Page 13 of Spice and Revenge

“Jealous much?” I reply with a laugh, watching as he sets down a tray of beers at a nearby table.

The familiar buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses envelop me. I’m currently at a local bar I frequent. I visited the place with an old friend during my days in culinary school, who told me the place was owned by an American. When I saw they had a dart board, I became a regular customer, though it seems more like a relic than a game folks actually play.

The dartboard, adorned with its colorful rings, beckons to me from across the room. The focus, the aim, the intensity—each throw sends a thrill down to the tips of my fingers and entire body. As I raise my arm, time slows down. I release the dart with a graceful motion, and I watch it soar through the air before it hits the board again.

This bar serves as my sanctuary for releasing tension. In moments of concentration, everything else fades away, leaving just me and the dartboard.

Today, however, as I take aim, I imagine Leonardo’s face plastered all over it. Again and again, I throw the darts, wishing I could physically hit him on his stupid, ridiculously handsome face. The memory of him pouring food over my head hits me, making each throw harder than the next.

“Damn! Easy, girl,” Mark whistles as he walks past me again.

That’s when I realize I’ve been sweating, I’ve exhausted the darts in my hands, and every space on the dartboard is littered with dart pins. My face feels warm from too much heat; it’s flushed with anger and irritation, as if a small fire were burning at the back of my throat.

I think I need a drink.

With a deep sigh, I walk towards the counter. Amusement dances in Mark’s eyes as he spots me coming.

“What’s got you all riled up?” he asks.

“Just pour me something strong,” I reply, sidling onto a stool and ignoring his probing. He complies without pressing for details, sliding a shot of tequila my way.

“Thanks,” I mumble before tipping my head backward and downing it in one go.

Mark leans over the bar with that cocky smile. “You look a lot more stressed out than usual.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you implying that I always look stressed?”

“Whenever you come here, yes,” he says nonchalantly. “Although, you always look better when you’re done with your game, which tells me something's off today.”

A sigh escapes my lips, but I know better than to tell Mark anything. The man has been trying to hit on me for years, but I keep turning him down every time.

As if on cue, he wriggles his eyebrows at me. “You know, I can help you relieve some of that stress,” he says suggestively.

I can’t help but laugh. “You’ll have to give up at some point, Mark.”

The grin drops off his face, but the twinkle stays in his eye. “Hey, but you love my efforts, right?”

Before I can respond, a prickling sensation at the back of my neck draws my attention. I feel someone watching me. I turn around, and surely there’s someone in a black hoodie and a face cap at a far corner of the pub watching me. The hair at the back of my neck stands up. I look away, trying not to draw more attention to myself. A dreary feeling settles in my gut. Something is not right.

Leaving abruptly, I settle my tab at the cashier's desk.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” Mark drawls, catching me on my way out.

“Later, Mark,” I reply, rolling my eyes.

Outside, the cool evening breeze blows through my hair as I exit the building, soothing my frayed nerves. Streetlights illuminatemy way down the block as I head towards the bus station, checking the time on my leather wristwatch. 7:55 pm. On a normal day, I would panic because being out this late meant I wouldn’t meet up to make dinner, but today I left the estate after lunch, knowing I had the night off.

Turning into a junction, I catch sight of a figure trailing me across the street. Recognizing the tall, imposing silhouette, it’s the same person from earlier. And it’s a man.

My pulse quickens, and adrenaline surges through my veins as the figure steps forward. My blood runs cold, and I begin to run. He runs after me, his long legs eating up the space between us.

Ducking into a nearby alleyway, I think I have escaped him, only to feel his grip tighten around my wrist, pulling me towards him until I'm pinned against the wall.

“Well, well, well, if it isn't Laura… or should I sayLorenanow?” The sound of his voice resonates, flooding me with relief. With a swift motion, I reach up, yanking the black hoodie from his head, revealing his familiar cascade of long, brown locks.

“Oh my God, Maximo!” I breathe.

“Hey there, baby,” he drawls, his hand snaking around my waist effortlessly. His signature grin flashes across his face. “It's been a minute, huh?”

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