by Rose, Amali
Walking through the dark-tinted glass door is like entering another world. Sedate, instrumental music is playing quietly in the background, immediately giving you a sense of calm. The color palette is all warm and muted colors with greenery everywhere. It might actually be physically impossible to feel stressed out within these walls.
We approach the front desk in the cavernous foyer, where a petite raven-haired girl with huge blue eyes greets us warmly.
After taking my name, we all breathe a sigh of relief when she confirms the contest win.
“We have you booked in for a deluxe manicure, pedicure, and facial, followed by a full-body sea-salt scrub and massage. I hope you ladies have cleared your entire day,” she coos. “You’ll barely be able to walk by the time we are done with you.”
“Not how I usually like to achieve that particular feeling, but let’s see how we do.”
I fight back a laugh at Cassidy’s comment, instead turning back to Zen-Barbie.
“That sounds amazing, we’re definitely ready.”
We are led to a giant, luxurious change room where we’re instructed to change into the plushest robe I have ever laid eyes on and a pair of cute little slippers.
“You can put your personal belongings in the lockers around the corner to your right, and I will be back in a few minutes,” Raven-haired girl tells us in her most soothing voice.
“This place is so beautiful. Wyatt, I don’t care how you got these passes, I’m just glad you did.” Skye sinks down onto a gorgeous emerald-colored armchair, eyes closed with a completely blissed-out look on her face.
“I second that. This place is probably too fancy for pussy, so underwear on, yeah?”
Skye’s eyes pop open and meet mine across the room.
“Yes, please keep your panties on, Cass, I beg you.” Skye laughs.
Ten minutes later we are settled in massage chairs, vibrating away, each of us with a girl by our feet, silently treating us to the most decadent foot massage and I am in heaven.
“Have you heard from Flynn?”
How quickly heaven can become hell. I look across to Skye for help, but she averts her eyes, suddenly fascinated with the floral prints on the wall opposite us.
“No, I haven’t.” My response is terse, and I cross my fingers that she takes the hint.
“Maybe you should call him.” Well, look at that. They clearly weren’t crossed hard enough.
“Why would I do that?”
Cassidy snorts out a laugh. “Because he has a ten-inch porn star dick that I’m pretty sure belongs in the cock hall of fame. Plus, you know.” She shrugs. “You’re still in love with him.”
It’s possible, I told them too much.
“Ugh, it’s not ten inches. That would be way too much of a good thing.” I cringe. “And painful.”
Skye and Cassidy exchange a loaded look and I realize I have to put a stop to this real quick.
“No, uh-uh, there will be no looks. I am not still in love with him. That would be ridiculous and just asking for trouble.”
“Then explain why you slept with him,” Cassidy challenges.
“And why in the entire time we’ve known you, you’ve never gone out with a guy more than six times.” Et tu, Skye?
“I slept with him because—” I pause, why exactly did I sleep with him? It’s all a confusing blur of sensation and emotion.
“Yeeees?”
“Because who says no to sex? That’s crazy talk! And”—I turn to Skye—“I have absolutely gone out with men more than six times.”
“Nope. Jonathan Sterk, three years ago. You went out with him six times. You slept with him on date five and then said he was too clingy and broke it off.”
“You counted?” I can feel my face contort in horror.
“Before him, it was Mark McLean. You dumped him after five dates.” Skye is completely unapologetic.
I am acutely aware that we are not alone, that there are three people in the room with us who are most likely hanging on every word we’re saying because, well, why wouldn’t you? But when I glance at each of the women working on our feet, they appear completely uninterested.
“I—” I am not sure how to continue, that’s what I am. “Okay, you want the truth?” The need to purge myself of one of my last remaining secrets is suddenly overwhelming. I may not be able to tell them the real reason Flynn and I will never happen, but I can give them this confession. And what better place to do it than in a luxury spa, half-naked under a robe, surrounded by three complete strangers, right?
Right.
“No, we want you to feed us a line of bullshit, so we can feel good about you feeling good,” Cassidy snarks. “Get your head out of your ass, Red.”
Skye fixes me with a look of disbelief and I take a moment to both appreciate and resent my friends’ support.
The perky blonde seated at my feet, who I note, has a big smile and kind eyes, uses her knuckles to press deep into the arch of my foot, causing my head to fall back on the chair and my eyes to close in ecstasy.
“If you’re finished orgasming over there, you were about to finally share a little truth with us.”
I reluctantly open one eye and squint over at her. “You make it sound like I’m a habitual liar.” I pout.
“No, just a habitual omitter of the truth.” She sticks her tongue out at me.
“Ignore her, we completely understand why you didn’t tell us.” Skye reaches out and gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “But we want you to be honest with us. You can trust us.”
My stomach churns with the knowledge that I still haven’t been completely honest with them. That there is one secret that will always be only for me. So, I’ll give them this admission, they deserve that at least.
“I love him.” My words are confident, even when my heart is not.
“We know.”
“Cassidy!”
My laughter flows easily and does wonders for loosening the lump that was forming in my throat.
“People thought we were crazy when we eloped. Our graduating class even had a pool going on how long we’d last.” I have to bite my lip when I remember how pissed Flynn was when he found out. Right before he placed a bet on us lasting eighty years. I guess I showed him.
“But I knew I would never love anyone the way I love him, and I was right. We’ve been apart for ten years, but when I think about my heart, it’s him I think of.”
The room is silent but for the noise of water sloshing around our feet and gentle relaxation music playing in the background. I get the unmistakable feeling that the girls tending to us are now fully invested in this conversation, but I’m beyond caring.
“Despite that, we didn’t make it. And I don’t blame him for leaving.” I inhale sharply, pushing away those unwelcome memories. “I treated him so badly, but my heart was shattered, and my soul barely survived it. Loving him almost broke me and I won’t let that happen again.”
The room is still, a shroud of unhappiness hanging over all of us and a pang of regret over that last little lie hits me deep in the gut. I would absolutely risk that heartbreak again, for him. If things were different, I would take that chance again in a heartbeat.
Anxious to ease the tension, I am about to make a joke when Skye beats me to the punch.
“I call bullshit.” She shakes her head emphatically. “You were basically a child. Everyone was totally right; you guys were too young to get married. Sure, if you hadn’t lost Carys you might still be together, and you might be rock solid and could survive anything. But back then? Neither of you had the emotional maturity to deal with your loss, let alone keep a marriage together through it.”
“Thanks for that, Dr. Phil.” Cassidy turns to me. “She’s totally right though.”
“No,” I press on confidently, the need to perpetuate the lie now obvious. “If I couldn’t make it work with him, I can’t make it work with anyone. As for him, what’s that saying about madness and doing the same thing over and over? We tried, a
nd we failed. Trying again would be insanity.”
“You’re an idiot. I love you, but you’re being an idiot.”
“Cass, that’s not helpful,” Skye chastises before turning her attention to me. “She’s right though.”
I groan. Loudly. “You both suck.”
“Of course we do, that’s what our men love most about us.” Cassidy smirks. “But that’s beside the point. I don’t agree with you, like at all, but I do get where you’re coming from. I think you owe it to yourself to try to salvage something though, even if it’s just a friendship.” Her blue eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Nobody else will ever be able to understand what you went through, do you really want to give that up?”
I consider what she’s saying, only slightly distracted by the sensation of my heel being scrubbed to slough away the dry skin (seriously, why does that feel so good?).
“I think,” I start slowly. “That friends would be too hard to manage.” And for a moment I’m lost, remembering the days after we split in vivid detail. How I had to box away every single thing that reminded me of him, block him on social media. Even warn people not to mention him, because the tiniest reminder intensified the pain that was already too intense for me to cope with. I couldn’t believe that in less than a year my life had completely disintegrated, and the responsibility fell solely on my shoulders.
“It would just hurt too much.”
“That was fluffing amazing.” Cassidy slips back into mom-mode as we make our way to the exit.
“Soooo good. I’ve already decided that Ben can get dinner tonight and deal with the kids.” Skye sighs. “I am going to go soak in a bubble bath with a glass of wine and my Kindle.”
“That sounds perfect,” I practically moan.
“You two are boring as fudge. I’ve already made arrangements for my mom to take the kids and Mason is going to fuck me senseless. Now that is the perfect end to the perfect day.”
I roll my eyes and glance at Skye, only to stifle a laugh when I see her considering Cassidy’s suggestion.
“Miss Monroe, do you have a minute?”
I look over my shoulder to the reception desk where a different woman, who exudes the same serene air, is now working.
“We’ll wait,” Skye assures me.
“No, it’s fine, you go. I’m in the opposite direction anyway. I’ll get an Uber as soon as I’m done.”
“If you’re sure?”
“Absolutely, you go.” We indulge in a round of goodbye hugs and I accept their thank-yous for today, but they have no idea how good it was for my soul. Sometimes only your girls will do and today was most definitely one of those times.
I approach the reception desk cautiously, suddenly worried and mentally calculating my bank balance in case we incurred some charges today that weren’t covered by my prize.
“Today was incredible, I will absolutely be recommending you to everyone I can.” I infuse my voice with enthusiasm, hopeful the day isn’t about to go completely south.
“I’m so pleased to hear that.” She smiles. “As part of your prize you also won a bottle of wine, so if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me to the restaurant?”
“Oh, of course, thank you so much.”
I follow her through a wide hallway, her heels echoing on the marble floors as I take in the beautifully textured artwork lining the walls. The technique demonstrated is stunning and I am so distracted I almost run into the woman’s back when she stops suddenly in front of the closed restaurant doors.
“Right through here, Miss Monroe, they’ll take care of you inside.” With that, she turns on her heel and makes her way back the way we just came.
A little off-balance from her abrupt departure, I push through the doors eager to collect my wine and get home, only to pull up short when the last person I expected to see is standing by the bar, an impatient look on his face.
“Jesus Christ, you took your sweet-ass time, Cherry.”
Flynn
Her eyes flare in surprise when she spots me and, for a second, I think she’s going to turn and run. Instead, her face scrunches up, the way it does when she’s pissed. So fucking cute.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice is demanding, immediately reminding me of other times she likes to demand things and just like that, I’m sporting a semi.
“I told you we were going to have dinner tonight.” I shrug and push off from the bar. She stalks to the side, away from me, so I change direction, heading toward our table. It’s in the middle of the room, the only one set up since I have claimed the entire restaurant for the night. Not a small feat and I owe Brax a bottle of Macallan 26 for arranging this.
There’s a pause before I hear her follow me, a beat where I question my judgment before my smirk locks itself firmly in place. I guess I do still know my girl.
“I told you we weren’t having dinner.” She slides into the chair opposite me.
“And yet, here we are.”
“Fine, you can feed me, but only because I’m exhausted from gett—” A groan escapes from her full, pink lips, forming a small O shape. And just like that my semi grows to a fully-fledged hard-on.
“It was you.” Her index finger points at me accusingly. “Oh my God, how did I not realize? You arranged this whole thing!”
I take a moment, because this is too good not to enjoy just a little bit, and pour us each a glass of water.
“No idea what you’re talking about. This was just lucky timing.” I raise my glass and gulp down some water, enjoying the way Wyatt’s eyes watch me, glued to my mouth.
Giving herself a small shake, she reaches for the menu and slowly peruses it, purposefully ignoring me.
“The salmon is supposed to be good here.”
Her nose scrunches up again, this time in disgust.
“I am not eating that. Christ, do you remember that time Charlie made those homemade salmon sushi rolls?”
“And the salmon was bad?” I laugh. “We spent the next twenty-four hours puking our guts up, that’s not something you forget.”
“I’ve never been able to look at salmon since then.” She shudders. “She still lives off it though.”
“Charlie always was a stickler for routine.” I shrug.
“How did she ever put up with us?” Wyatt’s shoulders bounce with a small chuckle.
“No idea,” I respond, giving myself a silent pat on the back for my wicked distraction skills. “What happened with that sculpture you were telling me about last time? Did you hear back from the guy who was interested in commissioning it?”
“I did, he’s wanting a little more time to decide, which suits me.”
We’re interrupted by a waiter and I give him my order, watching Wyatt out of the corner of my eye. She’s flustered, a hand fluttering about her long neck, her fingers tracing the spot right behind her ear where I know a small tattoo of a bird in flight is hidden. My tongue used to take such pleasure in that spot.
“Uh, I’m sorry, I’m not sure, it all looks so good.”
I smile, amused, as she anxiously tries to make a decision. One of her little quirks was that she always had to know what she was going to order before we ever went out for a meal. If she didn’t get a chance to check out the menu beforehand, she would um and ah for far too long, unable to make a decision on the spot.
“Their parmesan risotto is supposed to be amazing,” I nudge her, remembering how obsessed she was with anything cheesy.
“That does sound good.” She throws me an appreciative look and hands the menu to the waiter. “I’ll have that, please.”
“So why are you glad the guy wants more time?” I question once we are on our own again.
“I haven’t done any sculpting in a long time and it’s going to be a difficult piece.” She chews on her bottom lip. “If I’m honest, I’m probably not the right person for it, I’ve focused much more on painting the last few years. That’s really where my heart is.”
“Then why are you even considering takin
g the commission?”
“Money.” She reaches across the table for her glass. “The book illustrations are a nice steady income, they gave me the freedom to quit working at the diner, but I’m not exactly rolling in cash. The commission would just give me a bit of breathing room.”
My brow furrows. Money shouldn’t be an issue for her. I’ve always sent her as much as I could every month. Despite the fact that we were never technically divorced, I made sure I took care of my financial responsibilities, sending her what I considered to be alimony every month.
“Wait, why do you need money?”
She looks startled at my tone and I try to reel it back in a bit, but I’m fucking confused.
“Well, being an artist doesn’t always pay that great.” She quirks an eyebrow at me. “For most of us anyway.”
“I send you money, Wyatt. Every month.” My hands clench the edge of the table.
“Oh, I don’t touch that,” she replies dismissively.
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because it’s not mine.” Her expression tells me she’s confused by the direction this conversation has taken. “Why are you acting so pissed off?”
“Because I am pissed off,” I bark. “What kind of man lives the life I’m living while his wife is struggling to get by?”
Wyatt glances around nervously. Pacified when she doesn’t spot anyone within hearing range, she turns to me angrily.
“I am not your wife, and I don’t need you to take care of me. Just because we never ended this legally, it doesn’t change what happened. You left me.”
“You didn’t give me a choice.”
“Wyatt? You home?” My voice echoes in the empty room. I dump my guitar on the empty armchair and flop down onto the sofa, scrubbing the heel of my hand over my painful eyes. The gig went well last night, but the four-hour drive home after was a killer. I didn’t want to stay overnight in Shiner and away from Wyatt even longer than necessary. She seems to be doing better at the moment, but I like to be around, just in case.