by Dee Palmer
“Riiiight, then, shall we?” I flash a pleading look, hoping for the ‘crazy’ to subside.
Cameron chuckles and slips his arms around Harper’s waist from behind. “And speaking of one-track minds… Ice, ice, baby.” Cameron hums.
“Keep on singing, pretty boy.” Harper retorts, gently patting Cameron’s face that is resting on her shoulder. I take David’s offered arm and walk away from the endearing madness of my best friends.
“Bye!” They call out as I lower myself arse first into the waiting limousine.
“They mean well.” I say with a light shrug as the car pulls smoothly away from the sidewalk. My fingers slip into the purse, and I have to stop myself from checking my phone. It’s not that I believe Harper has actually installed a tracker; that would be insane, and I’m pretty sure she was bluffing. This need is a raw pull inside of me to check on Ruby, which is just as crazy. I know she’s fine, happy, and safe. Still, whenever I do go out for an evening, the churning mix of emotions tears at me and makes it almost impossible to relax and enjoy myself. I’m all she has, and vice versa, and most of the time, it’s just not been worth it.
“Noted,” His lips quirk with warm understanding. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, it’s just…Ruby,” I say as way of an obvious explanation.
“You want to call her?” His eyes dip to where I’m now holding my phone.
“I do. I’m not going to, but that doesn’t stop me wanting to check just one more time.” I smile apologetically and then check myself. I’m not sorry. It is what it is, having kids.
“I understand.”
“Welcome to the wonderful world of parenthood.”
“Twenty-four seven,” he offers with a kind smile.
“Yep.”
“You can call her. Please don’t think you can’t because you’re with me.”
“Oh, no, thank you. She’s probably having way too much fun, and all I’ll end up doing is reminding her I’m not there. I have to accept this would be for my benefit and let it go.”
“And if your hand didn’t just tighten around your phone I might believe you meant that.” He looks at my lap where my death grip loosens after his observation.
“I didn’t say it was an easy choice.” I push the phone back inside the purse and zip it closed.
“How about a glass of champagne? Not to take your mind off it. I’m sure that is nigh on to impossible, being a parent, but maybe to give your phone hand something else to hold.”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” I place my purse beside me and have to clasp my hands together to stop myself from picking the damn thing straight back up. When do I get the chance to play princess? Just enjoy the evening, Regan.
“If you want to leave at any time, please just tell me. It won’t be a problem. I want you to have a nice time, but more importantly, I want you to be happy. Whatever makes that happen, we will do, okay?”
“Thank you for understanding.” I take the crystal flute, and the cool crisp golden bubbles race to the surface.
“I’m sure I don’t have a clue, but I hope to one day.” He fills his glass and holds it, tilted for me to make contact with mine.
“Cheers, and if I forget to say it later, thank you for a magical night.”
“No, thank you.”
“Let me take your coat.” David eases Harper’s long cashmere coat from my shoulders and when I turn, I can’t help the enormous smile that splits my face.
That’s the reaction I wanted.
David’s eyes are wide with wonder and perhaps a little awe. In fairness, I have never looked like this. He sucks in a slow breath that rumbles sensually in his chest.
“Hot damn, Regan, you look, excuse my French, but fuck, maybe I should keep the coat for protection.”
I chuckle. His eyes dart around the room and even though I know he’s teasing, it’s very flattering.
“I thought that’s what you were for.”
“I meant, protection from me.” His voice is deep, rough around the edges, and the roguish smile sends a shiver the length of my spine, or that might be the loss of the cashmere coat. “Shall we?” He holds out his arm once more, and I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow. We take two steps, and he stops and frowns at my death grip on his tux.
“Everything okay?”
“Heels and super shiny marble floor. This isn’t going to be pretty,” I joke, but panic fills my veins as my first fear of the evening is about to be realised.
“I won’t let you fall,” he states with absolute certainty.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“You’re very sweet.”
“Trust me, being sweet is the last thing on my mind.” His words tumble out with a sexy gruffness that keeps the red hue in my cheeks. “Let’s get a drink before I call my driver back and end this evening before it begins.”
“Aw, don’t say that. I’ve never been to a ball, and I’m so excited.” I beam and take in the decadent splendour of Chicago’s Union Station. A plethora of Corinthian columns soars high but fail to reach even close to the barrel vaulted atrium ceiling. Festoons of chiffon stretch the length of the Burlington room, decoratively hanging in what looks like giant blooms and illuminated with bright pink and white light. Tables are set and have gorgeous arrangements of Calla lilies, pink avalanche roses and ivy which weave intricately around the base and hang in tendrils over the edge of the table as if part of the table itself. Elegant gentleman and glamorous women dot the room and take their seats as we make our way to the bar at the far end of the room. It’s like another world.
“It’s the only reason we’re still here, Regan, that smile on your face.” He waves the barman over with a surreptitious hand gesture, all the while fixing his penetrating blue eyes on me. “You have a beautiful smile,” he says, and I feel the force of each word like it’s more, which is crazy. He’s just an intense type, and I’m reading way too much into the intonation and a heated stare.
“Thank you. You’re not too dusty yourself.” I nudge him playfully, trying to lighten a mood I’m probably imagining. My comment is a massive understatement. He scrubs up good. He’s easily rocking six foot, broad shoulders and trim waist, muscular if the swell of his upper arm is anything to go by. His hair is short and dark, not quite black like mine but it has an inky shine that matches his dark rimmed glasses and sometimes his crystal blue eyes. His jaw angles to give him a rough edge, and with a dusting of five o’clock shadow, he wouldn’t look out of place on an oil rig or felling trees, instead of cleaving chests and mending hearts. He also has a very distracting dimple on his chin, which I have already had to stop myself from stroking, and I haven’t even had a sip of wine. And his mouth…
“Here’s to us both then, scrubbing up not too bad for a first date.” He hands me a champagne flute and clinks his glass against mine with the toast. Oh, lord, why did I start making that list exactly?
I glug the bubbles down, only surfacing when half the glass is empty. Classy, Regan. I place the glass on the bar and try to fight the sudden rush of nerves. “This is quite a first date. I should warn you, I look nothing like this the morning after.” I snap my mouth shut and watch the horse bolt from the wide-open stable door.
“I’ll look forward to finding that out.” He inches closer, and I can feel the heat of his body like a solar burst. I need to stop this, my life is way too complicated, and as low as my bar was for tonight, it really didn’t involve more than a fancy night out.
“Um, so, you’re new here, and I don’t mix with the elite. This could be quite a dull evening.” I use the excuse of indicating the people in the room as a way of moving back and turning away from his encroaching frame.
“Or intimate.” He manoeuvres himself right back exactly where he wants. He’s starting to remind me of someone, or maybe that’s just me projecting.
“Mac!” A deep commanding voice booms from behind me. I didn’t need to hear David’s response to know who it was. I wasn�
�t projecting; I felt him.
“Joel.” David accepts Joel’s wide-open invitation, and there is a brief man hug before Joel turns to me.
“Regan…you look…” He just stares at me, in silence, for seemingly endless seconds. I break before we all die of old age.
“Not awkward at all, Dr Prescott,” I quip, but the dryness in my mouth makes my voice catch, and makes my voice croak. I can’t breathe. I look down with a start when David slips his hand in mine. Funny, I forgot he was there. I’m officially the worst date ever. Joel rocks any look, but in a tux, he’s drop dead dangerous.
“You know, I’m not even sorry. Wow.” His gravelly voice makes me shiver, and it’s an effort not to react.
“Where’s your date?” David asks, his eyes carefully taking in every inch of my face and then Joel’s. This isn’t good. I squeeze David’s hand and lean my body close to him. Joel’s eyes narrow, and every muscle in my body freezes. Do I continue my reassuring display of affection for David and risk Joel’s…what…I don’t know, or do I retreat and raise suspicion? I do neither, just hover in a half-lean and hold my breath, hoping this all goes away, preferably with Joel and his date doing the same.
“Didn’t bring one.” Joel dashes that hope. And why am I not surprised? Joel’s lips quirk with wicked intent, and my stomach drops.
“Thought you’d get lucky here, did you?” David jokes.
“Something like that. Shall we?” Joel levels a glare so incendiary at me, my skin feels like it sizzles where his eyes skim.
“Shall we what?” I gape, incredulous and a little terrified. What is he up to?
“Take our seats. I do believe we’re seated together.” He holds his arm out, but David steps in between Joel and me, and pulls my hand up to his arm and flashes a winning grin at Joel as he leads me past him and toward our table.
“Won’t that be cosy?” David responds, smiling with brash confidence.
“David, I’m not sure this is such a good idea.” I whisper when we step away from Joel.
“Why?”
“Joel, I mean Dr Prescott, can be a little…inappropriate, and I think he might be drunk.” I explain, keeping my voice hushed but serious. Not that Joel would need to be drunk to cause chaos, when it comes to us; he’s just gifted like that.
“He’s not drunk. I know drunk Joel. He’s just yanking my chain because I have the most beautiful woman here on my arm. He can be a little competitive.”
“You know him?” I stop in my tracks and feel the colour drain from my face.
“We were roommates at Yale.” David holds my chair out for me, and I sink into the seat, deflated.
“Oh, great.”
“He can be a bit of a prick, but he’s harmless.” David takes his seat beside me and reaches over to grab some wine.
“I think you mean lethal.” I groan to myself and take a fresh glass of white wine.
“Come on, where’s that smile?” David strokes his thumb from my cheekbone to my bottom lip. I force a smile as a deep grumble and growl filters over from the seat on my other side.
Of course.
“Red or white, sir?” The waiter offers Joel a refill after I have just declined any more. I didn’t even finish the first glass David poured at the start of the meal.
“Both, and leave the bottles.” The waiter looks confused, so Joel takes both bottles from his hands and waves him off with a wad of notes stuffed in his top pocket. He doesn’t bother to top his glass but sucks the red wine down from the bottle before swivelling his chair round to face me. “So Regan, did Mac here tell you we were roommates in college?”
“He did mention that, yes.” This isn’t the first time he’s asked this question, and I hope my clipped response will be an end to a long line of tedious anecdotes that have prevented any decent conversation occurring between David and me. David, I think, has enjoyed some of the trips down memory lane, whereas I know exactly what Joel is doing. The irony isn’t lost on me that I didn’t need a cockblocker; I had no intention of fucking David tonight. I just wanted a semi-romantic magical night, and not bear witness as Joel slowly drinks himself into a stupor.
“Joel, I think you need to stop drinking.”
“Yes, mom,” he slurs and falls into himself snort laughing.
“Fine, it’s your career.” I hold my hands up. So not my problem.
“Did he tell you about our foursome?”
“Joel, don’t be a dick,” David interjects, his tone obviously brooking no discussion from any sane and sober person.
“Well, someone had to bring the dick that night, that’s for sure, eh, Mac?” Joel’s drunken grin slides around as he chuckles at the memory. I can feel David stiffen beside me, and it’s made so much worse that the rest of the table seems more than interested to hear the juicy details of this college escapade. “Mac here couldn’t keep it up. We had two sexy ass sophomores hot to trot, and my wing man—”Joel air quotes, only his elbow slips, and he cracks his jaw on the edge of the table. Blood trickles from the side of his mouth, and, unfazed, he wipes his hand across his lips and continues, “He just wasn’t up to the task.”
“Nice,” I cut in with a disgusted tone.
“I’m just saying, Reggie, you might want to bear that in mind when you go home with sloppy seconds.” He shrugs his shoulders and lets his head flop, and a fake understanding smile spreads like an anaesthetic across his face.
“Reggie? Who’s Reggie?” David asks, and I look at him with astonishment. That’s what concerns him? My nickname?
“Didn’t she tell you? That’s what I called her when we were together.”
“You were together?” It’s David’s turn to look amazed.
“Were being the operative word there, Mac.” Joel waggles his finger as if in warning, his eyes glazed with drunkenness.
“David, I think we should go.” I can’t believe this train wreck.
“Yep, that would be about right. When the going gets tough, Reggie bails…or should I say aborts.” Joel snarls the words, accusing and hateful.
“Jesus, Joel, what the hell is your problem?” I snap, slapping my hands on the table, my voice filled with utter outrage.
“I don’t have a problem…not one fucking problem. I have nothing because of you.” His voice catches, and for the first time, I see it. In vino veritas. The copious quantity of alcohol reveals a look of devastation.
He’s breaking before me.
“Joel, shall we take this outside?” David stands and steps around my chair and next to Joel, who is slumped barely perching on his chair. Joel pushes up front his chair, stumbles back and forth, and steadies himself on the back of the chair.
“No, no…you’re fine, Mac. I’m leaving.” He pats David’s shoulder and slurs, smiles his apology. “You two enjoy your evening. S-s-s-sorry if I made your date a little awkward, always tricky when the ex turns up drunk.” He snickers, but the sadness in his glazed eyes cleaves into my heart like a rusty blade. He bends and braces his hand on the table to lower himself so his eyes meet mine. His voice is ragged, soft and low. “Reggie, this is my nightmare. I lost you. I lost the only chance I had to be happy. I accept that, but you should’ve told me.”
“Told you what?”
“Nothing… It doesn’t matter. Drunken ramblings.” He jerks away as if he can’t stand to be that close to me. He crashes backward into David and ricochets from guest to guest until he reaches the entrance to the main room.
My eyes follow each retreating step until he disappears. My hands are shaking, and my heart is thumping so hard it feels like it’s going to pound right out of my chest. I suck in a breath, and then another, yet nothing is going to calm this storm inside me, nothing but him.
“David, I…I. I’m sorry I can’t let him leave like that.” I stand abruptly, decision made. “He’s going to get killed stumbling into the night like that. Either by a car or by being a complete dickhead and picking on the wrong brick wall.” I proffer a believable excuse, and David graciou
sly accepts with a tight nod.
“Do you need some help?”
“No, no, I’ve got this.” I kick my heels off, bend down to pick them up, and grab a large handful of hem so I don’t trip. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”
“Wonderful,” David replies deadpan, as I pitch up on my toes and kiss the cheek of a perfect gentleman before I turn and chase after the drunk asshole.
What’s wrong with me?
“Hey! Hey you!” I yell when I reach the top of the concrete steps outside of Union Station. Joel is navigating the last step and falls on his arse when he turns to face me.
“Me?” He points at his chest and starts laughing.
“Yes, you! You drunken arsehole.” I jog down the steps until I am sharing his step, and he is staring up at me with the most ridiculous smile, still bloody from his altercation with the table. I drop to my haunches and poke my finger hard in his chest. “You don’t get to drop grenades like that and walk away. Oh, wait, that’s exactly what you do.” I mock, barely keeping a thin veil over my fury. He pulls himself to standing, and I do the same, although I’m not swaying so much—well, not on the outside at least. Inside, I’m a swirling turmoil of rage and unspoken emotions.
“Pot, kettle, Ms Jones. At least I told you I was leaving. I didn’t just cut and run, and if I recall correctly, I wanted you to come with me.” It’s an effort for him to point his finger at me, and I have to wonder how many of me he is seeing right now. Maybe this isn’t the time? Fucking maybe.
“Maybe? Oh, please. Don’t forget the big fat maybe you hung over my head. I wasn’t consulted in any aspect of that massive decision, Joel.”
“Hello, Miss Pot, let me introduce you to—” He bows introducing one imaginary metaphor to another, and I explode.
“Fuck you!” I spin and take one step, when his broken voice halts my footsteps.
“Oh, you did well and truly fuck me. You should’ve told me.” He cracks, crumples to the ground, and I’m instantly before him. His eyes are heavy with tears I don’t understand.