by Kandee Reyna
I take a moment to consider the fact that I need to compose myself and prep for a talk with Lo. I feel like prey waiting to be thrown to a lion on the other side of the door. I mentally check off all the things I need to talk to him about and remind myself to keep space between us. Being close doesn’t work. That was proven about thirty minutes ago. The list: Last Friday, what the fuck was that? The bracelet, cutting off my drinks, and punching that guy in the face. Oh, and fucking me until I wasn’t mad anymore. That last one, the exact reason I’d have to keep some serious space between us. It’s quiet now, so I’m assuming he’s off the phone. I square my shoulders and lift my chin. I can do this. I pull open the bathroom door and step out with a new sense of confidence… to an empty room. You’ve got to be shitting me.
That anger I was trying so hard to find just a few seconds ago has made its way back to the surface. Where the fuck did that asshole go? He asked me not to leave. I was ready to pull on my dress and get the fuck out of here. I knew staying would be a risk, I just didn’t realize it was going to blow up in my face so quickly, Jesus! “Lo?” I call to the room, but there’s nowhere to hide. Unless he’s lying down on the other side of the bar, he’s gone. “Son of a bitch.” What kind of jerk does that? I shouldn’t have put myself in this situation. Regret starts to wash over me, and I feel low, dirty. For the second time in two weeks. I’ve found myself being fucked and dismissed and the worst part is, I set myself up for it both times. I’m not sure what my dumb ass was expecting the first night I came up here, and I sure as shit should have known better than to let it happen again. Fire burns beneath my skin, and I make my way to the bar. I might as well use it since I’m clearly cut off down stairs. I shoot Vivian a text telling her that I’m going to head home soon, and that I’ll see her tomorrow. I include a smiley face, so she doesn’t question if I’m okay.
I pour myself a shot of tequila and down it, before quickly pouring and swallowing another. My throat burns and my eyes water with the quick succession of two shots and I blow out a shaky breath to quell the fire. Tears sting my eyes and I down another. The three shots, combined with the others at the downstairs bar quickly cloud my mind, and my sadness and embarrassment turn to bitterness and anger towards Lo. That fucking jerk. I pour another and let the liquid band-aid heal my soul.
Chapter Eleven: Lo
“What the fuck do you mean there’s a problem, Vin?” I shout into the phone. His cryptic words and nasally New York accent are irritating the fuck out of me. He’s the manager of a strip club I own a few blocks over, and has called to tell me there’s a problem, but elaboration doesn’t seem to be his thing.
“Boss, they took all the money from the office. Held a gun to me, demanding the money from the safe. I couldn’t say no.”
“Vin, I don’t care about the goddamn money right now. Who is they, and what the hell is going on over there?” The background is noisy with talk and women crying.
“They shot a bunch of rounds into the air and across the mirrors and shit. It’s a fucking mess. My girls are scared. They took it all Lo, I’m so fucking sorry man.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“No, boss, they said if I did they’d come back. They ushered all the customers out before they started destroying shit and asking questions and demanding money.”
“Good, don’t call them. I’ll handle this. Send the girls home when they’re ready. Tell them I’ll compensate their pay. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Okay, boss.”
I force my phone back into my pocket and button up my shirt, pulling my jacket on. Shit, Renee. I don’t want her polluted with this bullshit, but I’ve got to deal with this. I shoot a text to Max asking him to take care of the fuck up at the strip club. He asks for details and I tell him to meet me in my office, directly below. I look at the bathroom again and hear the water running. This should only take a minute. I slip out of the door to talk to Max.
Max is waiting for me in my office downstairs and I shut the door, blocking out the music. “We’ve got a fucking mess at Perfect Distraction. Vin said some guys came in waving guns, scaring the girls, and took all the money. Said they fired a bunch of rounds just to fuck shit up before they left. Can you deal with this? I’ve got Renee upstairs.” I leave it at that. I don’t want to get into this with him. Especially not now when I have no idea what I’m doing.
“Upstairs, huh? She just spread out waiting for you to get back?”
“Fuck you, Max. Can you handle this shit for me or not? I can always—” He cuts me off, “I got it, bro. Get back up there to that fine piece of ass.”
“Watch it.” I ground out, and he walks out of the office laughing.
I shoot a quick text to Vin letting him know Max is on the way to take care of things and get a full recount of what happened, and then I shut off the lights in my office and head back upstairs. My foot touches the bottom step, and someone snakes their arm around my waist. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I turn around and remove the arms from me and come face to face with Kara. She’s a redheaded bomb shell I met through Natalie. She’s gorgeous with light porcelain skin and bright green eyes. I run my eyes up and down her body. The emerald green dress makes her look like a poison ivy look-a-like and the red pumps add to the effect. “No.” I say and turn to walk back up the stairs, not even turning to see how she reacts to my rejection. I slide my card through the slot, anxious to see if Renee stayed. She’s standing at the bar sloppily pouring a shot of tequila in a glass. When she hears me enter she turns quickly, with a look of surprise that tells me she didn’t think I was coming back. The quick turn causes her to stumble, and I narrow my eyes. How many of those has she had since I left?
“I didn’t think you were coming back.” Her words are slurred a little, but her narrowed eyes and flushed cheeks tell me she’s angry again. The thought of her coming out of that bathroom thinking I’d left her alone up here to clean up and leave stung. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. It’s basically what happened last week, only, she took my cues for what they were, a dismissal.
“Well, I’m here now.”
Holding a full glass, she points a finger at me, sloshing tequila onto the floor. “You, sir, are an asshole.”
“Watch your mouth, Renee. I won’t be spoken to like that.” My voice is stern and meant to reprimand her. She needs to know I don’t tolerate that shit.
“Fuck you Lo. You know, I have a list.” She says with pride, but pauses to down her shot and then turns, sitting the glass onto the counter.
“A list?” I prompt her. She’s fucking trashed. Normally I like my bitches tipsy. It brings out the freak in them, but it’s not the same with her. It stains her innocence.
“Yes, a list.” Her words are sloppy, and she takes one step towards me, placing her hands on her hips. “A list of all the things you’ve done to piss me off. A list of all the things that are behind the reason I’m going to walk out of that door in a minute and never see you again.”
Not if I have anything to do with that. “Okay, so, go ahead. Gimme the list, baby. See if it keeps me away.” I take a step towards her.
Her eyes widen, and she holds up her hand to stop me. “No.” She walks behind the bar, putting it between us. “Space. We need to keep space between us, so I can talk. You’re not seducing me into forgetting why I’m mad again.”
I smile a devilish grin, “Is that what I did, Angel? You didn’t seem to protest. In fact, you seemed to really like it. The way your juices dripped down my balls doesn’t leave room for much argument in the other direction.”
She reaches for the bottle and pours another shot. I hold my tongue. I can see the alcohol and lust clouding her eyes and her chest heaves heavily at my illustration. She downs another shot and then speaks, “One, you dismissed me like trash on Friday.” Ouch. She’s not wrong, though. “Two, you sent me a bracelet worth more than my fucking car.” She’s spitting words like venom and I open my mouth to speak, but she stops me, “NO! Let me
finish. Three, you cut off my drinks.” Well, look at you sweet girl. I couldn’t have you looking like this downstairs. You’d end up under someone else, and that’s just not gonna happen. “Four, you punched an innocent man in the face,”
“Innocent is pushing it Renee. He had his hands on what’s mine.” I interject. The fuck am I talking about? Mine? I’m losing my fucking mind.
“What’s yours!? You fucked me once, bent over, pressed against the window, and then turned fucking icy on me before your dick even got soft.” She’s getting emotional, the hurt in her eyes slices through me. Moisture clings to her lashes, “I mean, it’s my fault I came up here with you like some whore. But shit, Lo. That fucking sucked. You should really put together some exit packets or something that explain it was great and all, but not gonna work out. Include like, some wine, aspirin, and a thank you card. Word would get around that you’re a good lay and have swag bags,” She snaps, sarcasm lacing her words. “Oh, right, throw in a stupidly expensive bracelet too. That will save you having to hire someone to bring them to bitches doors. Which brings me to number five: how the fuck did you find where I live?” Her eyes search as though she’s sifting through the fog of the tequila for number six, but I interrupt her train of thought. Five’s a good number. I’d rather she didn’t add to the list.
I close the distance. “One, I didn’t dismiss you, you left on your own and I’ve regretted not stopping you all week; I still do. Two, I sent you that bracelet as an apology for my behavior and to let you know I enjoyed having you here and wanted to see you again, and the ball was in your court. I gave you my number, you didn’t call me.” She opens her mouth to speak, “No, it’s my turn now, baby. Close those lips or I’ll slip something between them to keep them occupied.” Her mouth snaps shut, and she looks at me through narrowed eyes but doesn’t speak. Good girl. “Three, I cut off your drinks because I couldn’t have you getting drunk and allow someone else to go home with what’s mine.” Mine. The word feels good on my tongue. She bites her lip and inhales sharply, tears brimming her eyes. “Four, I punched that guy because he had his hands on you Renee, and correct me if I’m wrong, but you were getting close to saying something too. I just beat you to it.
“I don’t like seeing another man’s hands on you, and I promise, I will take down any man who can’t respect those boundaries.” Her mouth pops open again, and I continue before she can say anything, “As far as knowing where you live, I have ways of finding anything I need, and I needed to find you.” Her eyes widen, and a tear slips down her cheek, “I needed to find you because never in my life have I not been able to get a woman out of my head. I’m not going to lie to you, you’re not the first woman up here, but you’re the first that I can’t get off my mind. You’re the first to make me feel things I can’t explain. You’re the first to make me crave more of something I’ve already had.” I close the space between us. “I’m sorry for the way I acted, I can promise this won’t be the last time I do something stupid, but I want to see you again. Outside of this room, this club. That’s what the bracelet was meant to say. I’m sorry it conveyed something different.” I pull it out of my pocket, and lift her hand up, closing the clasp around her wrist.
“Lo, I can’t accept that. It’s too much.” Her face has paled, and I think the tequila is starting to get to her. I can see the anger fading and it’s being replaced with what will surely leave her wrapped around a toilet sometime soon, and with a killer hangover in the morning, but I need to get this off my chest. I need her to know I’m not done seeing her, even if she may not remember it in the morning.
“That’s where you’re wrong. Any woman capable of holding my thoughts hostage for an entire week is worth this, and so much more. This,” I point to the bracelet, “Is not worthy of you.”
Chapter Twelve: Renee
The anger I was trying so desperately to hold on to has vanished, leaving me grasping for something solid, anything to bring it back to argue my point. The haze the tequila caused is lifted slightly, and I think I’m being shocked into sobriety, until I feel my world tilt and my stomach roil. Shit. Sobriety will have to wait. “I think I need to lie down.” I press my hand to my stomach, “No, I think I need to…” I can’t get the rest of my sentence out. My hand flies to my mouth and I make a beeline for the bathroom. Shit, shit, shit. I slam through the door and my knees land hard on the marble floor in front of the toilet. I’m sure I’ll have painful bruises in the morning, but concern for my knees is quickly replaced by my retching. The bitter taste of the tequila mixed with stomach bile attacks my senses and burns my throat causing me to shudder. My mouth waters and I spit into the toilet before retching again. Sweat beads on my forehead and I sit back on my knees, heaving deep breaths in through my nose. Trying to will my mind and stomach to understand there’s nothing left. Operation Avoid Alcohol Poisoning has averted the danger, and the dry heaves that continue to wrack my body are unnecessary and cruel. My entire body is shaking, and my head is swimming in murky water. I’m feeling frail and strung out.
A light knock sounds at the door and my body snaps to attention. I blink a few times and reach up and flush the toilet. Lo doesn’t wait for me to respond before pushing through the door. I swing my head up and back to look at him, but it causes me to become dizzy and my stomach heaves again. Just like that my head’s back in the toilet while my body continues to try and rid me of the poison that is already gone… only this time I have an audience. A super-hot, sexy, audience. Exactly what I want to have while I’ve got my head in a toilet. Not. I hear water running behind me, and then I feel him next to me. It’s like he sucks all the energy from the room and channels it between us every time he’s close to me. Even drunk and puking, it’s palpable. He squats down beside me and presses a cold, wet cloth to the back of my neck, and swipes the stray hairs sticking to my forehead and cheeks away from my face.
“Are you alright?” His voice is quiet, and full of concern. He’s speaking to me like I’m a lost child he’s found wandering the streets; like he’s afraid he’ll break me or scare me away. He might, though... I have one hand across the toilet and my forehead resting on the seat. I can see the bracelet shining on my wrist that rests in my lap, and the words he said to me right before I unceremoniously ran out of the room to barf come back to me. “This is not worthy of you.” Well, this— whatever is happening here, is not what I was looking for. I don’t even know what I was looking for when I drug myself out of the house last weekend, and this— sitting on the bathroom floor using the toilet to hold myself up from slipping onto the cold marble to cool my feverish body, is not what I was looking for tonight. Tonight was supposed to be about revenge and vindication. Not lust and feelings swarming around my heart and mind that have no place being there. Last weekend I was just trying to appease Krysta, and this week I only wanted to feel less shitty.
To feel like the ball was back in my court.
To throw this stupid bracelet back in his face and tell him that while he was a good fuck, he wasn’t worth the wasted time. Maybe it’s just the fact that I’m drunk and have my head in the toilet, but it doesn’t feel like a waste of time anymore. He doesn’t feel like a waste of time anymore.
I realize my eyes are closed and I’m lost in my own thoughts and I haven’t answered him. “I’m fine… I think. I just need to get home. I’m sorry about this.” I sit back on my knees again and turn to look at him. He moves the cool rag from my neck to my face, dabbing at the sheen of sweat that’s covering my whole body. I’m cold and clammy now, and when the cool fabric touches my skin a shiver runs through me, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake all over my body. “I should probably go.” He opens his mouth to say something but quickly shuts it. He’s probably realizing conversation isn’t going to be my strong point right now. His eyebrows knit together like he’s having an internal struggle.
“I’ll take you.” His words are firm and definitive. Shit.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll have Viv take me.” Even
though I’d already told her I was leaving… and we came in an Uber. He doesn’t need to know that, though.
“No. I’ll take you. You’re drunk, and sick. I’m taking you.” His eyes bore into mine giving no leeway. I right myself and stand on my shaky feet and make my way to the sink. He’s following behind me, and I shoot him a glare through the mirror.
“Can I get a few minutes to clean up?” I say, with more attitude than I mean, surprising even myself. I didn’t agree to his ride, but I’m not going to continue to argue about something when he seems to have already made up his mind. I don’t have the energy to do it. Not to mention my body is tired and worn from heaving, and I can feel my eyelids slipping lower by the second. My stomach is so empty it hurts, and hunger pangs radiate through my abdomen. I know they’re not real though, just a disguise my body uses to trick me into eating before I’m ready. His mouth twists again like he wants to say something, but he holds his tongue. I can tell it doesn’t happen very often, but I’m relieved he’s keeping his opinions and arguments to himself. I turn on the tap when the door shuts behind him and splash water on my face and I can hardly feel it. The cold water freezes my pores, tightening my skin. I’m numb from the alcohol and I feel nothing when I pat my face dry and run the towel under my eyes to clean up the black smudges that have become raccoon-like.