The Ace

Chapter 12 - The Target and The Blades

To Marcie, for the endless encouragement, love, and support you've given me. 

To Vana, whose words have kept me motivated. 

I love you both infinitely. 

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It was before noon as I finally left my room and sat down at the kitchen island. 

I was drinking my second cup of coffee while I read some more of Gatsby, considering I had absolutely nothing else to do. 

The moment I opened the book and saw the fold at the top corner, all of the events that occurred last night came flooding back vividly in my mind for what felt like the hundredth time since it all happened - which really wasn't that long ago. 

There was nothing I could do to prevent the constant and overpowering feeling of embarrassment that came with the images that continued to dance in my mind. Not that I was embarrassed about what happened with Ace, I was embarrassed about what didn't. 

Specifically, why it didn't. 

Damn you, Nick. Damn you, and damn your timing. 

Ace has emotional issues - a lot of them - and there was no denying that he's an asshole more often than he isn't. I was never really the type of woman who was attracted to guys with shitty personalities; I always preferred them kind. 

But there was no denying the fact that I was attracted to Ace. Physically, it spoke for itself. His face was enough to silence a room and although I've never seen his bare skin in its entirety, there's no denying the fact that my hands were running over pure muscle underneath his t-shirt last night. 

His scent? He naturally smelled like the Mahogany fucking Teakwood candle from Bath and Body Works, which didn't help the fact that that's been my favorite candle since it came out. 

That wasn't the whole reason for my attraction towards him, though. Despite his flaws on the emotional level, he had substance. The times he showed anything aside from anger were few and far between, however, they existed, and they spoke volumes. I notice when his eyes are stone-cold, I'm sure everybody does, but I notice when they go soft even if only for a fraction of a second. I noticed his tone of voice lost its sharpness when we stood in front of The Fallen Angel painting, and above all, I noticed how his pupils had dilated to an extreme when he was pressed against me last night. 

He's haunted by something so deeply-rooted that he refuses to speak about, and because of that, it's impossible for him to let go of whatever it may be. It wasn't my job to fix somebody, to heal what I hadn't damaged in the first place, but a part of me wanted to and I hated myself for it. 

I kept myself fixated on the book until what was left of my coffee went cold and my eyes were strained. It wasn't the need to rest my eyes that captured my attention, though - it was the faint sound of shouting followed by a slam, more shouting, another slam, then a door opening and footsteps. 

I looked up and saw a man I didn't recognize from Agostini like most of the others I've seen. He had the same physique as the others with a tall, large frame that was almost entirely composed of muscle. 

"Are you Alexandra?" He asked with a heavy Jersey accent. Considering the fact that I'm probably the only girl in this entire house at the moment, I assumed he used the question as an icebreaker since "you are Alexandra" would be sort of really weird. 

I nodded.

"Follow me," he said. 

I didn't hesitate as I set my things down and made my way towards him. I probably should've, but I didn't.