think he can too.

His smirk doesn’t waver, but the glint of satisfaction in his eyes sets my blood boiling. He’s enjoying this—getting under my skin. I hate how much he’s loving it. My skin crawls just being near him, but I force myself to stay put, resisting the urge to slap that smug look off his face.

“Just fucking listen, okay?” he says, his tone softening, but not enough to lose its edge of arrogance. “If things with Tia get out of hand at school, you can talk to me.”

The way he says it, like he’s doing me some huge favor, only makes me angrier. He’s not my savior, and I sure as hell don’t need him to play the part of some hero swooping out of the sky to save the day. He’s as much a part of the problem as the rest of them.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got Sam,” I shoot back, my voice sharp. I’m done with this conversation. I don’t owe him anything, and I sure as hell don’t need his fake concern.

Jace starts to say something, but I don’t bother listening. I don’t care what he has to say. I turn and head up the front path, my steps quick and purposeful. All I want is to get the fuck away from him.

As I push the front door open, the sound of the television blaring greets me. My dad’s slouched on the couch, a beer in hand, staring blankly at the screen like it’s the only thing that matters. He doesn’t even glance my way. I might as well not even exist to him.

The urge to scream bubbles up inside me, raw and feral. I want to throw something, break something—anything to release the anger clawing at my chest. But I don’t. I swallow it down, just like I always do.

The frustration mixes with the ache that never leaves. The kind that reminds me, no matter how many people are around, I’m always alone.