by Jayce Carter
She floundered so deep in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear someone walk up until they sat in the chair beside her. The male body had her freezing and not looking over. Of course Chris would have found her.
“I said I didn’t want to see you.”
“Well that’s too bad.”
Tara lifted her gaze to find not the man she’d expected, but one no less unwelcome. “What are you doing here, Harry?”
“I saw you over here and figured I’d say hi before the wedding, make sure you aren’t planning on ruining everything.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not coming.”
He let out a hard breath that was as cruel a laugh as she’d ever heard. “Really? And after I heard about you buying some slutty little dress, running about with that man who was way above you.”
Tara took a sip of her drink to resist the urge to say anything back. What would it help? He was right, and the more she said, the deeper the hole she’d dig for herself.
“You know, I heard a rumor. I mean, I saw the two of you, figured it was some pity date or something, but I heard that it’s worse than that. Heard it was some sort of trick, that you paid to get him there.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Tara muttered.
“Come on, it didn’t take much to figure it out. He is so out of your league that you paying him is the only thing that makes sense. Were you trying to make me jealous?” He gave her a vicious smile.
How had she ever thought him handsome? Why hadn’t she seen him as he really was sooner? Sure, he had the marks of being handsome, but the moment anyone looked closer, they’d see the cruelty through the cracks.
“No matter what you think, I couldn’t care less about your opinion.” She pulled a few bills from her purse and dropped them onto the table for a tip, then stood. “Goodnight.”
Harry caught her wrist, so much like the way Chris had done it, except it lacked the sweetness and certainly didn’t inspire that flutter in her stomach.
Chris’ grip had been soft, his thumb gentle against her pulse in a barely-there caress. Harry’s nails dug into the bottom of her arm, his fingers curled in like a harpy’s claws.
That was something, though. She had to be totally over Harry if his touch didn’t make her feel anything, except a slight desire to kick him in his balls. Men need something blue on their wedding day, right? Black and blue should suffice.
He didn’t speak until she looked at him. “You know, if you were just trying to get my attention, you didn’t have to work that hard. Just send me a text, and I don’t mind throwing you a pity fuck. You were never that good at it, but hell, why be picky?”
Tara wanted to slap him for his gall, but somehow, his words didn’t anger her. They shamed her. That was all anyone saw in her. A pity fuck. The poor girl who couldn’t get or keep a man. The woman who Chris would go to a wedding with even though he didn’t want her because he knew she couldn’t do better. The woman Harry cheated on and divorced but was willing to cheat with.
So instead of the way Tara should have responded, she just tugged her wrist away and left without a word, followed by Harry’s taunting laughter.
* * * *
Chris paced in the hotel room, Patrick lounging on the couch and watching him, silent. His friend had come in and plopped himself down without a word.
“You look like shit,” Patrick finally said.
And he wasn’t wrong. Chris hadn’t slept well. Each time his eyes shut, Tara’s hurt face appeared on his lids like punishment.
Better she figures out now that I’m bad for her.
“Is that why you’re here? To complain about my appearance?”
“Nope.”
After he didn’t continue, Chris stopped and turned a glare on his friend. “So why are you here?”
“It’s women’s night at a club about forty-five minutes away.”
“And?”
“And, you normally love ladies’ night. Come on, get dressed.”
The thought of dressing up and hauling his ass into a loud club for random women to grind on him sounded terrible. He normally loved the chase, the game, but throwing cheesy lines out for women he didn’t give a shit about made him cringe. In fact, Chris would rather try pole dancing, or attack dog dummy training, or water aerobics at the senior center than do that. “Hard pass,” he muttered.
“Why not? A quickie, a one-night stand and you’ll get out of this mood you’re in.”
“I’m not in a mood.”
“Yep, you’re just a ray of fucking sunshine, aren’t you?”
Chris crossed his arms and fought not to grind his molars. “If you don’t like my attitude, you’re welcome to leave. Since you broke in, I’m assuming you can figure out how to get out.”
“Not until we fix this. Come on, I’ve seen the girls you can pull at a bar. Don’t even bring her home, just fuck her in the bathroom. Fifteen minutes and you’ll be fine. Hell, I’ll wingman for you and we’ll find—”
“I don’t want some random girl.”
“Why not?”
“She won’t be Tara.”
They both froze when he admitted the truth, though Patrick didn’t look shocked. In fact, the bastard smirked.
“I didn’t mean that,” Chris tried to backtrack.
“Yeah, you did. How much more moping are you going to do before you just admit it already? Why are you fighting this so damned hard?”
“Because I’m not looking for that. I’m not looking to settle down. It never works.”
“And what you’re doing is working so well?”
“Fuck you,” Chris snapped. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to push it back from his forehead, ignoring the slightly greasy texture. I guess Patrick is right. I’m not looking my best. “She won’t even pick up when I call.”
“You’ve already been calling her?” Patrick’s laugh wasn’t kind. “You’re even worse off than I thought.”
“Even if I admitted that maybe I’m interested, she’s made it pretty clear she isn’t. So what’s the point?”
“You wounded her, buddy, so she’s snarling and licking her wounds.”
“Again, what am I supposed to do?”
“She’s sure you don’t care, that you don’t want her. Why don’t you get off your lazy ass and show her she’s wrong?”
Chris opened his mouth to tell Patrick he was crazy, that those big gestures were bullshit and never worked. That was just romantic nonsense for movies.
Then he thought about going home, back to his empty apartment, to his lonely place and his big, cold bed, and he realized he couldn’t do that.
It was worth the risk, whatever it took.
* * * *
Tara answered the door when a knock roused her from her mindless television watching. Nothing quite cured rational thought like hours of trash TV, where rich women screamed at one another over tiny slights. She was pretty sure another hour or two and her brain might just melt fully. Fine by me. Death by reality TV was always a pretty strong possibility for me.
On the other side of her security screen stood a woman, a box in her arms.
“Can I help you?”
The woman smiled and held up the box. “Tara Sampson? I have a delivery.”
Tara opened the door, taking the package when the woman all but threw it at her.
She took it inside after thanking the woman, who was already halfway down the driveway. For a moment, Tara worried it was some half-assed assassination attempt. Right, who wants to murder a thirty-year-old receptionist? Pretty sure you have to be a bit more important than me. Sad to think I’ve never done anything worthy of a murder attempt. Goals.
She set the box on the table, then pulled the top off.
Violet showed inside the box, and she knew immediately what it was.
The dress she’d picked out for the wedding.
A folded slip of paper sat on top, and she lifted it.
She’d already canceled the order and taken a hef
ty penalty for it. They’d sized it, but she hadn’t wanted to even see the stupid thing, let alone have it in her home. The hit to her pocketbook was a lot less than the hit to her ego.
She opened the folded slip of paper, reading slowly over the words.
Go to the wedding, sunshine. You never needed someone to make you look good. Show them exactly who you are. Consider the dress my apology for being an idiot.
-Chris
Tara stared at the carefully written letter, the penmanship as perfect as everything else about him. Hell, he couldn’t even break her heart like a proper asshole. No, he had to be nice about it.
She waited for pity to hit her. She waited for her to be frustrated by him. Except…he hadn’t said she needed him.
Gena’s words came back to her, so similar to what Chris had written.
The dress stared at her, and she could only think about Harry in that bar. She thought about the way he’d snickered and stared at her. She thought about the rumors that had gone around, that she could never land a man like Chris, that she had to be paying him.
They all came down to the same thing. No one thought she was worth anything, but then again, did Tara?
Had she ever really thought she was any good? She always put herself down, always said the worst things about herself before anyone else could, so why would anyone else think more of her?
She picked up the dress, the smooth, cool fabric against her fingertips, and stood tall.
She had a wedding to attend.
Chapter Nine
Walking in had been easier than Tara had expected. She’d thought it would take a few shots, a Xanax and some sort of sign from God to get her out of her car and into the wedding venue, a vineyard where both the ceremony and reception would take place.
Maybe it was like falling off a cliff. Once she’d taken that leap, the disaster was imminent. No reason to stress, to flail. Nothing she could do would change her hitting the ground at breakneck speed.
She held her shoulders back and wore the dress as though it was nothing strange. She didn’t lean over, didn’t cross her arms, didn’t pull at the hem of it. A few people whispered, a few gave her sidelong glances, but Tara didn’t care. She’d been invited. It was out of spite, sure, and she’d shown up out of spite too. Seemed fitting. She’d been invited and these people were her friends, and if anyone should be ashamed, it should be her ex-husband who had cheated, not her.
Gena and Patrick turned their heads from their spot near the bar, and both wore identical looks. Gena grinned ear to ear while Patrick lifted his drink as though congratulating her.
Her fabulous entrance was cut short by a storming Harry, who charged up until he stood inches away from her, his face beet red and eyes hard. “You said you weren’t coming,” he snapped.
“I decided I wasn’t going to bury my head in the sand and hide. You invited me, so I came.”
“I invited you as a joke. Only an idiot would show up, especially dressed like that. What? Are you thinking you’re going to show me up somehow? Show everyone you’re not a frigid loser by wearing some slutty dress?”
A crowd had gathered around them, and maybe she should have shut up. Maybe she should have realized this was a wedding, but she just couldn’t. Years of pushed-down hurt and anger came up like vomit, and she spewed the words at him. “Maybe I wasn’t frigid. Maybe you’re just a lousy lay.” She stole the words Chris had used, leaning on him even if he wasn’t there.
No, she wasn’t leaning on him. She was standing on her own, but damn if his words and the smile she was sure he’d have worn didn’t help her courage.
Harry stammered, nothing intelligible coming out at first, until he seemed to get control of himself. “This is why people cheat on you, because you’re useless and fat and boring. A dress and a paid-for boyfriend won’t change that.”
“You cheated on me because you’re scum. Plus, you didn’t think I was that bad when you offered to sleep with me last night.”
“I’m a man, Tara, so even a shitty lay is better than nothing.”
Tara opened her mouth to respond, but another voice silenced her.
“I knew it,” said Hannah, his fiancée. She stood there, wearing a white dress, her cheeks flushed but no tears in her eyes. No, she looked like she could spit fire right then, like she could incinerate Harry to smoldering ashes with a look alone. “I knew you were no good. You kept telling me I was being paranoid, but I knew when you went out late at night, when I couldn’t get hold of you, that you were cheating on me.”
Color drained from Harry’s face as he turned toward his fiancée, or perhaps his ex-fiancée. “No, honey, I didn’t mean that. I was just trying to put her in her place. She does this all the time, ruins everything!”
Hannah shook her head and took a step backward when he tried to reach for her. “Get out.”
“This is our wedding. I’m not going to leave.”
“Yes, you are, and if you don’t believe me, I assure you I have three brothers who will convince you to. I’m only thankful I saw you for what you are before I wasted any more time on you.”
He looked as if he were going to argue until said brothers, three hulking men who looked more than ready to toss him on his ass, walked up. Harry muttered some quiet curses and threats before he ran off.
Tara bit her bottom lip, looking at Hannah. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to do that, to ruin your day.”
She hushed Tara, grabbing her hand. “It’s not your fault. I’m just glad to know. I should have known from the start, but he kept telling me you two were over, that you’d already separated, and I let myself believe it. I should have seen it sooner, but hey, at least I didn’t marry him, huh?”
Tara gave a half-smile, the sort of dark humor needed in moments like that, when anything short of a bad joke might cause a breakdown. “You’re a step ahead of me, then. What now?”
Hannah took a deep breath, possessing the sort of confidence that Tara had always envied, the type she was starting to find in herself. “Well, he paid for a really nice party tonight. I say we all enjoy it.”
And instantly, Tara liked the woman.
* * * *
A few drinks later and Tara was laughing at the bar with Patrick and Gena. For a wedding without a marriage, the event had turned into quite the party. No one sulked and no one seemed to mind the change in plans.
Instead, everyone drank, danced and had themselves a hell of a good time. On the dance floor, Hannah shimmied her hips and whipped her veil around like some strip show. She moved with more confidence and happiness than Tara would have expected, but then again, Hannah had dropped that loser on her own, in front of everyone. She’d gotten free and this was her victory dance.
Good. I deserve it.
Despite Tara’s still aching chest, she did the same, finding fun as best she could.
“I do love that dress on you.”
Tara’s heart sped at the sound of the voice she’d wanted to hear so badly. She fought her initial reaction to run, to not face him, to not risk anything.
Instead, she gathered her new courage and twisted. “What are you doing here?”
“I was invited.”
“And uninvited.”
Chris smiled, and she knew she was lost already. How could she resist when he smiled like that? She was pretty sure he could use her favorite dress to dry his car and she’d forgive him the moment he smiled—or took off his clothes. She wasn’t picky.
“But you forgot to tell anyone that, so I was still on the list as your plus one,” he said.
Tara set her hands on her hips, unwilling to be swayed quickly, even if it was a losing battle. “What are you really doing here? I don’t need you trying to make things right, Chris. I didn’t listen to you when you said you didn’t want a relationship, and that’s my fault. You don’t need to feel guilty or try to fix things just because of what I said. I don’t need you to make anything up—”
Her tirade was cut short when he reache
d out, caught her around the back of the neck and pulled her in for a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was a claim, something that seared deep down into her, that stole her breath and her thoughts. In fact, it distracted her so much she forgot she was arguing with him and fell right into the kiss, keeping up with every move of his lips, every swipe of his tongue.
The fact that she was standing in the middle of a group of people, that she was sure they were making a spectacle of themselves, didn’t matter. Instead, she lost herself in the passionate kiss.
When he broke the kiss, when he pulled her lips from hers, he kept his forehead to hers, an intimate stance. “I was the one who wasn’t clear, I think.”
“You said you didn’t want anything.”
“I didn’t think I did. Then I met you, and I realized there’s nothing I want more than you in my life. I don’t want to go back to my empty apartment. I don’t want to go back to a life without your laugh and your smile and your humor and—” He dragged one teasing hand up her side. “A few other things.”
Tara struggled to keep up with what he was telling her, with how quickly things had changed. Hell, thinking when he touched her, when she remembered the last time she’d worn that dress when they were together, was damn near impossible. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to say that I know you don’t need me, but I’m hoping you want me, because I’ve fallen pretty hard for you.”
He stared down at her, and for the first time, she saw it.
He was nervous. It was in his dark eyes, in the way his hand was tight against her hip. His nervousness made her relax, made her feel less alone. He’d walked out onto that cliff and put himself and his feelings on the line. She wasn’t the only one risking it all.
“Unless I’m too late,” he said, doubt creeping into his eyes.
Tara give herself a moment to consider a future with Chris. She pictured more nights like the ones they’d spent together. She’d argue with him for years, neither of them willing to fully back down yet still bonded. She thought about laughing with him, about the way he made her feel, and the fact that she refused to allow her insecurities to steal away the only real happiness she’d found.