“I have to see you before you go back to college,” he says.
I laugh at his ridiculous request. This is not what I do, honey.
“Ben…” I sigh, pausing to find the right words to say. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. This was just a one-night stand.” Well, at least I’m honest.
“I didn’t know it was, besides, we had sex three times. Hardly qualifies as a one-night stand, does it?” he contests with a raised eyebrow. He has a smile on his face like he’s won the argument.
“A one-night stand refers to a specific sexual moment in time that will never happen again. If, in that moment, we have sex once, or three times in this case, as long as I never have another moment in time like this with you again, it’s a one-night stand,” I explain, shrugging my shoulders rather matter-of-factly.
“But shouldn’t this one-night stand be mutually agreed upon?” Ben runs his hand through his hair, trying to distract me with his dazzling smile. He’s really trying to win this argument and it amuses me.
“No, it doesn’t. As a matter of fact, I shouldn’t have told you. The other party doesn’t need to know that they’re a one-night stand.” I slip a hoop earring in each ear, watching him in the mirror. He’s smirking.
“You have an answer for everything don’t you?” He gets to his feet and walks over to me, staring at me through the mirror.
“Not everything,” I answer, shaking away from him before he can put his arm around me. He doesn’t notice. If he’d gotten his arm around me, I’d have been a goner.
I gather my things and head for the door, opening it wide so that he can go through first.
“I thought chivalry was for men?” he asks, amused by my action.
“I thought it was dead. I’m only reviving it,” I say with a shrug.
He walks toward the door and plants a soft kiss on my lips. What is with this guy?
“You’re such a gentleman,” he teases and runs down the hall before I can slap him. He’s so playful. If only I was better for him, I could see things getting pretty serious between Ben and me. He seems to be a great guy.
Outside I find him waiting on his car: a very flashy silver BMW 6 Gran Coupé. This man oozes money, I swear he does. If I had the slightest inkling to do so, Ben would be my next victim. I’d milk him of his money then leave him when I’ve amassed what I think was enough. But, I don’t know what it is about him. I can’t bring myself to do that to him and that puzzles the shit out of me. I’m not a conscience-having type of girl. I frown inwardly at myself.
“You coming?” He takes the keys from the valet who backs away eyeing the sleek beauty of his car.
I want to say I already have, more times than I can count, but I don’t want to give him anything more to gloat about. Instead, I remain silent as he saunters around to the driver’s side and awaits my answer.
“Joélle’s isn’t far from here. I can walk,” I answer, smiling and securing my gloves over my hands. I clutch my trench coat with the fur inner lining tighter as the winter chill passes over me.
His eyes squint and he exhales as if exasperated, “You are one difficult young woman.” He opens the car door and throws his bag in, not taking his eyes off me. Ben looks at me deeply for a few seconds as if trying to get a mental fill of me.
“But, I like it,” he says after a beat.
I look away blushing. Fucking blushing! I’m so glad to be rid of this guy. He’s turning me into…a girl. With feelings. I shiver at the unwelcome thought, not willing to go there with any man. By the time I turn back to him, he’s slid inside the car and started it. I wave at him as he drives off and he honks his horn in response.
Taking a fortifying breath and trying to get Ben Hayes rid from my memory, I head in the opposite direction. Not aware of my surroundings, I bump into the young valet. He looks about my age and seems to have been locked in a daydream about the BMW.
“I’m so sorry, miss,” he apologizes nervously, fumbling, trying to get me upright as I almost fall.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. You okay?” I'm finally standing and I’ve got my hands on his firm biceps.
We gaze at each other for a moment. His ocean blue eyes are enchanting. His sun-kissed blonde hair is unruly in a very sexy way. His lips are plump and alluring. He’s caught me off-guard; need to get back on the offensive.
I look down then slowly gaze back up through the hair that fell over my right eye, I smile coyly at him. I feel him tense. I go in for the kill, staking my eyes on him in a seductive stare. He’s frozen.
“Um, I-I-I, uh, fine,” he stutters, trying to assemble a complete sentence.
“Well, you have a good day now,” I bid him chirpily as I squeeze his arms and smile. I feel his shudder and hear him draw a sharp breath in. My smile grows wider.
I walk away with confidence, ensuring that he enjoys the view.
I’m a temptress and I love that power.
CHAPTER 3
As I make my way to Joélle’s, I breathe in the cool Philadelphia air, puffs of misty breath coming from my mouth as I exhale. Philly is always coldest in January, but today seems to bring something milder our way. I clutch my coat to me as I make my way along Walnut Street.
Philly had been a welcomed change for me. No one knew me and it was easy for me to change my name and fit right in. There was nothing to hold me to this place as Denver and New York had; no one to fall in love with, no one to take advantage of me, no one to hide from and no one to love and lose. I shake off the memories of all I had been running from in New York and all I had lost four years ago, wanting to leave my past, and everything it represented, behind me.
I loved New York and its fast-paced, ultra chic lifestyle. And as much as I hated to admit it, I missed my parents. But it had to be this way. New York and I parted ways terribly, but if I wanted to rid myself of my past, this was how it had to be.
The only thing I carried from my past was Rachel.
She told me she would follow me to the ends of the earth if she had to, just to keep me safe. She is my guardian angel. My protector. My best friend. I couldn’t imagine going through half the stuff I went through without her. I would have succeeded in my first suicide attempt if I didn’t have her.
I shake off the memory, not wanting to drudge up my harrowed past before I sit to dine with my best gal. I hear my ringtone and it’s enough to distract me.
“Hey Rae,” I say in a sing-song voice.
“I’m at Joélle’s,” she snaps. Rachel is a master of time. Lateness is a pet peeve of hers.
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’. Keep your thong on.”
I look up and down the street before crossing and continuing up Walnut Street. I blush as men whistle at me and give me flirtatious glances. I enjoy that kind of attention.
“You’ve got five minutes before I kick your ass,” she threatens; a threat I take seriously. I know better than to piss off Rachel.
“I’m less than two minutes from Joélle’s, I swear. Just secure our seating in the meantime.”
“Fine,” she snaps, hanging the phone up.
Just as I’m about to drop my cell phone inside my bag, it rings again.
“Rae, I really am less than two minutes away.” I don’t know why she never trusted my word when it came to time. Maybe because I’m always late?
“You heartless bitch.” The gruff voice on the line annoyed me.
“Yes, Paul?” I answer exasperated. He had called me three times the day before begging me to take him back, so this was a new greeting.
“I gave you everything,” he breathes menacingly, but it is obvious he is hurting.
Paul is just one of the many rich guys I dated. We were hot and heavy for eight months and I told him I was in love, but it was only a ruse to get to his money. I had to finish my degree and with no job and no parents to help finance me, I had to find a way.
I use my lustful body, seductive eyes and smile always to my advantage. Call me a high-price hooker if you want, I
get mine.
“What do you want Paul?” I bite out. My New York accent chips in as I call his name. It always did chip in when I got angry.
My adoptive parents tried their hardest to culture my speech when they adopted me at ten years old. As much as they tried to seem laid back, they were high society folks, so everything had to match a certain kind of standard, including my speech. It worked, but every so often I’d get angry.
“Why are you breaking my heart, doll?” he asks, almost weeping.
Paul was always a softie. He was easy to fool and so made it easy for him to fall for my charms. I know, without a doubt, that if I were to tell him I wanted him back that he’d take me with arms wide open and money in my bank account. He’d given me anything I wanted when we were dating, believed my hard-luck stories of struggling parents and being the first one in my family to go to college, blah-blah-blah. I made sure that in the beginning it wasn’t about money so that he could see my “heart”. After that, it was to manipulate him. He’d even paid my second-to-last semester’s tuition at UPenn. It was a done deal between him and me; really, I just got tired of the clingy, whiny bastard.
While dating him, I amassed over six grand in my bank account to add to the four grand that was already in it. By the time I’d started dating Paul I’d had six high profile relationships in four years at 23 years old. Some people worked for what they had, I just worked what I had.
One of those relationships proved fruitful as he’d got me into UPenn, paying my first year’s tuition. Jared was my longest relationship and I can honestly say that I was in love. We dated for a year before he died in a horrible plane crash, a flight I should’ve been on. I inhale deeply, batting away the unpleasant memory. He was my all. I can’t even think about him without tears threatening. God, how I miss him.
“Please, babe, come back to me,” Paul begs, breaking me from my reverie.
“Paul, please.” Exasperation lines my tone. “I’m done. We’re done. You’re too clingy and needy and I don’t need that right now.”
“Why are you so fucking cold, Sullivan? Is it another guy?” He was always so insecure, hounding my every move, not wanting to give me so much as breathing space at times. It was exhausting.
“No, it’s not another guy, Paul. It’s you.”
I step in front of Joélle’s to see Rachel by the window. We wave at each other. It’s time to end this rather irritating conversation.
“Move on, Paul,” I tell him.
“But, I love you,” he whines.
“You don’t love me, Paul. You love the thought of me. I was arm candy for you and I made you look good. I was your doll, not your girl. So go find yourself a Barbie, ‘cause I’m not the one,” I huff, gesticulating angrily in the air.
Hanging up, I let out a frustrated breath, inhale, and gather myself. Through the reflection of the restaurant window, I see a man in a trench coat and quickly spin around. By the time I pick him up, all I see is his back as he walks away. Call me crazy, but it almost looked like Rick…
I shake off the unwelcome thought. I won’t let him ruin my day with my best friend. He’s miles away, probably with a needle stuck in his veins and bleeding out – please God.
Another deep breath has me relaxed once more and I step into Joélle’s as the doorman holds open the doors. Joélle’s is an intimate restaurant colored in orange and cream. Furnished with round cream mahogany tables and plush orange chairs, Joélle’s is incandescent and always seems to uplift my mood whenever I dine here. It was already uplifting my mood from that god-awful conversation with Paul.
“Who’s responsible for that face?” Rachel asks as I sit down. “Is Ben annoying you already?”
“Huh? No, not Ben.” I wave off the assumption. “I told him he was a one-night stand so I don’t expect to hear from him anytime soon. It’s Paul…” I hedge on telling her about Rick. If she knew that I thought I saw him, she’d want us to leave again.
I’ve only got a few months left of school, it would be stupid to pack up and leave only to start all over again. But, you’re in danger, a small voice says to me. I shake it off before it takes root and take up the menu, perusing it, even though I already know what I want.
“God, it’s been two weeks since you guys broke up. Can’t he take a hint?” Rachel says with her head in the menu.
“I know, right?” I scoff guiltily, glad she didn’t notice my hesitance. “He’s impossible. He’s like a child. Ugh, let’s not ruin our yearly dinner date with talks of that cretin. What’ll you order?” I take a welcome sip of water, my throat parched from having to lie to my best friend.
“Hmm, I dunno. I think I wanna change things up. Maybe fish,” she mutters.
“Hmm,” I mumble in agreement.
“Are you ladies ready to order?” A waitress in a tight orange mini skirt and an even tighter rouged white blouse with an orange bow tie around her neck readies to take our order. Her red hair matching her Joélle’s garb perfectly.
I eye the curves of her breasts in the blouse with satisfaction and watch her heat up under my gaze. She tucks a loose lock of her hair behind her ear and fumbles with the notepad in her hand. Rachel shakes her head at my successful silent seduction of the poor girl.
“I’ll have the poached salmon with watercress mayonnaise, new potatoes and a cucumber salad,” Rachel answers.
“And for you?” She stakes her eyes at me, her flush decreasing.
I crook my finger and call her closer. I stare at her name tag which is pinned to her left breast. I feel her breathing grow ragged and watch her throat dip as she swallows.
“Arianna. Beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Your boyfriend’s a lucky man,” I flirt.
I reach up and tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. She flinches at the contact and flushes all over again. I am so enjoying this.
“I’ll have the braised flounder in green curry with potatoes. And a bottle of Pinot Grigio.”
“Um, d-dessert?” She stutters, leaning up and jotting down our order.
I chuckle at her question, just to make her squirm a little more. And, success! She starts flushing again.
“Uh…um,” she fumbles on her words, nervously stroking her finger behind her ear as there is no hair loose. She clears her throat then says, “May I interest you in our dessert special?”
I nod amused by my effect on her. Rachel squints her eyes at me and nudges my knee with hers under the table.
“Um, we have the red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting, coated in strawberry sauce and varnished with diced strawberries,” she describes.
“Sounds good. Sweet, but good. We’ll have that. Thank you,” Rachel requests.
The red-head walks away, breathing a noticeable sigh of relief.
“Why do you have to be so troublesome everywhere you go?” Rachel asks. “You had that poor girl blushing and nervous. You should apologize.”
“Yeah, I guess. When she comes back I’ll do that. Are we gonna go upstairs to Joélle’s Night Life after this?” I ask, hoping she would say yes as I was dying to go clubbing.
“Oh, definitely. I need to get as much dancing in my system before work on Monday…” Rachel stops and looks at me.
She takes my hand, tangling her fingers between mine. “Happy anniversary, babe.”
I smile at the sentiment. January 2nd commemorates the first time we met. It’s been ten years, thick and thin, with me and Rachel. She was there through my suicide attempts, through all my runaways, through all my boyfriends, throughout that one month I had a girlfriend, and throughout my re-telling of my gory past. She is my rock. My constant through it all.
“Happy Anniversary, Rae,” I say, tearing up.
“And you say I’m the baby,” she scoffs, taking a handkerchief from her purse and dabbing her eyes before her welling tears spoil her makeup.
“Babe, I could not have survived half the shit I went through without you,” she tells me and I think she’s crazy because I couldn’t h
ave survived without her.
“You made it okay to be me. When my parents could hardly stand to be around me, you gave me a safe place to just be Rachel. You didn’t judge me, even when you caught me giving your twenty year old brother head at fifteen. You didn’t tell either of our parents or your brother when…” Rachel trails off, closing her eyes to the pain of what happened when she was just seventeen. I felt every ounce the pain she felt that day in that seedy abortion clinic. To this day Marshall knows nothing; just us, that doctor and that nurse and if she wants me to, I will take it to my grave. I owe her that much.
“Hey,” I whisper, clutching her hand. She opens her beautiful grey eyes and the tears she was trying to keep at bay, flow out the corner of her eyes.
“You’re my partner in crime,” I tell her.
“Literally,” she adds, smiling.
“Hell, literally,” I agree. “I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side through all the mess we went through Rachel. You’re my other half. You balance my crazy out.”
“And you make me responsible,” she says, bringing my hand to her lips. I wipe her tears and she wipes my own, though I didn’t know they had been falling.
“Let’s enjoy tonight, huh? Ten years’ worth of enjoyment in one night, ok?” I suggest, rubbing her cheek. We look like lovers and I could care less.
“Definitely,” she agrees. She takes a deep breath in to gather herself then raises her glass of water to me. I raise mine as well. “To a wonderful night.”
“To a wonderful night,” I repeat, clinking my glass to hers.
CHAPTER 4
Upstairs Joélle’s is hot. People are on the dance floor shaking what their momma’s had and hadn’t given them. It is dark, only lit by the multi-colored lights that flash. We sit in a plush lounge chair that threatens to put anyone to sleep if they sit in it long enough.
It is 9:45, but we aren’t yet ready to go out on the dance floor. We order three rounds of drinks each, drinking them in succession. A few more of these will certainly get the juices flowing for us and in the mood to dance the night away.
Tainted Love (Book 1) Page 3