Satisfaction couldn’t have been any sweeter at that point. The possibilities after this deal were endless. I was in an extra giving mood that day so I also made a pit stop at the lingerie section and picked out a very seductive, very see-through red garment that I knew Steve would definitely approve of. The night was going to be full of celebrations.
I got home right around two in the afternoon, just in time to catch the latest Golden Girls rerun. My plan was set into action: a little TV, shower, primp, celebration. I dug my keys out of my purse and unlocked the door. I fumbled with the lock because of all my new bags and finally got the door open. I entered the apartment and moved to drop my bags off on the kitchen island. Then I noticed the pile of mail on the counter and began to sort through—mostly junk.
I paused suddenly as I heard noises coming from the back bedrooms. Knowing I should be alone, my panic began to rise. Who was in the apartment? Stacey should have been at work. Slowly, I dropped my mail and made my way towards the bedrooms. The closer I got, the more animated the sounds became.
Oh my god, I thought, was someone having sex? I passed my bedroom and concluded it was definitely coming from Stacey’s room. Wow, I didn’t even know she was seeing anyone. Even closer, I saw the door was a bit cracked. I heard the audible sounds of two people definitely in a heated sexual moment.
I actually began to laugh at Stacey’s random act. It was definitely not like her to have random men at the apartment in the middle of the day. Feeling a bit guilty but a little intrigued, I continued lurking closer to her door.
The closer I got to the sounds, the less I laughed. The more I heard the sounds of two people, the more I recognized more than just Stacey’s. I could feel the color draining from my face. As much as I fought against it, when I got to the door, my arm lifted and pushed the door to its full openness.
The scene before me was like witnessing an accident in slow motion: wishing you could turn away before the final impact, but you just can’t force your eyes away from it. In front of me, I watched Steve’s naked body slam into Stacey’s.
I could do nothing but stare in disbelief at the two most important people in my life, their naked bodies intertwined. I watched as his mouth connected with her chest, while her hands grabbed for his backside. The slapping sounds and curling moans that were echoing from the walls were agonizing.
I fought for air and braced for the door, and my struggle to breathe broke their heavy movements. Both their heads swung in my direction. Steve made eye contact with me first. His facial expression was one for the books. “Shit . . .” he spat out, winded. He practically threw himself out of—and then off of—Stacey. Landing on two feet and completely naked, he realized his nudity and grabbed at the sheet that Stacey was now grasping for dear life.
“Shit, shit! Sarah, this is not what it looks like.”
My legs were not working with my brain because my brain was telling me to either run or fight, but I did neither. I stood there in complete shock at the view in front of me and prayed it was just a bad dream.
After their little tug-of-war with the sheet, Steve gave up and went in search of his boxers. He stumbled to get them over his two feet and approached me. I felt the ground crumble under me as my knees gave way and I grabbed at the doorframe in an attempt to hold my body up. Steve tried to grab me before I fell. At that moment I lifted my arm and my hand connected with his face. Stunned by my response, he stayed silent.
“What . . . What is happening here?” I struggled to ask the question I was pretty sure I already knew the answer to. I didn’t know how to process what I witnessed, but I knew it was not good. I looked at Stacey. She was sitting in the bed with her 300-thread count Egyptian cotton sheet perfectly wrapped around her. Her face was filled with panic, but she remained speechless. At that moment I felt like I was in a sinking ship of emotions, like the water was sucking me in and the sharp coldness of their betrayal was pulling me under.
“Sarah, this is not what it looks like,” Steve said again.
“Oh Steve, stop it. She obviously should know now.” Finally Stacey spoke up and her words were like searing knives cutting into my soul.
“I should finally know what?” Finally? Finally know? Oh my god. A finally know comment translated to this was not the first time. Was there something that I had been missing? I grabbed the doorframe again, trying to get a hold of my body and my emotions.
“Stacey, shut up. Listen Sarah. Let’s sit down.” Steve reached for his pants and tugged them up his legs, then jerked towards me to grab my arms. Stacey slowly made her way out of the bed to get her robe.
“This is not happening.” I started to shake. As I began to step back, out of the doorframe, Steve caught my arm and grabbed me in a hard grip.
“Stop. This is nothing. Listen to me,” Steve responded in an annoyed tone.
I attempted to pull my arms away from his rough grasp but he wouldn’t allow it.
“Steve, let go of me! You’re hurting me.”
“I am not hurting you, I am getting your attention. Now calm down. This can be talked through.”
“Steve, let her go, she is fine. She can handle this.” Hearing Stacey’s voice and the way she spoke to Steve, it was as if they had a plan for this day all along, for when it finally happened.
“Get your hand off of me,” I spat out in a strained voice. This was not happening. These two people who I loved were not doing this to me.
Eventually Steve let go, knowing at this point he was probably starting to bruise my arm. I turned around and walked back down the hallway. I heard Stacey and Steve arguing, then two sets of footsteps following me into the living room.
“Now Sarah, listen, this can easily be explained.”
I whipped around to face him. “Easily be explained!? What is there to explain!? Are you going to tell me that I saw different from what I did!?”
Steve stepped closer in an attempt to reach me. “You are overreacting. Calm down. This anger does not suit you.” I went to swing at him again, but this time he caught my arm. “Like I said, Sar, this anger does not suit you. Now you can calm down and listen or you can act like a child and assume what you want.”
He was insane! That was the only conclusion I had come to at that point. I knew Steve was always about being proper and well put together. Image was everything to him. That’s exactly why he had molded me into his perfect little arm candy. At this point I believe I was in shock. I tried to catch my breath, but air was not filling my lungs fast enough. I took my eyes off of Steve and re-directed my stare at Stacey. To my disbelief, she looked away from me.
I turned my back to both of them and made it to the kitchen, then I grabbed my purse and fled the apartment. Without having my own transportation, I practically ran four blocks until my heels started to create blisters on my feet and forced me to slow down. It took me seven blocks until I couldn’t take it anymore and I broke down and sobbed.
As the memory fades and slowly brings me back to reality, I pull my eyes away from the display. Such a great accomplishment tainted by a horrible realization. I probably didn’t even get credit for the end work. I look down at the resume in my hand. During my flashback I managed to crunch the pages, white knuckles to prove it. The heavy weight of failure feels like sandpaper in my hands. I crunch the paper into a ball and toss it in the public trashcan on the side of the street. Always defeated. That’s how I feel. Why I thought I was ready to get back on the horse, I’m not sure. That horse kicked me off, remember?
Getting angrier with every second that passes by, wondering why I even thought to make this step, I storm to the station wagon and get in. I throw myself into the car and bang my closed fists against the steering wheel. “I hate them for doing this to me,” I whisper to myself. I rest my head against the wheel in an effort to regain my composure, then I start the car and set my mental GPS to home, because this job search is officially over. I turn up the radio because I need noise to drown out my aching memories. If my life wasn’t a
lready a walking joke, I would have enjoyed a bit more of the humor when Pat Benatar’s ‘Love is a Battlefield’ began blaring though my speakers.
WITH MY TAIL BETWEEN my legs and my mood in the toilet, I make it back home without any accidents. While pulling the big red box into the driveway I notice Jack is sitting in his truck. I look at the time. I would have assumed he’d be done for the day. Being the head honcho of a major construction company, one wouldn’t assume the boss stuck around on small job sites. I get out of the car, attempting to do it in a slow sexy way, only to trip over my foot and stumble down into the lawn. Go figure. I stand up and pull myself together while Jack jumps out of his truck and heads my way.
“Hey,” he calls out, walking up the driveway. God, why does his simple ‘Hey’ sound so seductive, like ‘Hey. Let’s get naked’?
“Hey yourself,” I repeat. Seriously, could I sound more lame?
He makes his way to the side of the Stabbin’ Wagon. “You OK?”
“Oh yeah, I dropped an earring in the lawn. Was just picking it up.”
He looks at me and says, “So the other day. We never got to finish our adventure of replacing that top of the line smart phone that somehow bit it into traffic.
“Oh yeah. That. No problem. Seems that the world minus technology is actually working out for me,” I say.
We stand there eye-locked for what seems like eternity. His sex me eyes have me in a trance, and my ability to conjure up a sentence fails me. “You still with me?” Huh?
“Huh? Yeah. So don’t worry about it. Phones are extremely overrated. I’m going to start a trend. No phones. Live free!” Shut up, Sarah.
Jack chuckles. “Well, then let me make it up to you at least in the form of dinner and drinks?” I’m pretty sure I’m just staring at him again since he has rendered me speechless. Did he just ask me out?
“Did you just ask me out?”
More chuckling. “Well, I guess you can call it that,” he says. “Unless you have other plans. You do seem to be setting a record with how much vermouth one can indulge in.” My cheeks turn red faster than humanly possible. He steps closer to me, closing in the space between us. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just meant that I found it quite impressive. And if you wouldn’t mind, over some food and drinks, you can teach me your secret.” At this, I laugh. “Nice save?” he asks.
“Nice save,” I tell him. “You look like a good student. I will accept your offer and teach you all my ways.” I notice his body relax as I accept. He returns my answer with a breathtaking smile.
“Great. I’ll pick you around seven?” He wears a smile that might actually resemble satisfaction.
“Yep. I’ll see you at seven.” I then side-step out of his line of vision, because at this point he almost has me pinned to the car, and I’m about ready to move up our plans and invite him to the backseat of the Shaggin’ Wagon. I give him a warm smile and head up to the door. Before I hit the stoop, he calls out my name.
“Sarah?”
“Yeah?” I respond and turn around.
“Try and stay clear of your Aunt Raines,” he says with a hint of humor in his voice.
Man, he’s good. I give him the head-nod in acknowledgment and turn to walk inside. I can hear Aunt Raines in the kitchen shaking up her daily concoction, and I bee line it straight upstairs.
I MAKE IT TO my bedroom and slip inside unnoticed. I would really hate to have to turn down poor Aunt Raines, because it’s just simply wrong to drink alone. But I also need to focus. It’s starting to set in that I was just asked out. By Jack. As in get dressed up and go out, and do what people do on dates.
What do people do on dates!? Panic completely starts to set in! I can’t remember the last time I was on a date. I start pulling open boxes in search of my clothes. I should have labeled these boxes with ‘I have given up’ which you will find my shirts and sweats in, and ‘I will eventually be on a date, and I need to look hot.’ I settle with just knocking over all of the boxes until I rip open one and pull out my dresses. I pick out a nice red low-cut, strappy-shoulder dress that stops just above my knees. I hang it up and match a stellar pair of gold Prada stilettos.
I jump in the shower to do a good scrub-down. One can never be too sure where an innocent date can lead to, and knowing me I wouldn’t mind if our date consisted of just the inside of his truck. Pushing aside my dirty thoughts, I scrub, shave, exfoliate and get out. Blow dry my hair, check. Lotion, check. Makeup, simple and . . . check. I grab my dress and shuffle it over my head. As I slip my second shoe on my foot, I stand up straight and give myself a good look over.
Shockingly, my response at my finished product is not what I expected. I look at myself in my dress with my made-up hair and my simple features. I look exactly like the person that Steve would approve of. This isn’t me. This was him. The person he, over the years, molded me into. Before I met Steve, I hated dresses. It was at the hands of Stacey’s money and Steve’s influence that my wardrobe became more sophisticated. Not to brag, but I have great hair. It is full and vibrant (when I kept up with coloring it of course), but Steve always insisted I wore it up and neat. Red was Steve’s favorite color so I would spend most of my paychecks searching for red attire, hoping he would notice and approve. I don’t even like the color red. This isn’t me!
So disgusted at who I see, I rip my hair down, hearing the pins scatter on the floor. I step out of my shoes and tear off my dress. Having a bit of a breakdown after the zipper gets stuck, I literally tear it off. Hearing the dress rip down the back, I throw my body out of it and toss it violently into the trash. I start to breathe heavily and know I am just milliseconds away from having a complete meltdown.
“Why are they still doing this to me?” I whisper sadly to myself. They aren’t even here and they are still pulling me down. Thinking they are probably at some ritzy restaurant right now having a fancy meal with one another while sharing a good laugh at my expense, I slide down to the floor and put my face in my hands. This has to stop soon, right?
“Sarah?” I hear my mom call through the door. “Jack is downstairs waiting. Are you coming down, honey?”
“I’ll be right down, Mom!” I say, trying to hide the strain in my voice. I stand up and try to get my emotions in check. I think for a second to tell my mom that I have suddenly gotten ill and to please tell Jack we have to reschedule, but I know he would just think I was weak and that I took a detour to the kitchen to visit with Aunt Raines when I came in.
I set my shoulders straight and look in the mirror. “You can do this. You are hot. You are funny. You are a good person, and you deserve this.” I repeat this little mantra to myself twice over until I feel some confidence return. I try to remember what I was like before Shitstorm Steve hit; I was carefree and wild. I need to find that girl again and things will be OK.
I reach for my brush and let my hair fully down. I dig into my makeup case and give myself some hot smoky eyes and dab my lips with gloss. I run back into my room and find my tight skinny jeans and green halter top, which pretty much screams ‘I have a fabulous rack, would you like to see?’ I keep the gold stilettos because I love them and they never did anything wrong to me, so they stay. Lastly, I spritz a bit of perfume and exit my bedroom.
I WALK DOWN THE stairs and can hear my mom talking with Jack about the progress of the addition. I hear her praising him for the work his men have accomplished. I didn’t think he would produce anything less. He seems so dedicated to his work, and so detailed. His hard work and confidence radiated off him when he spoke to clients and directed his crew. Any person would be proud of him.
Hitting the last step, I stop to admire the view and take a good look at him. His presence sends warm chills down my lady parts. He has changed into a button-up charcoal shirt and a new pair of jeans. His black blazer hangs just right on his broad shoulders. His dark hair, still damp from a shower, is combed back in a messy wave.
I can tell my mom hears my arrival because she wraps up her praise
s and excuses herself into the kitchen. I hit the bottom step and see Jack turn his attention to me. Our eyes connect and for a moment he just stares at me.
“Everything OK?” I ask, nervous that I might have toilet paper stuck to my face or something.
“Wow,” he says, still staring.
“Is my shirt inside out?” I instinctively look down, feeling my shirt for outside seams.
“No, no. You just look . . . stunning.”
He starts to walk towards me. As I step down the last stair to walk his direction, he stops in front of me. “I’m sorry.” He pauses. “I just wasn’t expecting . . . Wow.” He looks at me in bewilderment. The warmth and satisfaction I feel at the way he is looking at me is so fulfilling, knowing I am finally showing the real me.
“Apparently I need to clean up more often around you then,” I say to break the ice.
Jack wraps his hand around my waist and bends his head down to my ear. “I would have taken you either way,” he whispers. Then he pulls away, now rendering me speechless, and begins to lead me towards the door. I think I say goodbye to my mom, but I’m not sure. I might have actually floated out of the house with him, to his truck.
AFTER JACK HELPS ME into his manly macho truck, we head to the next town over while we discuss our evening plans. He insists on taking us to a nice restaurant, but I insist we not. We settle on a tavern in mid-town that has great pool, all the beers on tap you can think of, and an even better bar food menu.
We are seated at a table closer to the back, by a waitress who seriously needs to get her manners in check. Ogling at my date the whole way to our seat is not getting her any brownie points with me. Note to self: Skimp on her tip.
Not even noticing the Skanktress, Jack pulls out my chair for me to sit. “What can I get you to drink?” the McSkanktress asks, looking only in Jack’s direction.
Life in a Rut, Love not Included (Love Not Included series Book 1) Page 7