His brows knit together, his kind smile slowly fading.
“Is this the same guy who you let suck booze from your belly button?”
I laugh. “No.” Wait… “What?”
Chase blows out a sigh, his expression annoyed. “Yeah, the video that was posted on your fan page. Looked like you had an eventful night at work.” I don’t miss the anger in his tone.
“Wait, my fan page?”
“Jesus, Katie, how drunk are you? Yeah, you have a fan page. Someone posted a video of you tonight at your work.” He’s annoyed.
I’m shocked. I have a fan page?
“You know what, you look busy, and I’ll let you go.”
“Good idea,” Dex mumbles.
I jab him with my elbow.
“Wait, Chase, I’m not!”
“I’ll talk to you later.” And then he’s gone.
Dex doesn’t do much talking to me after that. And when I attempt to try calling Chase back he doesn’t answer. Dex drops me off at home and I don’t even have to bother telling him he can’t come in. Being angry with me for some reason, he barely stops the bike as I jump off. I make a mental note to apologize for getting drunk tomorrow and make it up to my apartment, let myself in, into my room, and pass out on my closet floor trying to pull my pants off.
I’ve always considered myself an old soul. Wise in many ways. I enjoy a stout or a nice glass of whiskey over wine or a fufu Cosmo. I enjoy a good debate over life’s mysteries over the latest show of Housewives. I don’t lose my composure and I certainly don’t get drunk and act like a fool.
But last night? What the fuck?
I can’t even give myself a reasonable excuse for what happened last night.
Last night was not me.
Ever.
I drill holes into my brain, trying to dig up any reason on why I got so drunk. I don’t want to make excuses, but I was just happy. That sounds fucking sappy, I know. But I was. Chase has been putting this warmth in my life ever since he landed in it. Not just the warmth down below but in general. My days have been brighter with his calls, our talks, our insanely hot FaceTime sessions. And it feels so goddamn liberating. There, I said it.
He’s making me feel wanted. Needed. As if this gigantic weight is being lifted off me. I was less in cruise control of life and more living in the now.
The problem with living in the now, right now, is that I think Chase hates me. And right now, I feel horrible.
Per my call log, I tried calling him back.
A billion fucking times.
Oops.
I wanted to try again for the billion and one, but I decided to crawl off the floor and shower before I did so. I thought about putting Gerdie on my shoulder to ease the blow if he tells me he’s done with me or in the other case realizes that Ellie needs him, so he can’t get rid of me.
The fourth ring sounds and I’m convinced it’s going to drop, when the connecting sign lights up. My heart instantly picks up, and I debate on hanging up. But then that beautiful face that I dream about day and night pops up.
“Hey,” I say softly, not sure what I’m walking in to.
“What do you want, Katie?” he replies, sounding tired.
The first name only hurts. Taking a big gulp, I tuck my tail between my legs. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night.”
“You don’t owe me any apology.”
I kind of agree.
“But I do. I know when you called it looked bad. But it’s not how it was. Dex is my boss. He was just trying to help me.”
“I don’t need an explanation.”
“But apparently you do because you seem to be mad at me.” And to be honest I’m not sure he has the right to be. Yeah, it looked like more was going on when Dex had me in his arms, but let’s address the fact here that Chase and I are nothing. We’ve never said what we are to one another. Yeah, there has been that high school banter and wedding planning for Gerdie and Ellie. But at the end of the day we are just us.
“Look, I just called last night because I saw the video and before it cut off it looked like you had fallen off the bar.”
It did?
“I guess I didn’t realize what kind of bar you worked at.”
Whoa, wait a minute.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I watch him throw his hands roughly through his hair.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Fuck it wasn’t. What, do you have a problem with where I work? Unhappy it’s not the Ritz? I work at a bar, Chase. Dive bar actually.”
“That’s not what I meant, Katie.”
“Then what did you mean? Because it sounded pretty much like you were judging where I work. Listen, I told you from the start. I’m not someone you go for. You should have listened to me from the get-go.” I’m picking up the volume of my voice. I refuse to acknowledge that he isn’t wearing a shirt and his hair is sticking up in that sexy, I just rolled out of bed style.
“Would you stop putting words in my mouth?”
“No, Chase, I’m not putting words in your mouth, I’m stating facts. And I guess you’re finally realizing I’m not for you.”
“Goddammit, Katie, you are—”
Something behind him cuts him off, as he twists on his couch.
“Hey, babe, I used the key—”
“I gotta go.”
And he disconnects.
What the fuck?
Chase hung up on me.
He never called me back to explain.
And who the fuck walked into his place?
I’m currently the walking statistic I wrote about in my book, because I mope around my house waiting for him to call me back. The problem is, he doesn’t.
My mood plummets, and even when I order enough Chinese food for my entire building it still doesn’t spark an ounce of happiness out of me. Two pounds of Lo Mein noodles and a marathon of Dexter later, and I just want to grab a random stranger walking down the street and wrap them in saran wrap and stab the fucking shit out of them!
Okay.
Back to sanity.
I need to get out of my apartment, but it’s my day off, so I can’t go to the bar. Nor do I really feel like facing Dex. End result might be me wrapped up in the saran wrap. I take another shower, since I smell like soy sauce, and do laundry. I clean Gerdie’s cage and organize my Converse shoes by color. Black, black, black, blac—
The sound of my phone buzzing has me throwing myself out of my closet, tripping over my laundry basket.
“Fuck,” I grunt hitting the floor, scraping my knees in the process. Getting back up, I make it to my nightstand and grab my phone.
Kristen’s name fills the screen.
Disappointment etched all over my face, I release the breath I was holding captive and answer.
“Hey, girl.” I head back into my closet.
“Hey. How you feeling?”
“Like a million bucks, that’s been trampled on and burned.”
“So, you feel like beaten ash?” she asks, trying to figure out my animism.
“Sure, that. What’s up?” I sit Indian style, deciding to change up the order of the shoes, oldest to newest.
“Well, I saw the video last night. Wanted to make sure you’re nursing that hangover I bet you have.”
“Pfft. No hangover a life-size order of Lo Mein won’t cure,” I say, taking my shoe rack and dumping all the pairs into my lap. This way I can go by the feel. Some shoes have been with me longer. Lasted through a lot. They mean more to me than the newer ones that I’m still on the fence about—
“Okay, so then what’s up with you and Dex? I thought you two were history?”
That gets my full attention. “What do you mean, Dex? Nothing’s going on. That was ages ago.”
She laughs in the phone, and I hear a loud noise in the background. Most likely my video, because sadly I can hear my own voice singing Pour Some Sugar On It.
How embarrassing.
“Well, the video says otherwis
e.”
“What do you mean, says otherwise?”
“Katie, you leap into Dex’s arms, which he kinda did not look happy about and with a lemon squeezed between your lips, you force the lemon into his mouth.”
I fucking did not.
“Don’t worry. I took it down. The one of you almost falling too. Not that it’s bad press. People like to see the real sides of authors, but there are always mixed sides. It’s better to keep your personal life more to a minimum.”
This also strikes up another important question for me. “And when did I get a fan site?”
“You’re welcome. I knew you wouldn’t do it. You need one. It’s how you drive traffic to your books.”
“I don’t need traffic,” I argue.
“Yes, you do. Speaking of, you haven’t confirmed for the remainder of the tour.”
Ugh. She threw the ball.
I knew she’d wait for me to come to her, but now that damn ball is in my court to decide whether to sign or not. If I sign the contract for the remainder of the author tour, it commits me to two more signings and the final awards conference. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to take off work. Even though Dex might just fire me, so I’ll be completely free to go.
That and I’m not sure I have a reason to go anymore, anyways. I wasn’t in it for the fame or the money, so I don’t care about the signing or selling books. But Chase.
The one word that rings in my ears like a blow horn, giving me a reason to say yes to her.
“I don’t know. It’s just a lot to commit to. I’d have to work it out with Dex, and—”
“Oh, Dex, will say yes. He’s in love with you, he doesn’t know how to say no to you.”
“He is not!” He’s not.
“Whatever you say. How about Charlie Bates?”
At that I choke on air. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know, he messaged me personally, not his PR, asking me to keep the seating structure the same. He would make up any charges for the accommodations. Just was weird to me. But then I thought about how you two interacted.”
I bring out my best acting skills, rolling my eyes, scrunching my eyebrows, and give her an award-winning “Pfft.” “Dude, nothing. That guy? No way.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Dude, for real. Something’s wrong with that guy. I swear he has Tourette’s or something.”
Okay, now I’m sounding just dumb.
“Whatever you say. But if you are. Just be careful.”
“Dude, totally not.”
“Fine.”
“Fine!”
Can I stop acting so guilty?
“Fine. Can you just hurry up and make a decision? Your attendance is highly sought after, so I would hope you say yes to it.”
I need to really stop acting like this weirdo person I don’t recognize. I tell Kristen I need just a few more days, and I promise I’ll give her an answer by Friday. I get off the phone and abort my shoe closet makeover.
I wish I had it in me to just pick up the phone and call Chase, but I don’t. There is this thing embedded in me that tells me not to. Don’t be that girl who pretends not to see the signs. And there are signs. I can’t let go the comment about work. I’ve never hidden who I was, or where I worked. That’s who I am. Do I wish sometimes my life may have turned out differently? Sure. Everyone does. I wanted to live on a yacht with the whole My Little Pony Squad. I wanted to rent a cottage in the clouds with the Care Bears. Do you see me doing any of those right now? No. But I’m okay with that. I’m choosing how my life’s turning out and that’s good enough for me. I love the bar. I love the people I work with. All in hopes I’m not fired, of course. But Chase sounded unsure. I heard it in his voice. And as much as I want to play naïve, our phone call didn’t just magically get disconnected. He hung up on me. And it was due to whomever walked into his place.
The anger builds all over again.
I’m not calling him.
Asshole.
Fuck insecurities.
Fuck this stupid shoe closet.
It’s been two days.
Since the shoe closet incident.
I refuse to point out the real reason why my mood has been a little dark. He never called. And I’m okay with that. No, I’m not. Yes, I am. There was going to come a time where life intervened in our little fantasy world. That rabbit hole of Chase Green was going to catch up to me sooner or later and I would have been spat out. It’s better it happens now before I get too attached.
Because what I am now is not attached.
I’m attached.
I hate men.
Maybe Stacey is right. There can’t be any way I could understand why love is so flawed. Maybe because I have never gotten close enough to it to really know.
I don’t have to work tonight, but I have to make things right with Dex sooner or later. I walk into Anchor, it being a Sunday night, so it’s pretty tame. A live band plays for open mic night and a few patrons are sitting at tables. I don’t see Randy, which means she’s also off, but I do see Dex. He is casually leaning against the back of the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, listening to the band.
“Hey, stranger,” I chirp, sitting on the bar stool. He doesn’t expect me, so he looks shocked at first. Once he’s able to compose himself, he turns away from me.
“What do you want, Beller?”
“Oh, I’m Beller now?” I tease. He turns my way and his eyes don’t look very playful. Got it. “Okay, sorry. I just wanted to come by and apologize for the other night.”
Still staring at me, I can tell he’s trying to figure me out. The alien in front of him that has taken over my body, actually apologizing for something. In return, I offer him my sad puppy eyes, knowing he can’t say no to that.
A few more seconds.
Okay, maybe a few more after that.
There it is. Resolution. I see it. He knows it.
He slowly unwraps his arms and walks toward me, leaning over the bar, so his face is close to mine. “If you ever get drunk like that again in my bar while you’re on the clock, you’re fired.”
I don’t speak. I’ve never been a ‘yes, man,’ so I nod my head. His eyes tell me he accepts my apology, but he looks like he’s searching for more.
“Who’s the guy from the call?”
“Huh?”
“The pretty boy. Is that him?”
Him equals Chase. But I’m going to play dumb. It’s safer. “Not sure who you’re—”
“Kat, are you fucking that guy? Are you with someone?”
Way to just lay it all out there.
I don’t want to lie to Dex. He has been there for me since the moment we met. Put away all the bad shit when we attempted, crashed and burned as a couple, he truly is a great guy. And that’s why I only semi lie.
“No, Dex, I’m not dating or fucking him. He’s just a friend.”
And that’s not totally a lie. I’m not fucking him. At the moment he may or may not be a friend. That is still out for debate. Just then the band finishes, the applauses breaking our moment. Dex pulls way, knowing he has to settle with the band, and that leaves me with a scapegoat.
“So, does this mean I still have a job?” I ask, standing myself. He turns to me. That look that tells me he always wants to say more.
“You know your schedule. Don’t fuckin’ be late.”
Ahhh, always the hard-ass. I offer him my smile that he tries to grunt at, but I know he loves, and head out. I may suck at love, or whatever it’s called. But at least I still have a job.
I work a double on Monday. Tracy, the day shift bartender, called in sick, and Dex told me this was my payback. I pretended to whine and moan, but I was already out the door before we hung up. I had been in my house for almost three days, and if I sulked any more, asked my damn bird for advice or tested out that damn online magic eight ball, I was going to commit my own damn self to the ‘you are pathetic, read your own book’ asylum.
Tuesdays are always pretty busy
, so the night went by fast.By the time I get home, my feet are killing me and I just want to pass out on my floor while pulling my jeans off.
“I knew I couldn’t trust you, newer shoes. On long days it’s the older ones who always stick by me.” Mumbling, I throw my ‘newer’ Converse at the back of my closet. I pick up the second shoe to chuck it when I hear the buzzing. I freeze mid toss to hear it again. I drop my back to the ground and stretch so I can see my clock on the nightstand.
Two in the morning.
Our normal chat time.
My heartrate spikes, and I panic. My brain is screaming for me to answer my phone while my body lies in my closet frozen in time. It takes a good mental beating for me to snap out of it and shift up and run for my phone.
It’s then I see it.
Bates Motel FaceTime calling.
Shit.
I panic.
Do I answer? Ignore? Yes, you answer! Outrageous.
Shit!
I go against my battling brain and swipe right, accepting the call. And once I do, I remember what I probably look like.
SHIT!
“Hi, Katie Beller.” My name rolls gently off his tongue.
“Hey.” My nerves are practically choking me, and it’s apparent in my voice.
“Is it okay that I called this late?”
I take in his appearance, and as I always prefer, he’s shirtless. Inspecting his surroundings, he’s in another hotel room, the bedding not familiar to his own.
“Yeah, sure. Unless you’re calling to get hostile with me. In that case you can just send a text. It seems hipper nowadays to break things off in text messages.” Shut up, Katie.
His eyes widen with confusion. “Shit, do you want that?”
Now I’m confused. “Chase, you haven’t called me in over three days. You told me you were less than pleased with my work establishment, then hung up on me. What else would I think?”
His eyes look wounded. His free hand threads through his hair. His lids are briefly closing. “I’m sorry about that.” His eyes reopen and I see something in them. Conflict? Uncertainty?
“Hey, listen, it’s fine. If you want out of whatever this is, it’s fine—”
Love Broken Page 10