Blue

by Ford, Brynn

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  He reached out to flip off the light switch and added, “I’m really pissed off at you, I need you to know that. But I also need you to know that I love you, Holly Blue.”

  That name was a reminder I didn’t need. Not only had I let another man buy me a drink – or three or four – last night, but I’d told him my name was Holly Blue. That name should’ve been sacred, only for Vaughn.

  I really am the worst person on the planet.

  “Love you, too,” I said quietly.

  Vaughn leaned down over me, pressing a kiss to the side of my head and then left. That was it. He was gone. Off to work.

  I sighed, rolling onto my back and moved too fast. I felt the bile rise in my throat and jumped out of bed, sprinting to the bathroom. I made it to the toilet just in time to purge last night’s intoxication, not just once but three revolting times.

  When I felt mostly certain I had nothing left in my stomach, I slowly climbed from the floor to turn on the sink faucet. I cupped my hand under the flow, gathering a small amount of water, and tipped it into my mouth. I swirled it around before spitting it out, then immediately reached for my toothbrush and mouth wash.

  I watched my reflection in the mirror above the sink as I worked to cleanse my mouth. I looked like hell. My chestnut hair was still gathered in a ponytail, but it was a tangled mess. Dark circles under my brown eyes showed how much I needed sleep. My cheeks were devoid of color, lacking the usual dull rose tones at the apples of my cheeks that highlighted my olive skin and normally gave my face some light, some life.

  Last night had been the culmination of my slow disintegration over the past couple of months. A lot had changed in such a short time. I had changed since Lucy died. I knew I was depressed. I shouldn’t want to stay in bed all day. I shouldn’t want to close my eyes and sleep forever or run away and drink myself to oblivion just to hide from my feelings. But I couldn’t seem to drag myself out of it. It hurt to see just how lost I’d become.

  Maybe it was just how new our relationship was before, that Vaughn and I were still in the honeymoon phase then, but I used to wake him up in the morning, not an alarm. He didn’t need one with me sleeping beside him. He had his own personal sex siren to wake him up the right way. My libido had always been high, but especially during pregnancy. I woke up every morning at the same time, ready to go. It energized both of us, because we both had a lot of it to burn.

  Vaughn and I had been physically compatible from the moment we met. Our first date, which incidentally, took place the morning after our first night together, was when we realized that. We couldn’t stop touching and flirting with each other. He took me to breakfast that morning and he had tried apologizing to me, tried to assert that he’d never done anything like that before. And even though he was a sexual dynamo and the most beautiful, charismatic man I’d ever met, I believed him. The waitress was boldly flirting with him every time she came to the table. He could’ve had her or anybody else. To look at him, one might think he’d had more than his fair share of one-night stands. I certainly thought that until I sat down and actually talked to him.

  Vaughn was every woman’s bad boy fantasy. His arms were covered in tattoos that highlighted his perfectly constructed muscles from wrist to shoulder. He blended his bad boy image with his hipster style seamlessly, a dark and dangerous aura colliding with tailored clothing that demonstrated his fashion sense in his own unique fusion. His hair was impeccably styled, his beard perfectly manicured. Not to mention his trademark smirk, the one that touched the corners of his eyes, wrinkling them just slightly into crow’s feet that made him look mature and downright sexy. He made women swoon all around him. It was evident from the start that he was the one. He’d only ever had eyes for me since the moment we met. He chose me over all the women falling at his feet.

  And here I was, moping and distant, and shutting myself off to my man. I was avoiding my own husband and as shitty as it made me feel, I couldn’t drag myself out of this overwhelming black hole of misery.

  My phone pinged twice from the bedroom and it startled me from my thoughts. I’d been so lost in my reflection that I hadn’t noticed the glassy shine across my eyes or the warmth of a single tear slipping from the corner, gliding down my cheek. I swiped at my eyes with my hands and walked back to the bedroom. I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up my phone from the nightstand, pulling up my new text messages.

  LAW: Good morning, Holly Blue.

  LAW: I’d like to take you out for coffee. You free?

  Another text pinged through as I was reading.

  LAW: Are you a texter or a talker?

  I bit at the side of my thumb, my brow furrowed at the screen. I knew I should’ve blocked and deleted his number as soon as I got home last night. But somehow my fingers started to type a response.

  DESI: I’m not interested, thanks.

  LAW: Not interested in what, Blue?

  His response was almost immediate. I could have ignored it, should have, but I didn’t.

  DESI: I’m married.

  LAW: I’m aware. So?

  DESI: So, I’m married.

  LAW: Meet me for coffee.

  DESI: I don’t think so.

  LAW: Why not?

  DESI: BECAUSE I’M MARRIED.

  LAW: Why did you give me your number then?

  DESI: Technically, I didn’t.

  LAW: Fair point. But you didn’t delete mine, did you?

  Well, fuck.

  He wasn’t wrong.

  LAW: Meet me for coffee.

  DESI: I can’t.

  LAW: You can. One cup.

  DESI: Sorry, I’m just not that kind of girl.

  LAW: I know you aren’t. I’m not that kind of guy.

  An entire minute passed while I typed and deleted and typed and deleted and tried to figure out what the hell I wanted to say.

  LAW: I’m not looking to help you cheat on your husband. I’m not trying to get in your pants. You seem like an interesting person. I enjoy having conversations with interesting people.

  If that didn’t sound too good to be true.

  DESI: I don’t believe that for a second.

  LAW: So don’t believe it. You can still meet me for coffee. You can make your own choices. You’re a big girl.

  That was a rather off-putting comment. I knew I looked young, which I was at 22-years-old, but I took it personally. I’d experienced more in my short years than most people had in a lifetime.

  DESI: That’s rude. Don’t be an asshole.

  LAW: You can tell me off in person.

  LAW: You can also thank me in person for getting you home safely last night.

  LAW: Meet me for coffee.

  Oh, boy. How did I get home last night?

  I thought about it for a minute. When the memory suddenly came flooding back to me, I felt embarrassed. I remembered spending the entire evening at that bar in Black Ties. Law had opened a tab for me, which he offered to pay, before he left me alone for the mysterious members only area.

  I stayed there for hours, drink after drink. I recalled being hit on by a couple of guys, asking me if I was a member. Come to think of it, there was even a man and woman together, a couple, that hit on me, too. That was a first for me.

  Law had found me hours later at the bar. I was ready to crash, my head resting against the bar top as I fought sleep. He had called me a cab and paid the driver to take me home.

  Damnit.

  At the very least, I owed him a thank you. He must have spent a small fortune to get me drunk and consequently send me home safely, without incident.

  DESI: Fine. You wore me down.

  LAW: Just what a man wants to hear.

  DESI: I teach a couple yoga classes this afternoon at 5th Avenue Yoga Studio. Do you know it?

  LAW: Of course. That’s where I do all my yoga.

  DESI: OMG. Seriously?

  LAW: I’m kidding, sweetheart. I know where it is.

  DE
SI: There’s a Starbucks nearby the studio.

  LAW: Sure. What time?

  DESI: I’ll meet you at 4pm?

  LAW: Done. See you then, Blue.

  I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until it rushed out of my lungs with a long exhale. My hands were trembling with nerves.

  Logically, there was nothing wrong with meeting up with a friend for coffee.

  A male friend.

  An older, drop dead gorgeous male friend.

  So, what if Law is easy on the eyes?

  My husband was drop dead gorgeous, too, and I loved him deeply. I was committed to him, even if things were rocky, even if everything felt like it was crumbling to pieces around me because of my depression and our grief.

  Fuck, is everything crumbling to pieces?

  No. Of course not.

  I needed Vaughn and I didn’t think anything could ever change that, so that meant there was nothing to worry about in meeting Law for coffee. I was in control of my choices and I would never do anything to hurt him intentionally.

  I decided that everything was normal, pretended that I was okay, and went to take a shower before getting ready for work.

  Chapter 4

  Desi

  It was 3:55pm when I arrived at the Starbuck’s on 5th Avenue. I entered the café and went right to the back, darting into the single stall women’s restroom. I didn’t have to go, but I had an unexpected rush of nervous energy that brought about a strange urge to check my hair one last time.

  I looked in the mirror and was immediately disappointed in myself. Normally after teaching a series of back-to-back classes at the studio, I left with my hair up in a messy bun and without a care in the world that I was in desperate need of a shower. In any case, the long walk back to the apartment would undo any cleaning up I could do in the studio locker room, so I usually just waited to shower at home.

  But I hadn’t done that today. I’d taken my make-up bag with me to the studio. I took a shower in the locker room. I took far longer than I should have letting my hair down, applying a solid layer of foundation, lining and shadowing my eyes, and painting color on my lips that I only ever wore when going out.

  What the fuck am I doing? This isn’t me.

  “Shit.”

  All at once I felt stupid and ashamed. I had no idea why I took all of that time just to make myself look pretty for another man. There was something seriously wrong with me.

  Shaking my head, I yanked out a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and turned on the faucet, soaking them in water before swiping them across my face. It took me a couple of minutes, and my cheeks had a touch of pink to them from the irritation of the cheap paper, but the face staring back at me in the mirror was mine.

  The fact that I’d tried to doll myself up to have coffee with this man I really didn’t even know had truly unsettled me. Once the make-up was off, I felt calmer, more relaxed. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy doing myself up every once in a while. I knew all the hair and contouring tricks and I cleaned up well, but that just seemed like an unnecessary waste of time in my day-to-day, particularly given my line of work.

  My long, brown hair fell nearly to the middle of my torso. I liked it long, though I didn’t often leave it down. I momentarily debated leaving it, but decided that if I had been meeting any other friend for coffee, it would’ve been up as usual. I wrestled an elastic hair tie from my gym bag and quickly flipped my hair up into a messy bun, my signature look after a day of teaching yoga.

  The final result was me, rather than a made-up version of me that wanted to impress a stranger.

  Why am I even doing this?

  The flutter of nerves in my belly was unusual. I was never nervous about talking to new people. I enjoyed it.

  So why is the idea of talking to this man scrambling my brain?

  I exited the bathroom, more confident about my appearance than when I walked in. I quickly glanced around the café, but I didn’t see him, so I decided to step outside to snag a table on the sidewalk. It was a beautiful day, unusually warm compared to the cool of last night. The sun peeked through the clouds and the temperature was perfect, not hot, not cold, just a crisp fall day.

  I sat at a table near the door, sitting on the side that allowed me to face the entrance. I hoped that I’d be able to see him coming rather than be snuck up on. A minute later, I spotted Law walking toward the café. He was still quite far away and hadn’t seen me sitting at the table yet, but I could see him direct in my line of sight.

  The man might have just stepped off the runway. His dark hair was styled in unruly perfection, the waves rippled around his face in an intentionally-unintentional fashion. The wayward strands were in direct contrast to his high-class, sleek look. It complemented his overall appearance in a way that screamed “fun-loving but no-nonsense man seeking posh trophy wife who must love dogs.” He was a walking dating ad.

  He wore a navy blue suit that had clearly been tailored to fit him with a crisp white button-down shirt underneath, open at the collar. He wore dark tan dress shoes, which flawlessly matched the leather belt visible behind his open blazer. I could imagine the soft click of his shoes on the sidewalk as he strode forward with confidence. His dark aviator sunglasses hid his eyes and the serious way he spoke into the cellphone held to his ear made him look important and unavailable. Everything about his appearance screamed desirable, untouchable man.

  So why the hell does he want anything to do with me?

  I blinked away, grabbing my phone to stare mindlessly at the screen, not wanting to give away that I saw him coming. I was suddenly curious to know if he would recognize me from last night. The lights in the bar had been dim and our meeting was so brief. I thought there was no way he’d remember what I looked like. Then, again, I was able to spot him from a block away. Though, in fairness, his appearance really demanded attention.

  I felt his commanding presence next to me before I saw him there out of the corner of my eye. I finally looked up after he spoke to me.

  “Holly Blue,” he said with a velvet voice, pocketing his cell phone, “You made it.”

  I tilted my head to look up at him and smiled politely, “I made it.”

  He took me completely off guard, bending down unexpectedly. His hand grazed the small of my back as he kissed my cheek in a manner one might greet an old, dear friend. My skin tingled.

  “Thanks for grabbing a table, sweetheart. I’ll go get drinks. What would you like?” Law oozed with smooth charm.

  “Iced coffee is good for me, thanks.”

  “Cream? Sugar?”

  I shook my head, “No.”

  He smiled at me and disappeared inside the café.

  I let out a long breath with a fleeting wish that I’d left on the make-up. I honestly contemplated pulling my hair down. But that was utterly ridiculous, and I knew it. I mentally chastised myself for even entertaining the thought of wanting to look like a better version of myself for this stranger when I wouldn’t have done the same for my own husband.

  A few minutes later, Law returned with our drinks, placing mine in front of me on the table before sitting across from me.

  “Did you just come from work?” I said, unwrapping a straw and sliding it into the lid of my iced coffee. I took a sip before setting my cup down again and playing with the straw. It was a relief to have something to do with my hands.

  “No, actually, I work nights,” Law said, taking a sip of his hot drink without giving it any time to cool, “This is my morning.”

  Curious.

  “Oh? So when you texted me this morning, you were –”

  “Up past my bedtime,” he finished for me, flashing me a grin.

  I returned my own smile in kind, “What line of work are you in where you dress like a Gucci model to work nights?”

  “Armani, actually,” he joked, “I own a couple of nightclubs.”

  “Really? Any I’d know of?”

  “I guess that depends on your nighttime inter
ests.”

  “Well, that’s very cryptic of you,” I called him out.

  He smirked, “You know one of them. You were there last night.”

  “Black Ties?”

  “That’s my baby.”

  I flinched a little at that particular use of words, but forced myself to ignore the twinge of pain from the memory of my own baby.

  “Do you like the work?” I asked.

  A secret smiled formed at the corners of his lips, “So much more than you know.”

  “What does that mean?” I laughed.

  “You ask a lot of questions, Holly Blue.”

  “I have a bit of a nervous habit of asking questions,” I admitted, “I’m a very curious kind of person, you know.”

  He looked down at his cup for a brief moment before glancing up at me with an expression I couldn’t make sense of, “No, I don’t know. But I’m very interested in knowing what kind of person you are.”

  I paused, looking down at the table, “Why?”

  “I want to know what you were running from last night.”

  “What makes you think I was running from anything? Maybe I was running toward something.”

  “Were you? Running toward something?”

  My brow furrowed, “No.”

  “You’re the kind of woman with layers, aren’t you? Secrets buried deep inside.”

  The comment felt a little too personal, “I don’t know. I think I’m just your average girl.”