by Katie Ford
In the mirror, my reflection looks awful. Brown eyes looking wet and on the verge of tears. My bottom lip held tightly between my teeth, reddened and sore from constant biting and worry. My chin trembling like I’m some stupid damsel in distress.
I’ve combed and then brushed my hair at least twice already tonight, so at least it looks glossy and pretty tumbling around my face and over my shoulders.
“Are you coming out here, or am I gonna have to come in there and get you?!” Mandy shouts at me from the living room—loudly enough, I swear, to rattle the windows of our little house.
“I’m coming,” I call back and then realize that I was’ the only person who could hear my squeak of a voice. I clear my throat and try again.
This time, Mandy hears me just fine.
“Good because I don’t want to miss happy hour. Especially since it was your idea to go.”
Yes, it was my idea. A stupid one.
After I’d gotten home from work, I had stood under the hot and steaming shower, still turning over everything that had happened to me in the last couple of days. Brent. Acting like a stranger. My heart squeezed tight and feeling like a balloon collapsing in on itself.
I can’t go on like this. Sad and messed up, knowing Brent is out there someplace while I’m...here. So I told Mandy I wanted to go out tonight and get sloppy drunk, just so I can forget a little bit of what I’m feeling.
She was shocked but didn’t try to talk me out of it. She loves that damn bar and the new guys there for her to eye fuck. I can’t blame her. It’s something different from our usual small town routine. After tonight, maybe I’ll like it at least half as much as she does.
Maybe.
With shaking hands, I fluff my loose curls around my face and smooth my hands down my thighs, rubbing my sweaty palms along the gold-colored dress Mandy bought for me ages ago but I never bothered to wear. I’d told her the dress was too sexy when she brought it home. I’d told her I would never wear it. But here I am.
I don’t care what I wear anyway. This is clean. I haven’t done laundry since I saw Brent that night, and this is all I have left to wear that’s not one of my work outfits.
“Okay,” I say to my reflection in the mirror. “Get going. This what you want, right?”
Naturally, my reflection only looks back at me with sad and anxious eyes. They are the opposite of every sexy thing the gold dress promises, but this is all I have tonight.
After a quick breath, I grab my purse and march into the living room where Mandy is sitting on the couch and watching the ID channel, already waiting for me in her jacket and boots. She looks effortlessly sexy and eager to eat up every hot man at the bar.
“Okay, I’m ready,” I tell her.
“Thank fuck.” She clicks off the TV and stands up, grabbing her purse from beside her on the couch. Then she stops halfway to the door, her back to me. She sighs and then turns to face me, her expression a mass of conflict. “Claire.”
“Yes.” I blink at her. Wasn’t she the one chomping at the bit to get out of here not ten seconds ago?
“Honey, you don’t have to do this,” Mandy says. “We can just have a drink here at home and chill, watch some Law and Order or some of those rom-coms that you like. There’s a workplace romance marathon on tonight.” Concern presses frown lines into her pretty face.
She loves me, and I love her. If this—her trying to make me not go to the bar—isn’t proof of that, then I don’t know what is. I go over and grab her up in a tight hug.
“Thanks, Mandy. I don’t know what I would do without you.” She smiles with a look of relief when I add, “But let’s get our butts to the bar and get stupid wasted!” I hope I sound convincing and eager enough.
I must do a pretty good job because she breaks all kinds of speed limits getting us to the bar. In the car, she chatters the whole time, telling me she has no intention of drinking for once. This night is just for me, and I should appreciate and savor the one and only time she’s going to be my designated driver.
Inside the bar, two guys get up from what I’m starting to think of as our usual table just as we walk up.
“Nice!” Mandy jumps up onto the chair and waves at the waitress to our drinks started. “Bring us two of whatever’s on tap, plus four shots of Sweet Poison.” She names the mixture of whipped cream flavored vodka and 80 proof rum she discovered the last time we were here. When the waitress speeds off to get our drinks, Mandy nods at me, looking like a woman on a mission. “Those shots should get you nice and drunk in no time. Then we can head on home and pass out on the couch in front of the TV watching all of those hot blond boys pretending to be billionaire prodigies.”
Four shots and an hour later, I feel ready to dance on top of our table and sing along to the Imagine Dragons song blasting from the speakers.
“God! This stuff is so strong!” The edge of our table wobbles like we’re on a boat or something. Or am I the one wobbling and weaving to and fro like a crazy (drunk) person?
“That’s because you’ve never had four of them before.” Mandy lines up the four empty shot glasses at the edge of our table, making it easy for the waitress to pick them up.
When she’d gotten the four shots, I’d thought two were for her and the other two were for me. But no. Now, she’s sipping on her beer, barely touching the liquid to her lips each time. My beer is half gone while her pint glass looks practically full.
“Ugh! I think my chair is doing something funny,” I slur at her, my tongue feeling heavy in my mouth. “Let’s switch.”
I practically drag her off of her chair and take her place, shoving her down into mine. I settle down into the warm seat, but it feels just the same. Lurch-y and unstable.
Damn.
“Did you do something to my chair?” I ask her with a pout.
“Why don’t you just ask if I did something to your drink?” Mandy rolls her eyes.
“Because I know you’d never do that!” Mandy is my best friend. She only wants me to be a better person, not the drunken mess practically falling off of her chair in a half-crowded bar. I grab onto the table and try to stabilize myself a little. As I open my eyes—when did I close them?—a sharp, masculine profile catches my eye. Ruthlessly short, blacker than black hair. A familiar hard mouth. Blue eyes flash briefly my way.
“Oh my God...”
“What’s wrong, honey?” Mandy tosses a look over her shoulder like she’s expecting a ghost to attack her from behind.
“It’s...it’s him.” I can’t say his name. If I do, I feel like the bottom will just drop out of my night, out of my life. Not that things are going so great for me right now.
Mandy looks over her shoulder again, this time for a longer time, her sharp gaze moving around the room. It’s funny to see her staring so hard when she doesn’t even know what Brent looks like.
But it’s not really funny. It’s actually the opposite of funny. My chin wobbles dangerously, and tears burn the back of my eyes.
Dammit.
“Where is he?” Mandy demands.
“Don’t look so hard.” I grab her arm and try to yank her back around to face me, but she ignores me and keeps staring around the bar.
“Is it that blond one at the bar? He looks like a heartbreaker.” Mandy’s eyes narrow at the stranger.
I shake my head and press my lips shut.
“The redhead?” She jerks her chin at a frat-looking guy propped up against the wall and practically falling into a pretty blonde’s cleavage.
My head shakes again, and I grip her arm tighter. “Please, just stop looking,” I plead with her.
“If you don’t tell me, I won’t stop,” she hisses back at me, her eyes searching like a hawk’s around the bar. She looks crazy, like she’s on some sort of a search and destroy mission and nothing on earth is going to get in her way.
I bite my lip and spit out the information. “He’s sitting with another guy at a table near the back wall. Black hair, blue eyes. He’s wearing
a white button-down and a black leather jacket.”
Her eyes nearly pop out of her head after she turns all the way around to gawk at Brent.
“That’s the guy you fell for when you were a fifteen-year-old kid?!”
I don’t know what she’d expected. Maybe somebody with a baby face. Somebody more like me. I squint at Brent through my drunkenness and try to see what Mandy sees when looking at him for the first time.
He’s beautiful. Dark hair like the skies in my sweetest dreams, eyes as blue as the ocean in summertime. He’s big. Muscular and rough around the edges with the shadow of a beard on his strong jaw. The muscles move like a beautiful symphony under his thin shirt.
Dressed like that, Brent looks like the stereotypical bad boy, but I know the sweet boy—no, the wonderful man—who lives under that tough shell.
No. I shake my head and swallow the thick ball of sorrow in my throat. I don’t know who this version of Brent is. This is a man who can throw me away without a thought, one who never came home to me although I’d waited years for him.
“Claire Holder, this man is a beast!” Mandy stares at him with her mouth hanging wide open. “He looks nothing like the kind of guy I thought you’d go for.”
He’s not the kind of guy she thinks he is. When we were kids, Brent was nothing like this angry-looking stranger. The Brent I knew was warm and funny and teased me all of the time about being the one to steal his heart. We laughed all the time. We played together. The happiness in his bright blue eyes had lit up my whole world.
I tear my eyes away from him. “What kind of guy do you think I’d go for anyway?” I ask her the question to distract myself from Brent and his gorgeous face. But I can’t stop staring at the hard line of his mouth moving slowly and carefully as he talks to his friend.
I remember that his kisses used to taste like tequila and wild honey on my lips.
Mandy finally turns away from Brent and shuts her mouth with a sharp click of teeth. “I thought you’d be into someone like you, Claire. Some guy who’s all innocent-looking and needs protecting from the world, maybe...I dunno, even a frat boy or a nerdy-looking kid. Not this...” She tips her head toward Brent without looking back over her shoulder, “...belligerent looking dude who seems like he could break you in two and love doing it.” She shakes her head, still looking amazed. “Wow.”
Her shock makes me feel like utter crap.
Yes, this gorgeous and dangerous-looking guy was in my life for three incredible years. With his foster family being complete douchebags and me not really close to my family, we were absolutely everything to each other. Other girls had wanted him but he hadn’t spared them even a first glance. I always knew he was mine, just like he knew I was his. And now, he doesn’t know me. That night outside the bar, he had looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I didn’t matter.
But I had put my whole life on pause when he’d gone away.
Yes, now I can admit that’s exactly what I had done.
In the meantime, he was living his life like everything was just fine. Probably screwing other girls. Making them promises he never intended to keep. Breaking hearts like they were nothing.
Across the bar, he talks to his friend, his movements as economical and graceful as I remember. He was holding a beer bottle between his fingers as he talked, and he sometimes brought it to his lips, drinking deeply and with obvious pleasure.
Yeah, he’s doing just fine without me. Damn him.
My hand fumbles for my beer; I grab the pint and gulp most of it down, swallowing again and again until the glass is just about empty.
Ugh. So gross. I’ll never understand why people love the taste of beer.
“I recognize that look,” Mandy mutters. “You’re about to do something stupid, aren’t you?”
“No!” I slam down the pint glass. “Not stupid. Just necessary.” I’m slurring my words now, fighting to get them past my heavy tongue. This ache inside of me is too big to ignore. I have to do something. “I’m going over there right now and giving that asshole a piece of my mind!”
A look of panic dashes across Mandy’s face. “Claire, don’t—”
“Mandy, I need to do this,” I hiss as I look over at Brent. He’s not laughing. Except for when he drinks that disgusting beer, he doesn’t look like he’s having a particularly good time. But he doesn’t seem like he’s hurting either. But I’m hurting, and he should know that. “I need him to know how much he destroyed me.”
Before Mandy can stop me, I hop off of my chair, taking a moment to steady myself on my feet. Then, with all of the courage I can muster, I stride across the noisy bar, pushing past the bodies that get in my way.
Yes, I need to confront him. My steps falter. But what will I say?
Thanks for leaving me, asshole, but a Dear Jane letter would have been nice?
No.
How about, “Fuck off!”
No. Not exactly my style.
At the table with his friend, he’s just as calm and unaffected as ever, acting like he never destroyed my whole world. It’s not fair! He can’t just carry on like nothing happened. Like we never meant the world to each other.
When I reach Brent, I take a deep breath and stick out my hand.
“I’m Claire,” I say. The words hang in the air like smoke from a distant signal fire. I just took a huge step and re-introduced myself to him. Will he understand what this means, or will I be the only one to know the devastation and desperation behind my words?
In what feels like slow motion, Brent turns to me. His blue, blue eyes burn into mine. The black silk of his hair is cut military short, the perfect frame for his gorgeous face. It’s definitely him–there is no way I could ever forget those oceanic eyes–but I see that I am a stranger to him. I grab desperately onto his table, trying not to cry out in pain. I swallow over and over again, willing the animal cry to stay inside my body.
Is this what it feels like to be broken again? The first time when he disappeared had nearly killed me—can I survive this new devastation?
“I’m Brent,” he says. There’s no recognition whatsoever in his eyes.
He takes my hand in his, and an almost painful spark leaps between our bodies. Arousal. Naked desire. Suddenly, I’m overcome with a powerful lust unlike anything I have ever known. All of the anger and hurt swirls around in my belly, changing and becoming something else entirely. Now, I want Brent so badly I can taste it.
“Nice to meet you,” I lie with his hand still gripping mine. The touch of his skin against mine burns, and I feel most of this heat between my legs. My clit throbs. My panties are soaked. My throat is parched. “Wanna get out of here?” I ask him.
Surprise widens his eyes, but he recovers quickly and stands up, pulling his shirt down like he’s standing in front of someone who matters yet someone he doesn’t quite know.
“Sure,” he says in that deep and sensuous voice that has always made my pulse race out of control. “Want to come to my place?”
A gasp sounds from behind me. Mandy. When I turn, she’s standing close and shaking her head at me, but she doesn’t say anything. I bite my lip and try to tell her with my eyes that I know what I’m doing—I don’t really, though—and she must get my message because she doesn’t come any closer. Instead, she grabs her phone and holds it up.
Text me all of the info, she mouths.
Okay. So I must really want this. Right? With my spine straight, I turn back to Brent, suddenly stone cold sober.
“Okay. You ready?”
He says something to his friend that I can’t hear above the crazy pounding of my heart. Then somehow, we’re in the parking lot in his car and settling into the cloth seats that smell a little like engine oil and faded cologne.
“Buckle up,” he growls after giving me a quick but intense look.
Buckled in and breathless, I hold onto the seatbelt as we drive in silence through the dark Friday night. No small talk. I don’t even know what I’d say if he wanted chatter from
me. The alcohol buzzes in my veins, and my pulse is thudding too loudly for me to make sense of anything but the relentless desire throbbing between my legs for this man, my old lover, the only man who’s ever touched me with passion.
All too soon, we’re at some apartment. Brent and I climb out of the car separately, and after a look to make sure I’m following, he leads me to an apartment building and up the stairs. Inside, he hangs his keys on a hook on the wall and then closes the door, locking it behind us.
I lick my lips. My breath comes faster. My heart is louder than thunder in my ears.
Brent’s blue eyes drown me in their intense stare. It feels like he’s ravaging me with those bright blue orbs, taking me apart piece by piece. But even though he’s staring and devouring, the look on his face says that whatever he sees, he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. That makes two of us.
God! What am I doing here? Have I lost my mind? I shouldn’t be here.
My eyes dart around his apartment, taking in details that I’m sure I won’t remember later. The sofa. A giant TV mounted on the wall. Everything is neat and sterile. Cold. Like a hotel room with no warmth of its own. This apartment is nothing like the man I know—used to know.
Oh God! Did I make a mistake? I feel my eyes jumping all over the place, frantically moving around in my head. Panic rises in my throat. It feels like I’m choking. My hands twist into the strap of my purse.
“Do you really want this?” he asks the question suddenly.
In answer, I step toward him and grab the front of his shirt, like only the touch of his skin can save me from choking on the air moving in my lungs. I’m panting, loud and desperate.
“Thank fuck!” Brent growls and drops to his knees in front of me.
Oh God! He’s stronger than I remember. Hands grip my thighs through the dress, shove them apart, and push me back against the door. I gasp, overcome by his strength and the puff of his hot breath through my thin dress.
What is he--? “Ah!” A huff of air penetrates my panties and bathes my pussy in moist heat.
“Fuck, you smell good,” he growls one second before shoving my dress all the way up and latching his mouth to my pussy through my thin panties.