“I may have cheated, but you’re just as much to blame for how we got here. You can’t put this all on me like it’s all my fault. My schedule is busy and when I take an impromptu morning off, you never take the morning off with me. You are so focused on Studio E that you don’t even cancel class when I decide to take some time off. It’s not like you’re the one who is saving lives.” He let out a loud snarling noise as if he had cause to be angry. “You don’t cook dinner every night and you’d rather hire a cleaning company than to clean the house yourself. On days you are in pain, I’m forced to take care of you regardless of what I have planned—like when I had to miss the golf tournament with the other doctors. You dyed your hair without telling me—did you ever consider that I prefer it black? So see Emily, we’ve both made mistakes in this marriage. We both have our faults. What happened was just as much your fault as it was mine.”
My heart thumped against my chest as the message disappeared from the list. The silence in the room was no match for his words ringing in my ears. My face and eyes burned with anger and hurt. I felt empowered for deleting his ninety-three second bullshit justification for his infidelity. But the empowerment didn’t stop the hurt.
Why should I have to cancel dance class or shut the doors to my business at your command when you decide to call in irresponsibly? I may not be saving lives, but I run my own business and people depend on me. I cook and clean plenty, but why should I have to cook and clean every single day, even on the days that I work twelve hours, to keep you from cheating on me? And why are you still bringing up a golf tournament that you missed over a year ago? I’m your wife and I was in pain and you’re a doctor! After I was settled, you could’ve left and still made it on time, but you decided to stay so you could hold it over my head for as long as possible. Passive aggressive asshole! And my hair? My hair? My fucking hair? Seriously?! You were cheating long before I dyed my hair. And it looks great, by the way. And even if it didn’t, that doesn’t justify you cheating on me!
Leaning forward, I rested my elbows on my knees and let my head drop. I continued my profanity-laced internal rebuttal to his message with my eyes closed. I took deep breaths as I let the hurt sink in. It was bad enough that he cheated. It was worse that he tried to justify it. But it was heartbreaking that instead of taking responsibility for his actions, he tried to blame me for it.
Sitting up straight, I rolled my shoulders back and wiped the tears from my eyes. Drying my damp face with the bottom of my shirt, I let the final message play.
“Emily, look, that last message…” Anthony paused for a long time. “You know what—fuck this! It’s been a week. You don’t leave your husband for a week over something like this! I messed up. People mess up. You don’t leave a note saying you want a divorce and you need some time to think. You don’t do that and then stay gone for a week. This is ridiculous! You have two days to get over this because you need to be back for the hospital fundraiser Saturday night. Don’t embarrass me.”
I deleted the last message and angrily threw my phone against the plush pillows.
In every single message he’d left for me, he gave me nothing. There was no empathy. There was no accountability. There was no sincerity. There was no personal responsibility. There was no indication that he felt like he was wrong for what he did. The apologies and admissions of guilt that he did offer were empty and riddled with his continued lies.
I screamed into my empty hotel suite, wiping the corners of my eyes. “Fuck you, Anthony!”
Jumping to my feet, I paced back and forth. I had so much adrenaline coursing through my body that I couldn’t keep still. I was wound up. My heart beat rapidly and erratically. My breathing was shallow and punctuated with gasps. My eyes hurt from the amount of crying I’d done since I’d arrived. My mind hurt from the memories and lack of sleep. My legs were a little restless from being sedentary. Worst of all, I was hurt.
I need to dance.
I wanted to listen to music turned up high so I could feel the beat in my entire body. I wanted to move across the floor, losing myself in a complicated routine. I wanted to combine ballet and hip hop and release the raw emotion that dwelled inside of me. I didn’t want to go to a club—everyone danced at a club. I wanted to go to a dive bar—small dance floor, rarely any dancers. I needed the floor to myself so I could dance the stench of betrayal off of me.
I rubbed my hands over my thighs, massaging the dull ache. Even though it wasn’t the best idea because my body was still recovering from surgery and overrun with hormones, I knew, for my mental health, I needed to go.
And I need a drink.
Walking barefoot across the plush, heather grey carpeting of the bedroom, I grabbed my travel bag. Looking at the pills that had kept me from experiencing pain for the last several weeks, I chewed my bottom lip.
If I take one, I can’t drink. But if I don’t take one, I’ll be in pain. I mulled over the decision as if it were really up for debate.
“The kind of pain I’m feeling calls for something a little stronger,” I whispered to the pill bottle as I tossed it down beside the bag.
I didn’t need pain pills. I needed hard liquor and a sick beat.
This will work, I thought as I pulled out the formfitting jeans and a sexy red top. I have to get out of here.
Chapter 3
Thursday, January 12th - 8:07 p.m.
Catching a glimpse of my reflection as I walked down the steep steps, I allowed myself a small smile. Although I agreed with the random stranger that I encountered while waiting for a hotel valet to get my car and Big Mike, the security guard at the top of the stairway who checked my ID, my appreciation of my look for the night had less to do with my genetics and more to do with my emotional stability.
Physically, I looked hot. The low cut red top was snug, showing off my full B-cup breasts and pear shape. The color popped against my smooth, blemish-free, olive-toned skin. My distressed jeans were skin-tight and, coupled with the gold pumps I wore, made my ass look better than ever. My makeup was minimal and natural and my hair looked great. I felt comfortable and confident. But what struck me most was how I looked emotionally.
I didn’t look like my heart had been ripped out. No red eyes. No puffy cheeks. No runny nose. No tear stained clothing. No evidence at all that I was in the midst of an emotional shit storm. I didn’t look like scorned wife, Emily Diaz. I looked like Emily Mills.
“Welcome to December, gorgeous,” a strikingly beautiful woman with a big smile and even bigger hair greeted me at the oversized doorway. She wore a black dress and a fitted green blazer. “I see why my doorman was too distracted to do his job, but we’re not open yet.” Her eyebrows shot up. “You look cold. Come in! Where’s your coat?”
“I guess I am a bit early,” I replied with a sheepish smile. “And cold.”
In my readiness to escape my hotel suite, I didn’t even take into consideration that I’d left way before the nightlife really got going. I paid to park in a parking deck nearby and left my coat in the car. I figured if I was going to go to a dive bar, I didn’t need to get the stench of a smoke-filled atmosphere on my favorite coat.
“Big Mike said I could come down to warm up,” I explained, rubbing my hands together. “I have my phone so I’m fine to just hang out until you open.”
She gave me a warm smile. “What made you come out so early?”
The last thing I wanted to do was think about Anthony.
My eyes took in the view of the practically empty venue from the doorway and I let out a breath. “Wow.”
“It’s a lot bigger than it looks—especially from the outside,” the woman commented, reading my thoughts. Her voice was full of pride. “My partner and I like the look of surprise on the faces of first time guests when they enter from the street and go down the old brick steps into what they assume will be a seedy basement dive bar. And then they see this!”
“Well this is…” My eyes swept the room. “What exactly is this place? It’s beaut
iful and not at all what I was expecting. I told the concierge I needed a night out, a stiff drink and a place to just be free. I told him I was looking for a dive bar and he named three places, but said December was the best.” I gestured to the huge room that glowed with turquoise lighting. “This is not a dive bar!”
She tossed back her head and laughed. The sound was joyful and rich. She seemed happy—and not the kind of happy that can be faked. She seemed legitimately happy.
I wonder how it would sound if I laughed?
The thought threatened to pull me down and force me back to my hotel room. I shook it off.
“My partner and I had an idea a few years ago. It—do you really want to hear this story?” Her coal-lined eyes, highlighted with shimmery green eyeshadow, were warm. She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. “Doors don’t open until nine so I have a few minutes, if you want to hear it. I love telling it.”
Part of me knew by her expression that she was taking pity on the sad girl who showed up a few minutes after eight o’clock looking to drink by herself. The bigger part of me didn’t care why she wanted to tell me the story. I just wanted to hear it. I truly was intrigued, but more than that, I really needed the distraction. Any and everything I could do to get my mind off my current predicament, I was willing to do it.
I nodded. “If you don’t mind chatting with me since I’m already here, I’d love to check this place out and hear the story behind it.”
Extending her hand, she formally introduced herself. “I’m Addison. Everyone calls me Addy.”
When our hands connected, I immediately noticed the impeccable manicure and the flawless diamond.
“I’m Emily. And that’s a beautiful ring. Congratulations!”
“Thank you!” She looked down at her ring. “He has good taste.”
I gestured to the stunning woman with the killer curves in front of me. “Well obviously!’
We giggled as she ushered me into the venue.
My eyes bounced around as she pointed out the stage, the TV screens, the dancefloor, and finally, the bars. The smaller bar was on the side of the room with the tables. The larger bar was the main attraction. The glass and mirrored area had turquoise light bouncing from it in an alluring way.
As we approached the main bar, Addison continued. “A few years ago, my partner and I talked about creating an event space where the focus was on the vibe and on making everyone feel good. We wanted a chill atmosphere where people could have a good time, take their mind off things. We wanted to create an escape. So last year, December was born.”
I nodded as I looked around. “It’s beautiful. I don’t know how you managed to pull off soothing and energetic, but that’s the vibe I get from this place.”
“Oh my God!” Addy exclaimed, pulling out the chrome barstool and sitting down. “Yes! Yes! Addo! Come quick!”
I sat down next to her, placing my gold clutch on the bar top. I looked at her quizzically. “Addo?”
“That’s me,” a man responded from behind us, causing me to shiver. His voice had a natural grit that stirred something inside me. It was sexy and held a natural authority to it. “Give me a minute.”
My eyes quickly darted to the mirror behind the bar and caught a brief glimpse of a good-looking man carrying a huge box. I turned my head so I could take him in and only saw his profile briefly before his back was to me. He walked the length of the bar and my eyes ran the length of him. I estimated he was around six-foot-one, two hundred pounds of solid man. My eyes skated over him from head to toe in his jeans and t-shirt.
When he turned to the side to ease the box onto the end of the bar, I checked out his profile. From where I sat, he looked good. I tried not to stare, but my eyes kept gravitating toward him as he dusted himself off.
“He’s single,” Addison pointed out, elbowing me gently. “He’s a great guy and doesn’t really date much, but if you’re interested, you should go for it...”
I whipped my head toward her, my eyes wide. “What?” I asked, flustered.
“I saw you staring in the mirror,” she whispered back as he walked behind the bar toward us.
Before I could deny it, I was confronted with eyes so brown they looked black, surrounded by lashes so thick that I was a teensy bit jealous. His skin was the color of hazelnut and the hair on his head and along his jawline was short and fine like the fuzz on a peach. He was ruggedly handsome, clearly athletic, and apparently unaffected by my presence.
“What’s up, Addy?” He glanced at his partner before locking eyes with me. “I’m busy. I need to finish the inventory check before the vendor meeting tomorrow night…” The look he gave me was questioning, but not in an intimidating kind of way. He seemed curious. “Hello.”
I flashed him a bright smile. “Hi.”
“Why are you here so early?”
“Because this week was hell and I needed a drink. I didn’t realize it was as early as it was so Addy took pity on me.”
Addison laughed. “I didn’t do anything, but bore you with our origin story.”
“It wasn’t boring,” I assured her before looking back at him. “It really wasn’t…”
My sentence trailed off as I got lost in his eyes. There was something about him that felt good. Maybe it was the way he looked at me like I was intriguing. Or maybe it was the fact that for one night I could be pre-heartbreak Emily as opposed to soon-to-be-divorced Emily. Or maybe it was just the fact that I needed a distraction and he seemed like the perfect one.
Shit! How long have I been staring silently? Has too much time gone by to salvage this? Yeah… yeah, too much time has gone by. Yep, we’ve hit the awkward stage. Now I’m just staring at him for no reason. I have to say something. Anything. I have to justify why I’m staring. Or I could just tell the truth.
“I’m sorry to stare, but your eyes are beautiful,” I admitted with a giggle. I thought if I made it sound playful and flirty, it wouldn’t come off as creepy.
It failed—miserably—and only added to the awkwardness.
“Hmmm, interesting,” Addison said in a sing song voice.
If I knew her better, I would push her off of that barstool.
“That’s enough, Addy,” he said, breaking our eye contact to roll his eyes at her. “What’s your name, by the way?”
“Where are my manners? Addo, this is Emily. We call her Em. Em, this is CJ Addo,” Addison introduced us quickly before looking at her vibrating phone. “Sorry, give me one second. And get her a drink please!” Her face was flushed and she bit her bottom lip as she put her cell phone to her ear. “Hey baby…” Hopping off the stool, she walked toward the VIP area.
I found myself smiling.
“What are you smiling about?” The deep rumble of his voice and the cadence in which he spoke felt musical to me. “And what would you like to drink?”
My smile widened. There was something about CJ that I liked. And it wasn’t just the way he looked.
“Surprise me.” I used my head to gesture to the side of the room where Addy was giggling loudly. “And I’m smiling because she looks happy. It makes me happy to see other people happy.”
He looked at her and the briefest of smiles tugged on his full lips.
I watched as he washed his hands and quickly put together a light colored beverage that he garnished with lemon. “This is going to blow your mind. Don’t drink it too fast and don’t order too many because they sneak up on you.”
“Do your drinks always come with instructions?” Snickering to myself, I put the glass to my lips.
He said nothing.
CJ just stared at me, into me and as the humor left the space between us, my heart thudded. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears and I felt hot.
I tipped the glass and sweet lemonade danced across my taste buds. “Mmm.”
Looking smugly satisfied by my reaction, he crossed his arms over his muscular chest. Even though he wasn’t smiling, I could see the pleasure in his eyes.
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“Mmm… it’s okay,” I lied playfully, sitting the mostly full glass in front of me. I shrugged. “If you’re into that sort of thing.”
“Bullshit.” He dropped his arms from his chest. “You loved it.”
I scrunched up my nose and twisted my lips. Shaking my head slowly, I lifted my shoulders. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Addo. It didn’t blow my mind.”
Taking a couple steps forward, CJ placed his large hands flat on the surface of the bar. I glanced at the way his fingers were splayed out before making eye contact again.
He was close—really close. “Bullshit.”
I swallowed hard.
It made me uncomfortable how comfortable it was to be in close proximity to him. He had a presence that made me feel safe. There was a false sense of security in that feeling, especially since I just met him.
Clearly, you can know someone for years and not really know them.
Licking my lips, I sat up straighter.
His eyes flicked down to my mouth briefly. “The only people who call me Addo are Addy and her friends because that’s how she refers to me. My friends call me CJ.”
“What do the people closest to you call you?”
He assessed me as if he were considering if he should tell me or not. With a lick of his lips, he made his decision. “Cedi.”
I cocked my head to the side and gazed up into eyes that were black as night. The sparkle I saw in them reminded me of stars in the night’s sky. “Cedi,” I said softly, emphasizing each syllable.
“Cedi,” he repeated, staring at my lips.
“Cedi… Addo…” I practiced each name slowly. “I like it. It’s pretty. It has a certain musicality to it. Cedi. Addo. What is that? French? Canadian? African?”
“African. Ghanaian, actually. Cedi is what I go by. Addo is my last name.”
I allowed my eyes to trace his features, taking him all in. His nose solidly anchored his chiseled face. He became more attractive by the second. Without thinking, I lifted my glass to my lips and took a bigger sip than before. “Are you from Ghana? I don’t hear an accent at all.”
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