Blackout: A Romance Anthology

by Stephanie St. Klaire

  “Maybe you should be a writer.” Anda nodded gratefully as the waiter dropped off their drinks and menus.

  “The money’s not as good.”

  And right there was the difference between Anda and Jenny.

  Anda believed passion should be the driving force behind a life. Passion for your career, a passionate love for where you lived, and of course, a love beyond all telling. No settling. Nothing bland or boring.

  Jenny, on the other hand, followed the money.

  Maybe it was the smarter approach. Maybe spending another three months on a crappy reality show would beef up her savings enough to open her own boutique.

  But Anda didn’t want to risk another broken heart.

  She lifted her martini glass. “Here’s to being reunited with my friend.”

  “To girl talk over cocktails instead of Skype!” They clinked glasses. Almost immediately, Jenny’s head did a slow swivel to take in the room.

  “Are you spotting for celebrities? Geez, you really have been out of town too long. Stop that. You look like a tourist,” Anda scolded.

  “I’m not on the prowl for autographs. I’m looking for networking opportunities. Either with big names—or with big personalities who would be an asset to my show.”

  “Can that wait a day? Can we just have fun tonight? I could do with some fun.”

  That snapped Jenny’s head around so fast her neck audibly cracked. “Don’t tell me you’re still pining for Chance.”

  Pining? Well, that word was sure coated in negativity.

  On the other hand, she couldn’t flat-out lie to the woman….

  Anda tossed back a more-than-healthy swallow of her cocktail. “Have I put Chance completely in my rearview mirror? No. But I’ve got other things going on. I had two big interviews this week that could land me back into career land. For completely different jobs. I honestly don’t know which one I’d prefer, if it came down to it.”

  Of course, if the last six months were any reflection, she’d be lucky to get a single follow-up interview, let alone two of them. Of course, if Jenny was even halfway observant, she’d realize that Anda was babbling to cover up how darned much she was still pining for Chance…

  “We’ll get to the jobs after dinner. Clearly, we need to fix this Chance thing first.”

  “There’s nothing to fix,” Anda insisted with a tight smile.

  “Really? You’re not humiliated that he cut you from the show?”

  With the automatic answer she’d perfected since it happened, she said, “He cut twenty-three other women, too.”

  “But he cut you the moment you crawled out of his bed.”

  Ouch! The truth had hurt seven months ago, when producers had knocked on her door right at dawn, telling her to pack her bags. And no matter how she tried to ignore it, or move past it, the truth still hurt.

  “Yes, it’s more than a tad humiliating that I fell for the old ‘let me sleep with you because I care so much’ gambit. Men have used it for centuries because it works.” Anda glared across the table. “Why are you poking at a half-healed scab?”

  “Not to be cruel. To get you to fully admit it so that you can put it behind you.”

  Anda almost did a spit take. Right. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Just moving on? “Believe me, I’ve tried. I ate all the ice cream. I watched movies where women wreaked bad-ass vengeance on men who did them wrong. I cut my hair.”

  Jenny folded her arms and tapped her index finger against her mouth. “Those sound like the actions of a woman who is hurt, not humiliated.”

  “If by ‘hurt’ you mean ‘heartbroken,’ then yeah. Sure. Slap on that label, too.” It felt good to let all this out to Jenny. Thanks to her NDAs, Anda hadn’t been able to spill the details to her other friends. Especially thanks to the clause that spelled out that if she badmouthed Chance DiMarco to anyone, she’d have to return her entire paycheck from the show.

  So Anda had mourned alone. Cried alone. And then pulled all her fragile, still shattered pieces of her heart back together. Alone.

  “You’re still thinking of him as the tender, charming man who cared about you. That’s who broke your heart.” Jenny flattened her palms on the polished dark wood and slid them forward to lean closer. “Except that man doesn’t exist. Chance DiMarco is a player. He was upfront about that to us, to all of you, and to the viewing audience.”

  “He was. I know. But then…”

  “Then he met you, the woman of his dreams, and completely changed his spots? Went from tiger to tamed? Come on, Anda. If a friend told you a version of this story, would you buy it? Or would you tell her that she got taken? Played? Used and discarded like the condoms that night?”

  Ouch again. So harsh.

  And yet…Jenny’s tough love was probably right. It was the only thing that explained why Chance didn’t have the courtesy to break it off with her in person.

  That lack of an explanation, that lack of a goodbye, was what had kept her treading water for the past seven months. Her utter confusion at the way he’d gone back on his promises that they’d be a real couple left Anda unable to let it go.

  Occam’s Razor—the principle that the simplest explanation is often the truest—hadn’t occurred to her until right now.

  Chance had never cared about her. He’d lied to her. Put on a big show, just for an easy lay. Had he really swept the room for cameras? Omigosh, had their night together been recorded?

  That was a panic attack for another time.

  Anda tossed back the rest of her drink, winced at the burn, and swore the tears in her eyes were the last she’d waste on Chance.

  “We’re getting more drinks. Lots more,” she announced. “And some burgers. They’re great here. I feel like I could eat ten. Hopefully, by the time we’re done, you’ll have helped me figure out how to get over that lying, low-down jerk.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Jenny scanned the menu while high-fiving her across the table.

  “I wish I could get revenge on Chance. On the other hand, that would require seeing him again, which is a definite non-starter. They say living well is the best revenge. Guess I’ll have to content myself with that.”

  Jenny slammed the menu shut. When she looked up, her eyes glittered with excitement. “I have a solution.”

  “You haven’t even finished your first Last Word. How can you possibly have come up with an idea so fast?”

  “I’m that good.” Obligingly, she swallowed the last of her drink. Without all the wincing and grimacing that Anda had done. “You need a man.”

  “Ha!” It was more of an exhalation of surprise than a laugh. Because another man would’ve been about number twenty-three thousand on Anda’s list of priorities right now. She did a quick scan of the room, of the clumps of guys laughing and drinking. Not a single one so much as sparked a flutter of interest. “That’s…um…drastic.”

  Jenny waved off her lack of enthusiasm with a lazy flick of her hand. “You’ve already done the non-drastic, clichéd steps. Time to get you off the couch and back out there.”

  Nope. No. No way, no how.

  She’d only figured out that Chance was a no-good snake three minutes ago. That the man she’d fallen for had been nothing more than a mirage. An act. Her heart could move on now with that knowledge, but not at warp speed.

  Anda lunged sideways to catch their waiter. “Two Bolognese burgers, roasted brussels sprouts, and another round as fast as humanly possible.” If this was Jenny’s opening gambit, she’d need a lot of liquid courage to get through whatever came next. “I know the rules of brainstorming say there are no bad ideas, but…I’m not ready for another relationship.”

  “Of course you’re not. You need empowering, ego rebuilding sex first. Possibly several times. You need a hot hookup.”

  That was…something entirely different. Anda toyed with the ends of her hair curling down past the neckline of her bright red blouse. She tried to come up with an answer that didn’t reveal her to be a chicken. A
wuss. A complete coward.

  Because hooking up with a near-stranger seemed like the kind of thing that would require a level of bravery and self-confidence only owned by Wonder Woman and Meghan Markle.

  “Oh. Well. I’ve never really been into one-night stands.”

  “Bad experiences, huh?” Then, before Anda could respond, Jenny’s eyes widened. “Have you ever had one?”

  “No.” Unless you counted Chance. Which Anda did not because the intention had been for a relationship. The sex was supposed to be the next step in their evolving, growing relationship.

  Not the last step in it.

  Jenny slapped her hands together loudly, like they were already done. “Then consider this a necessary life experience that it’s about time you crossed off the bucket list.”

  “My bucket list is more about traveling to Australia and scuba diving and maybe running a marathon. Oh, and eating actual Belgian chocolate in Belgium. All of those things come with guaranteed satisfaction. Sex with a stranger? Not so much.”

  “Nonsense. This isn’t 1894. Or even 1952.” Jenny stabbed an arm out, gesturing to the men lined up in their identical uniforms of jeans, Chelsea boots and Henleys. “Men are more evolved nowadays. They are fully aware that our orgasms are nonnegotiable. A prereq to their own, even.”

  A guaranteed orgasm definitely made the idea more palatable. Anda pursed her lips, trying to weigh the believability of Jenny’s claim. “Are you sure?”

  “I hear men talk about sex all day, every day on the job. Kind of unavoidable on reality dating shows. Plus, I hear the women talk, too. I’m telling you, hookups are on trend right now. And if men were sucking at them? Women would go home to their vibrators.”

  “Okayyyyyy.” Anda dragged out the word because she couldn’t think of a way to refute a single point. “But I live in a college town. I’m not hooking up with a coed. And if I venture outside of my college town, I hit actor-land. No thank you.”

  “Agreed. You need to do this with someone who looks at you more often than he looks at himself.”

  Might as well throw in a jaunt down the Yellow Brick Road to make that happen. “Am I going to have to take a road trip to accomplish this magical, empowering, ego rebuilding one-night stand?”

  “Yes. Yes!” Jenny shouted, pumping her fist into the air.

  “Geez. That’s a lot of excitement for a road trip.” Dawning horror had Anda clutching her throat. “Tell me you’re not suggesting I hang out at a truck stop to look for my perfect hookup. Because that’s very Movie of the Week, and I don’t want to end up coyote food in the Mojave Desert.”

  After blowing a raspberry, Jenny said, “Worst case scenario much?”

  Deservedly so. “Well, my last relationship ended up being a total lie and I got dumped on national TV, so yeah, call me a teensy bit gun-shy. Guarded. Paranoid. Whatever.”

  “I think you should take a road trip. A free one. Remember the hotel Man of Her Dreams used in Colorado?”

  “Of course. It was a crazy beautiful, luxurious resort.” One Anda would never be able to afford for herself.

  “Which got a ton of free publicity by letting us base there. They tried to build on that by giving all of you a free week’s stay at their sister property in Las Vegas.”

  “All of who? The women on the show? Me?”

  “Yes.” Jenny rolled her eyes as the waiter dropped off two more frosty glasses. “Didn’t you look through your exit packet?”

  After each contestant got booted, a bag with the show’s logo was waiting for them in the getaway limo. Or, as some of the women had called it, “The Tear Wagon.”

  “I dumped everything out, looking for a note from Chance. When there wasn’t one, I stuffed it all back together and tossed it in the back of my closet when I got home.” Anda didn’t need any reminders of Chance. She saw him every time she closed her eyes.

  “Well, in addition to the obligatory tissues, chocolate and airplane-sized bottles of booze, there were coupons and freebies from all the show sponsors. Some might’ve expired by now. But if I remember right, the hotel stay didn’t expire until after February. They hoped to catch the V-Day crowd.”

  “Really?” No way was a hearts and flowers Valentine’s Day in her future. But this could be fun. A fancy hotel. Better than average clientele. The inherent safety of hooking up in a hotel instead of going to a stranger’s house, or worse, bringing one to hers. Anda had to admit this plan had possibilities. “I could drive there, so it would cost—”

  Jenny cut her off by making an O with her thumb and first finger. “It costs nothing. Food’s included. It’s an all-inclusive resort. Do it soon before those job opportunities you’re going to tell me all about pan out.”

  “You know what? This is crazy enough to be right.” Anda lifted her glass in a toast. “On one condition. Come on this adventure with me. You’ve been gone six months—you’ve got vacation time galore, I’ll bet. Help me find the right man.”

  “There’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

  Anda just hoped her future Orgasm-Guaranteed Man would feel the same way…

  CHAPTER 5

  “You want to know what I think of the suite?” Chance gave a cursory glance at the cactus-green walls. There were three footstool things in bone leather of ascending height that would have been a great place to lick Anda until she screamed. Same thing with the stretched cowhide chair.

  That was still how he assessed every room, even after seven months without her.

  Instead of walking past the door to the bedroom and tormenting himself more with fantasies of her on the four-poster bed, he deliberately turned away.

  His sister snorted. And thanks to his excellent 4G coverage, he heard all the layers of the wet rasp. “Of course I do. I’m a mother facing two baskets of laundry and a wall Brielle doodled on next to the television with a Sharpie. Fill me in on the luxurious resort life.”

  He opened the French doors to walk out on the low terrace. With a sigh, Chance threw himself down on the low lounger. Jabbed at the button on his cell to switch to speaker. “It looks like a great place to have sex.”

  “TMI! I was hoping for something about thread counts and throw pillows and maybe a majestic view?”

  “Got one,” he said, looking out at the reflection of the setting sun in the glassy surface of Lake Las Vegas.

  “A majestic view?”

  “Yup. You know what’s wrong with it?”

  “Do I get two guesses? Because there’s the response you should give, and the one I know you’re going to give.”

  Chelsea DiMarco was a smart-ass first and foremost. But that was okay.

  Because there was a long stretch there, after her husband David died, when she hadn’t sassed him at all. Talk about scary. Chance had vowed, after month three, to take whatever she threw at him for the rest of their lives, as long as she stopped acting like an emotionless zombie.

  That vow did not, however, mean that he couldn’t return her snarky volley. “How does a single mom with a full-time job have the extra hours to learn how to mind-read?”

  “Very funny. Look, you should say that the view isn’t optimal because I’m talking in your ear about it, instead of keeping you company for real.”

  Talk about rewriting history to get pity points. “I invited you. And Brielle.”

  “It’s an adults only resort, Chance. That was more of a ‘wish you were here’ postcard greeting than a real invite.”

  “I also offered to get Brielle a sitter so you could come with me,” he pointed out. Because it would be nice to have Chelsea in the lounger next to him.

  They could clink their longnecks and laugh at that idiot paddle boarder who’d already fallen off three times since Chance sat down. Although she wasn’t around to appreciate it, he’d kept his promise to Anda. Weekly brunches with his sister and niece were now sacred blocks of time on his schedule.

  “Which was thoughtful. But I’m not ready to be apart from Brielle overnight. She’d be fine,
but I hate the thought of her not getting a goodnight kiss from a parent.”

  “I get it,” he said quietly.

  Chelsea was a great mom. Brielle wasn’t missing out on anything at this stage in her life by being raised without two parents. Chelsea was the one most affected. The one who was struggling so hard to make a new normal without a partner by her side.

  Whereas Chance had never wanted to add someone into his life. Until Anda. Until she’d made him want to do things with her, instead of solo. She’d made him want to turn his life upside down, if that was what it took to fit her in.

  Yet here he was, seven months later, all alone.

  Not knowing what went wrong. Not having a chance to fix it.

  The sound of ice clinking through the speaker brought him back to focus on Chelsea’s voice. “Anyhoo, I’m guessing you’re going to say that Anda is what’s missing from your luxurious, romantic lakeside patio. Because it has been all of six days since you last mentioned her. Clearly, we’re due for your weekly wallow.”

  Whoa. That jab to his emotional nuts came out of nowhere. “What happened to a man in touch with his feelings being a good thing?”

  “In general, yes. In practice? Since you won’t wallow to your friends or colleagues in case it makes you look pathetic? So that I have to be the sole recipient of your sensitive pining? Honestly, I’m quite over it, Chance.” Chelsea’s voice had sharpened, but now it dropped again. “Frankly, you should be, too.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” And why wasn’t there an ice bucket of beer out here to help him wade through this conversation?

  “I guess it means that everyone else learned how to deal with rejection back in high school. We learned how to cope, and more importantly, how to move on. You’ve been a big, sexy stud your whole life. You never learned how to flail.”

  Well, he’d lost the girl and his career in the last few months. Guess he was learning this lesson the hard and fast way. And Chance wasn’t loving it.