Yanked (Frenched #1.5)

by Melanie Harlow

  I swallowed hard, pushing back against the sobs fighting for release. “You…you said you wanted to make me happy every day.”

  “I do.”

  “Well, I’m not happy going on like this, Lucas. Seeing you so infrequently. Trying to love you when we’re so far apart all the time.”

  “You knew what this would be when you got into it, Mia. I’ve never misled you.”

  A rush of strength came from somewhere inside me. “No. You haven’t. I misled myself, thinking that I could handle this kind of relationship. Knowing how I felt about you. I want more, Lucas. I deserve more. I love you, but I can’t be with you if there isn’t a future for us—the kind of future I want.”

  He brought both hands to his head and groaned in frustration. “Why is it only about what you want? Why can’t we compromise?”

  “What we’ve been doing isn’t exactly a compromise, Lucas. It’s what you want—some kind of long-distance fuck-friends relationship. I can’t do it anymore!” And I couldn’t be in this apartment anymore. Its walls, already tight, were closing in on me. The smell of the ancient heating system and the Little Mermaid’s cloying perfume were choking me. “Just let me go, Lucas. I need to think.”

  He shook his head, eyes wide. “What is this? Are you ending things?”

  I couldn’t look at him or I’d break down, so I stared at the bottle of wine he had set on the table. It was a Rhone Valley red, the kind we always drank together. “I don’t know. I just have to get out of here.”

  “Let me come with you. We can get a hotel.” His voice had softened, but I wasn’t having it.

  “No.”

  A pause. “This is what you want?”

  No, it’s not what I want, you dumbass! I turned my back to him. “You could have told me she was here. You should have told me.” I had to get out of there before I broke down, but as soon as I pulled the door open, Lucas was right behind me, pushing it closed.

  “No. I’m not letting you walk out.”

  God, I could feel his breath by my ear, and it sent a shiver down my back. I still wanted him so badly, despite all this. “Please,” I begged, without turning around. My throat was already closing up.

  “Mia, you came all the way here. You got on a plane for me and you hate to fly. When did you buy the ticket?” His voice was soft and quiet.

  I swallowed. “Yesterday.”

  If he apologized, if he said he wanted more too, even if he just said he still loved me…

  The bedroom door opened and I heard the sound of high heels on the wood floor. “Luc? You should probably get in the shower. Our reservations are at eight, remember? Oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?”

  Lucas backed away from me, and my fists clenched. Luc? I turned around to see Jessica standing there in a flirty black dress, black tights, and high heeled booties. Her red hair with its caramel highlights hung perfectly straight over her shoulders. It had the kind of sheen that a girl with coarse, wavy locks like mine can never achieve, no matter how much time we spend with a blow dryer or how much money we shell out for products.

  I side-eyed Lucas, who was finally looking a bit uncomfortable. “You’re having dinner with her tonight?”

  “Not alone. We’re meeting a group of old friends.”

  “How nice.” Say it’s canceled, Lucas. Do it. Say you want to be with me. Don’t care about her.

  “You could come along,” said Jessica, without any sincerity whatsoever. “It’s just that you wouldn’t know anyone.”

  I stared hard at Lucas, waiting for him to insist I join them.

  But he hesitated too long.

  “I wouldn’t dream of intruding.” I scooped up the bottle from the table, tempted to take it with me, but instead I shoved it into his stomach. “But it looks like a very promising evening.” With that, I picked up my suitcase again opened the door.

  “Mia, wait!” Lucas yelled.

  But I was already barreling down the lopsided stairs two a time, my suitcase banging the steps behind me.

  Of course, I had no idea where to go once I was out on the street. And it was snowing now. Antarctica cold. Dark. Part of me wanted to get as far away from Lucas’s building as possible in case he was planning on coming after me, and another part wanted to go sit and bawl in the bar across the street, like maybe right in front of the window so I’d be totally visible if he came looking.

  What? Don’t be fucking ridiculous.

  Somewhere inside me, my pride decided to speak up. So he comes out and you’re sitting there behind the glass with a sad face like a fucking lobster in a tank waiting for someone to buy and boil you? How pathetic. NO.

  I had to admit that was pretty pathetic, but a drink sounded pretty damn good, so I dragged my suitcase through the falling snow and chose the corner bar at the end of the street. As I pushed the door open, I realized how familiar it all seemed—feeling sad and alone in a big city, thinking I’d made a big fat mistake in coming here, seeking refuge in a bar. It was exactly how I’d felt eight months ago in Paris. Instinct had me looking for the bartender, as if it might be Lucas again, and everything would be OK.

  But of course, it wasn’t.

  It was a pretty brunette in a tight black tee shirt with lots of tattoos up her arms. “Hi there,” she called, filling a cocktail shaker with ice. “Take a seat anywhere you can find one. I’ll be right with you.”

  I nodded and chose an empty stool at the end of the bar, looking around at all the happy friends and couples. A trio of twenty-something girls in skinny jeans and heels sat to my left, laughing at something on one of their phones. Was it only when I was miserable that I noticed how happy everyone else seemed in bars? Wasn’t anyone here moping like me?

  When the bartender returned, I ordered a glass of red wine, wishing bars were like Starbucks and you had your choice of Tall, Grande, Vendi, and Trenta. Because I needed a Trenta glass of wine. Several of them.

  I took my phone out, and as soon as I looked at the screen, I saw that I already had two texts and one voicemail from Lucas.

  The first text read, Where are you? I’m sorry. Let’s talk.

  The second, I love you. Talk to me. Please.

  My throat lumped up and I swallowed some wine to dissolve it. It tasted OK, but nowhere near as good as the wines Lucas always chose for me. He knew just what I liked, or maybe it was that everything always tasted better with him. But wine is wine, and this was an emotional emergency, so I took another gulp before listening to his voicemail.

  “Mia, it’s me. Where are you? I’m sorry I didn’t come after you, and I’m worried about you out there alone. Please talk to me. I keep thinking about Paris, how after we got off the train from Provence I let you go, and it took me some time to realize I should have fought harder for you. So I went to your hotel room…and now I wish I could do it again, but I have no idea where you are. Please call me. I love you.”

  The fact that we were both thinking about Paris squeezed my heart. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d kept something from me I thought was a big deal, and he’d done it on purpose. And hiding me from Jessica was just as bad. He’d said he just wanted keep his romantic life private, but that didn’t sit right with me. I could see not telling her the intimate details of our relationship, but to hide its existence—my existence—hurt like a bitch.

  I listened to his message again, and I still wasn’t satisfied. OK, fine, he loved me, and he was sorry he hadn’t come after me, but there was no apology for the whole Jessica thing or the painful things he’d said. He could have invited me to dinner. He could have blown the dinner off. He could have spoken up for me and not left me standing there like a fool.

  His voice, though. It did something to me. How many nights had I heard it and wished to be close to him? And now I was here, and he was looking for me. Was I a fool to be sitting at this bar alone?

  My phone buzzed. Another text from him.

  Are you leaving without even talking to me? This isn’t fair.

&n
bsp; I gulped wine so fast I nearly choked. Fair? FAIR? I find his pretty little ex wrapped in my towel in his apartment, getting ready to go to dinner with him, and he wants to talk fair? My nostrils flared, which only happens when I get truly enraged. Since it is very unattractive, I tried to hide it behind my wine glass as I guzzled a few more ounces.

  My phone vibrated again, and I looked at the screen, expecting to see his name again. But it was Coco texting me.

  Where are you? Lucas just called me!

  Lucas had called Coco? What had he said to her? I dialed her number, and she picked up after the first ring.

  “Mia?”

  I plugged my left ear to hear her better. “Yeah.”

  “Oh my God, where the hell are you?”

  “I’m in a bar near Lucas’s apartment.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Exactly. What did he say when he called?”

  “He said you guys argued and you took off. He’s trying to find you.”

  “Ha. How does he have your number anyway?”

  “I think I called his phone when he was in Detroit once. What the fuck happened? Did he say no to moving in together?”

  “No. We didn’t even get to that conversation. I was too distracted by the fact that his ex was there, in a robe, fresh from a fucking shower.”

  Coco gasped. “Shut up! Jessica?”

  “Uh huh. Apparently her tour ended—she’s some kind of performer—and she’s staying there for a few days until she finds an apartment.” Just the thought of it had me riled up all over again. This was not OK.

  “And he didn’t tell you that?”

  “Nope. And he didn’t tell her about me, either.”

  “Oh my God, what an asshole. I don’t believe it!”

  “Me either. My nostrils are flaring.”

  “That I believe. How long has she been there?”

  “A couple days.”

  “Oh.” Some of the shock and anger left Coco’s voice. “Well, maybe he was going to tell you.”

  “Nice try, but no.” I quickly explained to Coco Lucas’s “reasoning” for all the secrecy. “Then he said some bullshit about not wanting total transparency in a relationship. Like I’m asking to know every thought in his head. I’m not!”

  “God. What are you going to do?”

  “No clue. I feel like getting on a plane for home, but—“

  “I don’t think you can. Lucas said they’re canceling flights right and left out of New York because of the snowstorm.”

  “Shit. I guess I’ll stay the night somewhere in Manhattan then. I’ll have to get a hotel.” More fucking money down the drain.

  “OK. Call me or text me when you’re settled. I don’t like to think of you wandering the streets of New York alone.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  Coco laughed a little. “Sorry, can’t help it. Are you going to talk to him?”

  “No! He was a total jerk about this.” I said it and I wanted to mean it, but then I exhaled, my shoulders sagging. “You think I should?”

  “Well…what he did was shitty but I know he loves you, and you flew all the way there to talk to him. Maybe you should, you know? Maybe this is the catalyst you needed to get him to say where this is going.”

  “Yeah. You could be right. He just made me so mad. And disappointed.” I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. “I better go.”

  “Love you. And you’re gonna be OK no matter what.”

  “Love you too.”

  We hung up, and I dropped the phone back into my purse. Now what should I do?

  Possible Ways to Handle

  Spontaneous Shitstorm

  1) I could be a fucking Sad Lobster all night, sitting here in this bar drinking wine, staring out the window and pining for Lucas and my lost dreams.

  2) I could be a Badass, throw back a few shots and make out with a hot random guy.

  3) I could be a Self-Righteous Girlfriend, show up at his apartment and demand he kick Jessica to the curb if he ever wanted to taste my sweet pussy again.

  But none of those sounded like me.

  I supposed I could just call him, tell him where I was and let him meet me here—but then that put us in the middle of a crowded bar, which wasn’t exactly the place for us to have the discussion we needed to have.

  I wasn’t even sure what that was anymore.

  A few hours ago, I’d gotten on a plane thinking that maybe this would be the last time one of us had to travel hundreds of miles to see each other. Now I had no idea if we were even still together. The tears that had been threatening for the last hour finally spilled over, and I kept my head down as I made my way to the bathroom, where I had a complete meltdown.

  The place only had one bathroom, so it wasn’t long before someone knocked on the door. “Just a minute,” I called. After cleaning up my face the best I could, I took a few deep breaths and made my way back to my seat. Outside, the snow blew in furious gusts, and I dreaded going out there to look for a cab. And where was I going to tell the driver to take me once I found one?

  God, it was just like Paris again, only with shittier weather.

  Cursing my decision to come here, I ordered a second glass of wine and pulled out my phone to search for the closest hotel.

  I had another text from Lucas.

  I talked to Coco. Gramercy Park Hotel. Room 842. If you still want me.

  Of course I want you! I want you forever, but I want YOU to want that too.

  I felt like texting that back to him, but in the end I didn’t reply. I sat and drank another glass of wine while our romance in Paris replayed in my head, grainy and faded, like an old filmstrip. And our two days in Provence…I thought about those too. When I closed my eyes and inhaled, I could smell the lavender, feel the sun on my shoulders, taste the olives that grew in the orchard where we’d lain on a picnic blanket and read to each other on a lazy afternoon.

  That was the day I’d admitted to myself that I was in love with Lucas.

  I still loved him. And I still wanted him.

  Damn you, Lucas.

  After paying my tab, I hailed a taxi and instructed the driver to take me to the Gramercy Park Hotel. During the short ride there, I tried to figure out a game plan, but the more I thought about the situation, the angrier I got. This whole night was so fucking different than what I’d imagined. We should be naked and sweaty by now. I should be tied to the bed already. Or up against the wall in the shower. I’d been getting myself off thinking about him or talking to him for over a month—I deserved the real goddamn thing, and I deserved it now.

  Fuck. I squeezed my thighs together, trying to ignore the tightening of my stomach, the ache in my breasts, the little flutter between my legs.

  Sex won’t help. It will only confuse things.

  But it sure would feel good. I had all this aggression and passion and frustration trapped inside me, like a can of pop after you shake it.

  I needed to explode.

  When the cab stopped, I shoved some money into the driver’s hand, told him to keep the change, and stormed into the hotel. The lobby was dark and opulent, but details barely registered as I pushed my way into an elevator and punched eight. With each floor passed, my temperature rose. I tapped my toes impatiently as Lucas’s words ran through my head. I didn’t think we had rules for each other… Her presence here isn’t harming you…I like how things are for now…

  Of course he did! He had one girl living in his apartment and another on her way to his hotel room right now! Livid, I shoved my hat and gloves in my purse and angrily shook out my wind-tossed hair. Then I sniffed it.

  Good. Coconut.

  The other occupants in the elevator looked at me like I might be a little deranged, but I didn’t care. Lucas loved my hair, and I wanted it to look and smell delicious enough for him to realize how much he would miss it if things ended.

  He’d miss a lot of things about me, in fact, and I was about to remind him of every single one of them.

&
nbsp; A minute later I found room 842 and knocked hard enough to bruise my knuckles. The door swung open, and there he was—gorgeous in a goddamn suit and tie. Hair tamed. Clean-shaven.

  For his dinner with Jessica?

  Lust and fury raged inside me like a hurricane.

  “God, you’re such an asshole.” I charged into the room, dropped my bags and put two hands on his chest, plowing him backward into the darkness. Had he been about to leave? Motherfucker.

  Seething, I shoved Lucas onto the king-sized bed, and he was so stunned he went down on his back without much extra force. I took three seconds to yank off my coat and boots before jumping up and straddling him. He blinked at me in surprise as I pinned his shoulders to the bed.

  “I’m so fucking mad at you.” I could hardly breathe, I was so mad. How dare he ruin this? How dare he humiliate me in front of his ex-girlfriend and then dress up to go out with her? How dare he let me fall deeper in love with him when he didn’t want me the same way? How dare he not be the Lucas I thought he was? My emotions were spiraling out of control—it felt good to use a little physical power against him.

  Whipping my black sweater over my head, I threw it to the ground. Under it I wore a beautiful sheer black bra that left very little to the imagination, but judging from the way his cock twitched beneath me, his was running wild.

  Good.

  I unbuttoned my jeans and slowly lowered the zipper.

  Open-mouthed, he stared at me for a moment before flipping me easily onto my back.

  Shit.

  Now it was Lucas who pinned me—by my wrists next to my head, by his hips over mine. It only made me angrier, and I struggled to get free.

  He brought his mouth close to mine but didn’t kiss me. “You’re here,” he said. “Does that mean you still want me?”

  I stared up at him and said nothing. He didn’t need to know how badly I wanted him. How if he let my arms go I’d tear the clothing from his limbs. How the thought of his body under that suit was making me wet.