by J. L. Perry
I shrug my shoulder. “Well, Monday, then?”
“I don’t eat them on Mondays, either.”
Her hands start to fidget by her sides, and my enjoyment grows. “Tuesdays?”
She shakes her head, and that pretty pink blush returns. “What days are you allowed to eat donuts, then?”
Her eyes are everywhere but on me. “Saturday… Sinful-Saturday?” Her voice is so soft when she speaks, I can hardly hear her.
I lean toward her. “Come again?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Sinful-Saturday… okay?”
I throw back my head and laugh.
“You’re not serious, are you?”
Her brow furrows, but there’s a sadness in her eyes that tugs at my black heart. “You have a problem with that?”
“Since when has Saturday’s been sinful? Did I miss the memo?”
“No,” she says, blowing out a frustrated breath. “My therapist… I mean my friend,” she quickly corrects, “… suggested it.”
She diverts her eyes away from me again. “She suggested you do sinful things on Saturdays?” I ask, intrigued.
“Not every Saturday.”
“Okay,” I reply, playing along.
I can think of plenty of sinful things I’d like to do to her right now.
“The first Saturday of every month, if you must know.” Her attitude returns. I like her fiery side.
“So, your therapist… I mean your friend… encourages you to do sinful things on the first Saturday of every month.”
She sounds like a good therapist.
I may need to make an appointment to see her.
She fights a grin as her eyes drop back to the sidewalk. “It sounds ridiculous when you say it like that.”
“Why would she suggest that? And what other sinful things do you do besides eating donuts? Which is pretty badass, I might add. Does she make you rob banks, steal cars… mug old ladies?”
“No,” she says, laughing. Her face lights up when she smiles, revealing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth, and for the second time this morning, she steals all the air from my lungs. “I don’t do anything illegal. I just eat and drink what I like on those days.” She shrugs. “I let my hair down, you could say. You know… try and be more carefree.”
“Like deep throating stranger’s thumbs?”
“Yeah, like that,” she says, again fighting a smile.
“Do you do that often?”
She clears her throat. “No, you were my first.”
Good answer.
I like that I was her first.
Our eyes lock as we stand there, staring at each other. Something shifts. There’s a weird kind of pull gravitating between us. I’m even entertaining the idea of asking her if she’d like to grab some breakfast with me.
I don’t date.
Not anymore.
She’s not the kind of woman I’d usually go for anyway. Don’t get me wrong, she’s stunning, but underneath her fiery attitude, I can see she’s timid. She has an innocence about her, and I’m an asshole—a ruthless bastard—and if she knows what’s best for her, she’ll stay the hell away from me.
Run sweet-thing, run.
She lifts her slender arms, running the palms of her hands nervously over her slicked-back hair. She feels the spark too, I can tell. The sleeves of her top ride up slightly, and my eyes zero in on the tiny white scars sitting at the base of each wrist. Two perfectly straight lines that stand out against her bronzed, sun-kissed skin. And just like that, my somewhat promising morning turns to shit in an instant.
It’s like a sucker punch to the gut.
Bile rises in my throat as images of Anastasia’s lifeless body lying on my bathroom floor flash through my mind. The metallic scent of her blood filling my nose, making my stomach churn. Its deep red color only accentuated against stark white tiles, and her equally pale skin—the razor still clutched between her fingers.
My nostrils flare.
“Fuck,” I say as my breathing becomes rapid, and my heart thumps furiously against my ribcage.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Bending, I place my hands on my legs, trying to fight off the panic attack I know is coming. It’s been a while since I’ve had one. I honestly thought I’d outgrown them.
I guess not.
“Are you okay?” She steps forward, gently wrapping her fingers around my elbow.
My eyes dart up to her as I struggle to breathe. Pins and needles course down my arms and legs. I’m teetering on the edge, and I know I’m about to fall.
“All the color has drained from your face.” There’s concern in her voice as she speaks, and I hate that.
Christ, not here, not now.
“I’m fine,” I manage to say as I shake out of her grip and rub the heel of my palm across my chest, trying to relieve the crushing weight that’s now settled there.
Is life trying to tell me something? It’s like déjà vu at its fucking worst.
Turning, I hastily start moving, placing one foot in front of the other because, at this moment, it’s all I can do. The darkness is threatening to pull me under, and I need to get away before I completely lose my shit in front of her.
I don’t know her story and frankly, I don’t want to.
This situation is way too close to home for me.
Fuck, I need a drink.
Chapter Two
EMMA
“I don’t think so,” Carla says, pushing me back inside my bedroom. “You’re not wearing that.”
“Why not?” I protest.
“Because you look like you’re going to friggin’ church… with your grandma.”
When I moved into this apartment two years ago, it only took Carla and me a few days to strike up a friendship. We’ve been practically inseparable ever since. I grew up in Utah, and she’s originally from Temecula, California. Although she still resides in the same state, like me, she was looking for a fresh start. That’s how we ended up neighbors. We’re as different as chalk and cheese, but our union has turned out to be a match made in heaven. Carla is the kind of friend I’ve always dreamed of having, and she’s become like a sister to me.
Glancing down at the simple, loose-fitting black dress that stops just above my knees, I sigh. I like this dress, but she’s right, although I’d never admit that to her.
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” I snap, narrowing my eyes.
“Oh, pleassse.” She drags out the word as she rolls her eyes, and I giggle. “Wait right here.”
Carla rushes out of my room, and when I hear the front door close behind her, I know she’s going next door to raid her closet. I nervously chew on my fingernail as I await her return. She’s a full foot shorter than me and probably two cup sizes smaller, so I know whatever she comes back with, my body is going to be hanging out all over the place. I can guarantee she’s going to transform me from a wallflower into a damn hooker within minutes.
Carla’s beautiful—sexy as hell—but she also has the confidence and outgoing personality to match. Her look is unique, a cross between a Hollywood starlet and pinup model from an era long gone by, with flawless makeup, ruby red lips, and her soft vintage curls pinned on top of her head. She also has tattoos—a lot of them. Both her arms are covered in full sleeves of colorful ink. They suit her, but it’s a look I could never pull off.
I hate drawing attention to myself, which is something she attracts wherever we go. I’d rather blend into the crowd than stand out. Standing out only gets you in trouble.
“Pig, oink-oink.” The hairs on the back on my neck stand on end, and a chill runs down my spine as those words replay in my head. It’s been years since anyone has said that to me, but I still can’t seem to let them go. They haunt me. I’m no longer that chubby girl, and I doubt I’ll ever be her again. I work hard to keep in shape, and I count every calorie that goes into my mouth. Every single one. Well, except on Sinful-Saturdays. It’s the only day I don’t deprive myself of a
nything.
I run my fingers over the tiny scars on my wrists. They’re a constant reminder of my past. A past I can’t seem to escape. Sometimes I forget they’re there, but not today. Today they feel like they are lit up in neon lights.
A heavy weight settles in my chest. I know he saw them this morning, his entire presence shifted as his gaze remained fixated on my wrists. His reaction, though, that was unexpected. It’s weighed heavily on my mind all day.
He probably thinks I’m a freak.
I am a freak.
Shame fills me, and tears sting at the back of my eyes, but I will them back down. “I’m not that girl anymore,” I tell myself as I frantically riffle around in my jewelry box for my bangles to cover the scars. I haven’t worn these in a long time, but today they’re needed, even if only for me.
My eyes move to the mirror before me as I slide them over my hands. “You’re strong, you’re beautiful, and you’re worthy… Emma Jane Phoenix.” These are words my therapist makes me tell myself daily. On my good days, I believe them, but deep down, especially after what happened this morning, I doubt myself.
I doubt everything.
“Uh-uh, no way,” I say when Carla waltzes into my room beaming. There’s a red dress in her hand, which could be a belt by the lack of material. It’s hard to tell.
“Yes way, bitch. Put it on.”
“Carla.” I sigh as my gaze drops to the carpet under my feet.
“Em…” She steps forward, cupping my face in her hands, bringing my eyes back to her. “When are you going to see what the rest of the world sees? You’re a knockout. I’d kill for those legs and don’t even get me started on your tits.”
“Car—”
“You’re beautiful, babe. Inside and out. Well, you will be when you lose your nanna dress and put this on.” Carla’s words make me laugh. “Forget what happened earlier. He was a stranger, I doubt you’ll ever see him again. He doesn’t know you… the real you. He has no right to judge. He has no clue what you went through.”
When she met me for breakfast this morning, after the donut incident, I burst into tears the moment I saw her. His response brought all my insecurities back to the surface. I couldn’t even eat the four stack of pancakes I ordered or the double serving of crispy maple bacon. Like my donut, I was looking forward to all of that. But my run-in with the mysterious, gorgeous stranger had robbed me of my appetite, amongst other things.
I’ve barely eaten all day, and Sinful-Saturday is almost over.
“It’s forgotten already,” I lie. “Who cares what that hot, infuriating, bossy bastard thinks of me?”
For some reason, I do.
God, I’m pathetic.
“Just how hot was this bossy bastard, anyway?”
Too hot for me.
I prefer the quiet, nerdy type. Well, not really, but they’re the safe bet. Hot guys are more trouble than they’re worth.
Pulling back, I meet her pretty almond-shaped eyes.
“Imagine the hottest man you’ve ever seen… I mean the hottest.” Carla closes her eyes, and a smile bursts onto her face as she does just that. “Have you got an image in your mind?”
“Oh, yes,” she says with a breathy sigh.
“Well, this guy was a thousand times hotter.”
She laughs as her eyes spring open, playfully slapping my arm. “That tells me nothing.”
“It tells you he was so damn hot it should be illegal.”
Images of him filter into my mind. His exquisite sapphire, come-to-bed eyes. Eyes that I swore looked straight into my soul, so much so it was unnerving and powerful in equal measure. They were surrounded by long ink-colored lashes. Even his scent was intoxicating, something I’d happily drown in. Pouty lips and a bright, panty-melting smile that I’m confident could light up the night sky. His thick dark hair was still wet from his shower, cut short on the sides and left a little longer on top. It was slightly tussled like he’d used his fingers to comb it, but on him, it was perfect.
Gah! I’d love to run my fingers through that mane while his face was buried between my legs, tugging on it while he sent my body shooting to the stars. Sighing, my skin prickles at the thought.
Don’t even get me started on his perfectly chiseled jawline, which was covered in a days’ worth of dark stubble. Stubble my fingers were itching to reach out and touch.
The truth is, he’s everything I want but can never have.
“Oh my God, you’re thinking about him,” Carla squeals, punching my arm.
“Ouch, that hurt,” I say, rubbing my hand over my bicep. “I’m totally not thinking about his face between my legs.”
“You so were, you dirty ho. I think you need some action tonight.”
“I get plenty of action.”
“You fucking liar. You’ve been living here for over two years, and how many men have you been with? One?”
“Two, actually.”
“Exactly. That’s like one guy a year. The old ladies in the nursing home are getting more sex than you. Christ, there’s probably cobwebs between your legs.”
We crack up at her observation. I don’t have the heart to remind her I didn’t sleep with the last guy I brought home.
I’m twenty-six years old, and I’ve had sex once in the past two years. Pathetic. But, in my defense, I’m not a one-night-stand kind of girl. I don’t have it in me. Carla, on the other hand, goes through men like she goes through underwear. Well, maybe not that fast, but I’ve lost count of the number of suitors she’s brought home since moving here. She leaves a string of broken hearts in her wake.
She claims she’s just having fun, but deep down I know she’s searching for the love she never received as a child. I hope one day she finds what she’s looking for. If anyone deserves that, it’s her.
“Put this dress on,” she says, shoving it into my hands. “And go dust off your vagina because tonight, my friend, you’re getting laid.”
“Stop pulling the damn dress down,” Carla scolds, grabbing my hand and wrapping it in hers. “You look hot. So hot, in fact, if I didn’t love cock so much, I’d even do you.”
“Very funny.”
“True story.” She stops when we reach the bar, turning to face me. “You’re probably oblivious to the fact that every eye in this place was on you when we walked in here.”
“Don’t say that. It makes me feel self-conscious.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“Probably because I look like a whore.”
“Babe, open your eyes. You’re gorgeous.” Her gaze bores into mine. “You are!”
I let out a long breath.
“I’m trying, Car… I’m trying.”
“Well, try harder. Forget those stupid cunts you went to school with. They don’t know shit.”
I gasp. “You said the ‘C’ word.”
“Well, they are cunts,” she reiterates, rolling her eyes.
“Yeah, you’re right, they are.”
“Say it.” She arches an eyebrow, challenging me. “Go on… say it, Em.”
“But I hate that word.”
“Say it, or so help me…”
“What are you going to do?” I place my hands on my hips.
“I’ll… I’ll lift your dress and show the entire club those hideous granny undies you insisted on wearing tonight as well as your cobwebs.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “All right, all right. They’re cunts… are you happy now?”
“Louder and with more conviction this time.”
“They’re the cuntiest of cunts!” I say, raising my voice. Thankfully the loud music thumping out of the speakers drown out my words.
She roars laughing as she pulls me into her arms. “I fucking love you, Em.”
“I love you, too, Carla.”
There’s a sparkle in her eyes when she draws back. It’s not the first time I’ve told her that I love her, but the reaction I get whenever I do, tells me it’s not something she hears often. That saddens me. S
he’s such an easy person to love.
I’d be lost without her. Carla’s always pushing me outside my comfort zone, and the truth is, I need someone like her in my life. I need her more than she knows. I’m envious of her. She exudes confidence, which is something I’m truly lacking. Carla does whatever makes her happy, and to hell with the consequences. I, on the other hand, live my life by the book.
Structured and safe.
That pretty much sums me up. It keeps my head above water… my safety-net you could say. A way of ensuring I continue moving forward. I’ll never be that girl again. .
“Now that’s settled, let’s get shit-faced,” she says, reaching for the cocktail menu.
“Lets.”
Chapter Three
ASHTON
I spotted her the moment she walked through the door. My little sinner, dressed in the devil’s color red, of course. And fuck me if her body isn’t pure sin in that tight little number she’s wearing. She looks completely different from the woman I ran into this morning.
Completely different.
Yet my body recognized her instantly. Why out of all the clubs in LA, did she have to end up here? And looking like that. Is the universe fucking with my head? I hardly ever come here, I only chose this place because I had to pass it on my way home from my parents’ estate.
My eyes follow her every move as she walks across the club, hand in hand with another woman. My gaze involuntarily moves to her wrists that are now covered with two large bangles. Are they there purposely? Is she trying to hide her scars? Fuck. She’s somehow become my little enigma. As much as I tried to push her from my mind today, it was fruitless.
What’s her story?
Do I even want to know?
She has me tied up in knots.
I should take my own advice, turn away, and run. Just like I did this morning.
“Did you hear a word I said, Ash?” Grayson asks, pulling me back into the present.
“Yep, every single one.”
“You fucking liar. What did I say, then?”
When I don’t answer, he follows my line of sight. I still haven’t managed to peel my eyes away from her. She looks happy as she laughs at something the chick beside her says. I’m sitting unnoticed at the end of the bar with my best friend, Gray.