by K. S. Adkins
Whispering to myself, I said, “Because my heart is broken.”
And then I drove away.
Do you want to know what I realized on the way to the airport?
It's that you didn't have to fall in love to have your heart broken.
You could become the very worst version of yourself and do it all on your own.
One year later...
Inside the Westin's conference room, I was sitting at my designated table, smiling, hugging and signing my reader’s hardcover copies of my debut novel, Cocktales.
Yes, I did it.
I wrote a novel. A doozy of a novel, too.
The book didn't just take off, it shattered records and changed my life literally overnight.
Suddenly I was in demand and the hype showed no signs of slowing anytime soon.
What started out as one woman's view on single life turned into one woman's journey to find her happily ever after through trial and a lot of error and the public responded. As I typed, the end, I still hadn't found it in terms of romantic love it but like I said in print, while I waited, I was planning to embrace all the ways heartbreak helped me fall back in love with myself. And it did.
It truly did.
I was fifty shades of free.
To get there, I accepted full responsibility for my role in my treatment of Oliver and the stupid need to prove him wrong. To get revenge. To hurt. That's not who I am or who I want to be so, I forgave myself vowing never to do it again.
So let me just say that never in my wildest dreams, did I expect to see Oliver surrounded by readers in line to meet me. As the lone male, he stood out. The large bouquet of orchids he was holding was hard to miss too.
After taking a selfie with a fan, I watched him approach and held my breath.
The year since our relationship ended served him well. He was rocking the big four-oh, I'd give him that. The man looked incredible. Then again, he always did.
Looks were never his problem.
I was.
“Dee,” he says nervously stepping forward.
“Oliver,” I smile leaning in to accept his hug. Inhaling his unique scent, I pushed the painful memories aside to say, “This is unexpected.” Because regardless of what happened, I had cared about him.
I just hadn't cared enough.
“Here,” he says handing me the flowers. “These are for you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper clutching them so it gave my hands something to do.
“Oh,” he says reaching behind producing my book. “I was hoping you would sign this?”
Caught off guard, I take my work, open it and pen, Wishing you all the best, along with my signature.
Handing it back I was rendered speechless when he asks, “I was also hoping we could have a drink when you're done?”
“I...”
“I'll wait in the bar,” he says quickly. “Just...say yes again.”
Nodding once I ramble, “Okay, yeah. Maybe.”
Which translated to saying yes twice and then sort of taking it back.
Shit.
This was how horror movies started.
A year ago, I made the biggest mistake of my life by letting Diva go.
The night she drove away, she just never came back and I found out from her blog that she had relocated to Los Angeles. Regret was my companion all these months. I hardly ate or slept and was glued to my phone in hopes she'd call, text, or write something.
When she published her book, Cocktales, I wasn't surprised it took off like a rocket.
Diva was talented, genuine, and raw.
Her fans recognized it. Unfortunately, it took me a little longer to figure out how special those qualities were.
While I still had reservations in terms of making a living writing about anonymous sex, I knew with her help, I could get passed it.
So when she announced her tour and I saw she was coming home, I bought a ticket and here I am.
Nervously waiting for her to show, I gulped my drink down going back over all the things I had memorized to say. Except that when she entered the bar, every line I rehearsed flew out of the window.
She was even more beautiful than I remembered.
If she was confident before, she was brazenly confident now. It was intimidating as fuck.
Which was saying something because she was pretty damn intimidating before.
I mean yeah, she was famous in the book world these days but deep down I had to believe she was still Dee. My Dee.
Standing and pulling out her chair, I slide her drink forward and forced myself to chill the fuck out.
“Thank you for the drink,” she says running her finger over the rim.
And what was my response to this?
“I still love you, Dee.”
Stilling she says, “Oliver...” Covering my hand she whispers, “That means a lot. It's just that I love me, more.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” she says softly. “That things are different now. I'm different now.”
“I am too,” I insist. “I'm here aren't I?”
“Oliver,” she sighs. “It took me a lot of tears and self-reflection to get to a better place and I can't risk destroying my progress.”
“I admitted that I made a mistake, Dee,” I groan in misery. “And what I was trying to tell you before you drove off was I have your computers.”
“Excuse me?”
“I still do. I've read all your words hundreds of times. You love me, Dee. You don't have to say it because I know. So I understood why you wrote the things you did. The blog, the column, I get it now. But dammit, we made sense too. I want you back. Help me change. I know I can.”
Pulling her hand away, she closes her eyes and says, “Shoulda let her die.”
“What?”
Meeting my gaze she says, “That's what you said the night of the fire. Shoulda let her die.”
“Dee...”
“If you read my words and found insight into me then you know I was never going to write about you and I still haven't. I won't. But no matter how angry you are at someone you claim to love, even if it feels like hate at that time, you should never say, shoulda let her die.”
“Fuck,” I mumble in frustration. “I didn't mean it.”
“Maybe not, but my heart doesn't know that and it took you delving into my private thoughts to even attempt to see things differently. Despite my trying to tell you the very same from my own mouth. You called me a liar among other things. And while I do care about you, likely always will in some way, this,” she motions between us. “I can't, Oliver. I won't.”
Desperate, I plead, “I'll chase you again, Dee. I'll work for it, like before.”
Standing she says, “You can't chase someone who isn't running, Oliver. I am so sorry that I got caught up in misleading you to who I was. It was wrong and I regret not being strong enough to say the words sooner. If I had, maybe we would be right where we are today, or maybe we wouldn't. But the fact is, I deserve more and so do you. It was good to see you, take care, okay?”
“Take care?” I half yell. “I fucking love you, Dee.”
“It's Diva,” she says gently. “And I know.”
“If you loved me, you wouldn't walk away.”
“I was wrong,” she says biting her lip. “You shouldn't have to work for it, you shouldn't have to change the way you feel to be with someone else. I write about sex, Oliver. I'm not a relationship expert. But even I know expecting you to be something you're not isn't how love should be.” Rushing forward she kisses me soundly on the lips then says, “I wish I could have loved you.”
Then she walked away leaving behind an empty seat, an autographed book in my lap and the reminder that she never loved me back.
And when I opened the book to 'best wishes', I left it on the bar top and didn't look back.
Even weeks later after our brief run in, Oliver still crossed my mind from time to time.
I suppose in many ways
he always would.
Being with him was a lesson for me, for all women who considered settling for what you think you need instead of true happiness.
While I don't regret a second of it, I deserved a man who loved me unconditionally.
A man who wasn't deterred by my past or the essence of who I was.
Oliver was a good man, I truly believe that. But he wasn't my man.
He was not my happily ever after.
And, in no way should he have to bend so that he was.
I also realized that saying I love you was easy but telling someone you didn't was hard.
Really hard.
So hard, I ran after I'd done it.
I didn't go back to the banquet hall or even my hotel room.
I booked another flight and got the hell out of Detroit.
These are the thoughts and feelings I was pouring into my next novel that was an emotional roller coaster for me. A novel I hoped one day Oliver himself would read so he understood that we both had prejudices that would have destroyed us. We both were to blame. He would never move beyond who Diva was no more than I could accept his close mindedness on the subject.
Still, I was grateful I had the chance to care for Oliver in my own way.
That I was the one to say yes.
Even if just for a short time and for all the wrong reasons.
Because he taught me so much about myself and I was grateful to him for that.
Our brief love story may not have ended on the steps of a church but, it was still one hell of a story.
So until the man of my dreams finds me, I would continue falling back in love with myself again.
And again.
And again.
But don't worry my story doesn't end here, in fact; it's just getting started.
Actually, shit is about to get crazy.
'Pussy in any language is still pussy'
With no signings or engagements on the books for the next two months, I decided to travel.
Thanks to my overnight success, I was now financially able to be the adventurer I dreamt of becoming.
My Mom, Diva, was on a cruise with her flavor of the week, so I said fuck it and chose Mexico.
I had nothing but time, tan lines, and tequila in my future and I was a-okay with it.
Playa La Audiencia's beach turned out to be the perfect choice for my solo destination.
Props to my travel agent because this resort was clutch.
In the two days I've been here, I've been snorkeling, paddle boarding, dancing badly, parasailing, and power drinking.
Today, I was outside of my villa, had just closed my laptop and was enjoying the sun on my face and skin when I opened my eyes to see a man standing there.
A stunningly sexy man.
He was a gorgeous mix of olive skin, blonde wavy hair, blue eyes, lean muscle, and utter male confidence. His tropical shirt revealed a smooth chest and tight stomach. Just how I liked it.
I mean, at least one of us should reap the benefits of watching our carbs and doing cardio.
He looked like he just hopped off a surf board and wanted to ride a different kind of wave.
The sex kind.
The man looming over me has probably never heard no in his life and I didn't want to be the one who broke his record. Look, I was a sexual being in her prime and if this guy wanted some attention, if he played his cards right, it would be undivided.
Seeing as I haven't gotten some in what felt like forever.
“Hello,” he says in perfect English.
“Hi there,” I smile sitting up straighter, sucking it in for all I was worth.
“What brings you to Manzanillo?”
“Work,” I say then add, “And a little play.”
“What kind of play?”
“I haven't decided yet.”
Extending his hand, I take it allowing him to bring me to my feet. While he wore a lot of jewelry, it wasn't overly obnoxious. Then again, when were thick gold chains ever truly obnoxious?
“Shall we go to the bar and decide together?”
This resort was gated, so he was clearly a guest here and he felt safe enough, so I smiled, “We shall.”
Over three too many mojitos, he asked me if I wanted adventure, and me being me, without thinking, said yes.
Maybe the luxury motorcade should have been a warning sign. Or perhaps the dozens of armed men inside of them. But I was too aware of the man holding my hand, pointing out landmarks to concern myself too much. I mean, it's Mexico.
Doesn't everyone have security?
Oh! And then the helicopter ride. He had his own fleet! Mexico from above was even more stunning than below. Sadly, the flight didn't take long before I was escorted to another motorcade that was taking us to his home.
An hour later, we entered a long tree-lined drive with an enormously ornate gate and I did it, I gasped. Truly gasped.
“Who lives here?”
“I do,” he smiles and I notice a shiny gold tooth. “Welcome to my home, Dating Diva.”
“You know who I am?”
“I know all about you,” he says kissing my cheek. “And now I have you.”
With his help, I exited his pimped out Hummer and waved to his men hoping to appear non-threatening. I mean, I was a writer not...well, whoever they warred with.
When it hit me, I groaned asking, “What's your name?”
“Pablo,” he says kissing the top of my hand.
“Pablo,” I grin. “What's your last name?”
“Jones.”
Okay, he's kidding right? “Pablo Jones,” I mumble but then had to point out, “You're white and American.”
“Only on the outside,” he winks seductively and ho boy did it work. “And you know, you do not look like a Diva,” he announces. “You look like a Dahlia.”
“The flower of Mexico?”
“Is it?” he blinks adorably.
Pablo Jones might be the oddest white Mexican I have ever met and still I wasn't running the other way.
“Come,” he says eager to show me the grounds. Grounds that took a full hour and a half to explore, no less. In the garden, I was sober, wiped out and ask, “Can we go inside now?”
Kissing my cheek, he whispers, “Yes, Dahlia.”
If the outside was magical it didn't hold a candle to the inside.
Spinning in a circle I say, “This is amazing!”
“I am glad you like it.”
When he captured me in his arms I ask, “What do you do to be able to live like this?”
“I am the leader of Los Poon,” he says proudly.
“The drug cartel?” I blink because this man doesn't seem able to run a register at Footlocker.
“You've heard of me?” he beams in pride and yes, it was sexy.
“I googled local cartels on the flight here and your name came up first.”
But left out the part where I was dying to know why he named his cartel, The Pussy.
Maybe later...
“So we know each other,” he says brightly. “Fate is a wise woman.”
Upstairs, he ushers us into a surreal bedroom where he proceeds to lay sundresses out.
“Choose one you like.”
“Do this often?” I ask stopping count at twenty-five dresses.
“My sister, she visits.”
Ah. “What's her name?”
“Kelly.”
Kelly Jones. Whitest white name ever... How does he not get it? Moving on...
After changing into the one dress that held my boobs, I meet him in the hall where we descend the grandest staircase to ever exist.
At the bottom, I praise while severely winded, “The tile work is beautiful, Pablo.”
“It is marble,” he says. “And is mixed in pure gold.”
“Of course it is,” I smile appreciatively.
“Dahlia,” he says suddenly dipping me. “You are about to be worshipped.”
“I am?”
“Yes,” he s
ays staring at my mouth.
“Now?” I ask licking my lips in invitation.
“Soon,” he vows placing me on my feet. By the hand, he takes me out to a stone balcony and says, “I own all you see.”
“Question,” I begin as I survey the vast land below. “Am I safe here?”
“Did you not see my soldiers?”
“I did,” I agree. “You've got a lot of fire power.”
“They will kill for you, as will I, Dahlia, so yes, you are safe here.”
Meh, good enough for me.
#vacationgoals
That evening, after hours, and I mean hours, of dancing, Pablo Jones brought me up to his suite and made all of me quiver when he knelt, raised my dress and placed his lips on my inner thigh. “I smell your nectar,” he says licking and tasting. “But your skin tastes like sin.”
“Hallelujah,” I moan unabashedly.
“May I worship you now, Dahlia?”
“Yes, Pablo Jones. You may.”
Without another word, he pulled my bikini bottoms to the side and licked. His tongue was so skilled it felt like five tongues and while I wanted to reciprocate, I couldn't.
Pablo Jones mastered my pussy so well all I could do was shake and take it. My orgasm came over me so hard and fast I jolted, whimpered, and swear I saw my dead grandma. “You are ravishing when you cream, Dahlia.” I really liked this guy...
When I reached out to return the favor, Pablo Jones sat me up, slid the strap from my shoulder and spent five solid minutes licking my collar bone and neck. A proper puddle of hormones, I closed my eyes and listened as he sang to me. Of course he had a beautiful voice. The melody turned into a hum and when he found my nipple, the man got down to business.
“Will you undress me, Dahlia?”
Sliding his shirt off, I fling it away, then unbutton his pants. Freeing his cock, I zone in on it praising, “You've been blessed.” And he was. The man was hard, veiny, thick and fat at the tip.
Mama want.
“And you, Dahlia,” he says cupping my tits. “You flow over my palms.”
Code for: your knockers are enormous.
Working his cock, he rolls my nipples and when I dipped my head down he stopped me to say, “Tonight, I please you.”