by Sara Hubbard
“You’re welcome, friend.”
***
We head out in style, in a black stretch limousine paid for by Amy’s public relations firm. She pops the champagne on the drive over and we clink glasses before chugging back the sweet, fizzy liquid.
“Slow down there,” I say.
She frowns. “I just need one. To help me get through tonight.”
“Are you nervous?”
She sighs and slumps in her seat. “You have no idea.”
I’m taken aback. For as long as I’ve known Amy, I’ve never seen her intimidated.
“Don’t look at me like that. This is my first multi-million dollar event. I fuck this up and I could lose my job.”
“Well,” I say after a hiccup. “I’ll be right there to keep you company.”
“Funny.”
I laugh and give her a quick hug before the limo slows and comes to a stop.
“Let’s do this,” she says as the door opens.
I didn’t want to be here, but now that I know she needs me, there's nowhere else I’d rather be. Amy doesn’t need anyone, but tonight she needs me. And no one needs me.
I’ve never been to the Centennial Palace before. It’s as grand as I imagine it. The foyer is massive, with high ceilings and patterned marble floors. A crystal chandelier, bigger than I am, hangs from the ceiling and when I glance up higher I see dome shaped windows looking up at the stars.
“Wow.”
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Amy says as she drags me along.
The sound of our heels almost deafens me as we walk to the Gaston Ballroom. A gentleman outside the doors asks for our names, and after he ticks us off, we hand our coats to a young girl with a bright smile and golden blonde hair.
The second we’re in, a thin man with a pointed nose and a too-long face descends on Amy. First, I assume it’s because she’s gorgeous, but then the topic immediately turns to work.
“The refrigerator carrying supplies for the hors d-oeuvres arrived, and they discovered the fridge wasn’t working. They had to throw out all the perishables. Where were you? I tried to call!”
Amy reaches in her clutch and pulls out her phone. “Shit! The ringer is off. How is the fucking ringer off?”
Her eyes meet mine. “I have to take care of this.” She stares at her phone. “Nineteen missed calls and twenty missed texts. Fuck. Me!”
I nod and lightly push on her shoulders. “It’s fine. Go.” I give her my biggest smile.
“I promise I’ll be right back.”
“No problem. Do what you need to do.”
The ballroom is packed. Model-esque women are decked out in designer clothing and shoes, on the arms of handsome men who look like actors or athletes. These are the kind of people Amy associates with at work, and often after hours. People that I’ve never particularly felt comfortable with. I hope no one recognizes me from the party I attended with her, but then the blue stitches are still sticking in my forehead and I couldn’t cover all the remaining bruise around my eye. There are others here, some my age, and some much older, mingling with the beautiful people. I stop when I spy my mother and father.
Of all the people I had to run into. I dodge them for a half hour, choosing a table at the very back of the room. I steal some champagne from a server who walks by and sit there, quietly drinking alone.
Then she sees me. My mother. Her slight smile turns into a massive grin and her pearly whites glare at me from across the room. I down the rest of my drink.
“Molly! What on earth are you doing here?”
“This is Amy’s event.”
Her smile fades but she picks it back up again—for the sake of politeness, I’m sure. She glances around the room. “The space was bigger last year. They had it at the Convention Centre.”
I groan internally and return her smile. She can’t honestly tell me the Convention Centre is better than the Palace. The Convention Centre is blue collar, where the palace is royal.
“I had no idea Amy planned this event. She certainly is climbing the ranks at Addison and Sparks.”
“She’s great at her job, Mom.”
“I’m sure she is.” Mom takes a drink of her champagne.
What does that mean?
“Did you come with a date?” She folds her arms on the table and studies my reaction.
“I came with Amy.”
“Jason said he spoke with you.” She nudges me with her elbow.
“He’s not here, is he?” I say with a frown on my face.
“Hey, kiddo.” Dad appears at my side and I stand to kiss his cheek.
My mother narrows her eyes at me. “Honestly, Molly. I swear I don’t know you anymore. You’ve loved Jason since you were sixteen. You can’t tell me that died overnight.”
“Hiliary,” Dad warns her.
A piece of me did die that day, but it wasn’t my feelings for Jason, unfortunately.
Mom and Dad tell me about Dad’s work, and mom tells me about the latest gossip back home. I listen at first but then their voices turn into steady noise, not too dissimilar from a running facet.
I’m in a dream world until the last person I expect to see here begins to walk toward my table. Sawyer. If I didn’t know him I’d still notice him. His hair is combed back and his eyes are dark and penetrating. He wears a tux, but his bow tie is undone and the top button of his white shirt is open. His black jacket perfectly complements his broad chest and shoulders, as if it was made especially for him. I swallow hard. Never in my life have I wanted a man like I want him in this moment. I won’t do casual sex—again—but if I did, I’d want to it with him. Just one more night, so I could remember.
He takes a drink from his glass and his intense gaze meets mine. I can feel the heat in the room rise. I fan myself with my purse without meaning to.
“What’s wrong? Surely, you’re not hot, dear. Don’t they turn the heat on in this place?”
My dad takes another drink.
Sawyer stops at the table. “Care to dance?”
My mother glares at him, and then at me before rising to her feet and sticking out her hand. “Hiliary Denton.”
“Sawyer Davis. Nice to meet you.” He flashes a winning smile and grips her hand. When he lets it go, my mother massages her hand, as if he gripped it too tight. I guess he doesn’t know his own strength.
“This is my husband, Mitchell, and it seems from the look on Molly’s face that you’re familiar with our daughter.”
Sawyer sets his glass on the table and removes his jacket, dropping it on the chair adjacent to mine. I cross my legs when I feel an ache deep in my stomach and between my thighs. Even if I don’t remember our night together, my body sure seems to.
Dad and Sawyer shake hands, and Dad offers him the seat Sawyer threw his jacket on.
“No thank you. I was just going to steal your daughter away for a minute.”
“Oh,” says my mother. “And what would that be for?”
“Mom.” I scowl at her but she refuses to look at me. She won’t take her slitted eyes off of Sawyer.
Sawyer opens his mouth to speak, but I cut in.
“He’s a client, Mom." I stand and walk around the table to meet him.
“We’ll talk later, dear,” my mother says, her voice falsely sweet.
“I’m sure we will,” I say under my breath.
Sawyer offers me his elbow and I hook it and lead him away. “Thanks for that.”
“You looked like you needed saving,” he says with a low chuckle.
“You have no idea.” I point to the door. “Can we just step out for a second? If you want to stay—”
“Stepping out sounds perfect. I can’t stand these stuffy things.”
“So why did you come?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“Ah, deflection. You do that a lot.”
He sighs and then smirks at me. “I was told to come by my agent. She felt that having my name associated with the children’s cha
rity would do some good for my image.”
“So you didn’t come because donating to kids is a good cause?”
He knocks me with his elbow. “Easy. I would have donated. But do I really need to attend?”
I shrug. He does have a point.
“You?”
“Guilted into it by Amy, whose date cancelled on her.”
“Also a good cause.”
I chuckle. “If you say so.”
We reach the foyer and take a left, walking down the hallway to the outdoor terrace which is covered with a pergola and delicate white lights. There’s a garden surrounding us and the smell of red roses permeates the air. I drink it in.
“I love the smell of roses.” I take a seat on one of the three benches. Thankfully, we’re alone—I mean, not because I want to be alone with him but because I don’t want to be social right now. Although somehow I don’t mind his company. He did save me from my mother, after all.
“You look stunning, by the way,” he says.
He takes a seat beside me and I lean to the left to knock shoulders. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I never say things I don’t mean.”
I turn to meet his eyes. There it is again: the vulnerable lost boy trapped in a tough man’s body. He is such a contradiction and it completely reels me in.
“You’re not at all who I thought you were.”
He huffs. “Who did you think I was? Dumb fighter who couldn’t carry on a conversation?”
I feel a pang of guilt. I kind of did, though without ever meaning to. “Maybe. I just didn’t think we would have anything to talk about. Don’t get me wrong.” I wave a hand in front of my chest. “We’re probably complete opposites, but somehow there’s something about you that’s familiar.”
“Maybe because I’ve been inside of you?” He flashes me a dirty smile.
I swallow hard as I stare at his pouty bottom lip. If I thought the room was hot before, now it’s smoldering. I massage my neck and look to my feet before chuckling without humor. “I don’t even remember it.”
He places a hand over his heart. “Wow. Can’t say I’ve been told that before.”
“Oh my God, no! I mean…I was just so drunk. I don’t remember the...you know. I’m so sorry.”
“I remember you.”
“You said that. But you were drunk too? What is it about me that you remember? And I bet the girls you take home are ten times prettier and probably much more experienced, if you know what I mean.” I could feel the heat in my cheeks. Why was I telling him all of this? Just shut up, Molly. Shut. Up.
For a long moment, he stares up at the stars and says nothing. I assume he isn’t going to answer until he turns back to me. His eyes make me uncomfortable, like he can see right through me, right down to my soul. And my body clenches just thinking about what it must have been like to feel him inside of me. My underwear's damp just thinking about it.
“We were fucking," he says, "and all of sudden you started crying.”
Oh no. I’m so embarrassed. I cover my face to hide from him, shaking my head.
“I asked you if you wanted to stop and you said you didn’t. You said someone broke your heart and you needed to feel something different for a little while.”
“Wow. I bet you wished you brought home someone with a little less drama.”
“The way you looked at me, the way you seemed to break right underneath me, all I could think about was what it must feel like to have someone love you that much.” He leaned his elbows on his knees and clamped his hands together.
Instinctively, my hands raise to cover my heart. There are no words to respond to how he makes me feel in this moment. Who is this guy? No one has ever said anything so…completely touching to me before. It renders me speechless.
Twelve
SAWYER AND I leave the terrace. But I don’t want to—not really. Part of me wants to stay out there with him. For a few moments, I forget about how anxious the ballroom makes me. I can just be me, with someone who seems to appreciate it. But I can’t stay out here forever, forgetting that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I need to get back inside before Amy starts looking for me—tonight is her night and I need to be here for her.
I'm drawn to him. I want to know more about him, what makes him tick, what he looks like on top of me. Stop! No. I just broke up with a guy who broke my heart, and I’m contemplating getting back with him. The last thing I need right now is to jump into something with a guy I barely know—especially one that makes me weak in the knees.
Amy finds me by the hors d'oeuvres. Sawyer has stepped back out for a phone call, and my mother is eyeing me like a predator.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry. You probably hate me right now,” Amy says.
“It’s fine. But you didn’t tell me my parents were coming. Or Sawyer…”
She grits her teeth with her lips parted. “I must have forgotten.”
“Sure. Sure. Did you fix whatever you needed to fix?”
She frowns and takes my hand. “Just a couple more things, and I swear I’m yours for the night.”
“It’s going great. You should be proud.”
“So far, so good. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I nod and continue sipping champagne. I want more, but the last thing I need is to get drunk around my mother or Sawyer. My mother, I would probably tell off. And well, considering how horny I am right now, I would probably sneak off with Sawyer if he offered. What's happening to me? Break up with one guy and fall into bed with another? That’s not who I am. I see Sawyer across the crowd. His jacket is still off and I can see the curves of his shoulders and chest.
I chug my drink and head for the bathroom, tripping on a red carpet in the hallway.
One thing I hate about dressing up? Yanking down my pantyhose in a too-small stall and then trying to pull them back up. I swear once you take ‘em down, they never quite fit again. I feel like the seam is riding up my ass.
When I exit, a cleaning lady is staring at me and I jump back in fright. I hadn’t even heard her come in.
“Toilet backed up,” she says.
“Okay.”
“I lock door and when you leave, you close it. Maintenance come.”
“Sure.”
She leaves and takes her no-nonsense attitude with her. After I wash my hands, I head out only to find myself pulled back to the door. I crash into it with my back and walk away only to be pulled back again. What. The. Fuck? My dress is caught. This could only could this happen to me on a night I’m supposed to be glamorous—I’m trapped and pinned to a bathroom door, which contains a plugged toilet.
Shit.
I tug and tug. The door is locked. Of course. The cleaner told me it would be. Of all the stupid luck. The more I pull, the more my dress pulls until I’m almost flashing nipple. Then, riiiippppp!
The slit in the back of my dress rips up to my waist. Oh. My. God. I reach around and grab my dress and pull for all I’m worth until it finally comes free. I feel my ass to find my thong showing, and no amount of pulling it back together again will fix this humpty dumpty. I hug the wall, placing my back against it so I can feel the cold of the it. I walk along it, side stepping and smiling as people pass me, giving me curious stares.
This is not happening.
“Molly?”
Fuck. Sawyer. Of course I would run into him now.
I hold my head up high. “Hey, Sawyer. Having a good time?”
“Not as much as you.” He cranes his head to the side and I turn as much as I can without flashing my ass to the rest of the people in the foyer. “I thought I saw some leg before, but…” He whistles at me.
I groan at him. “Can you help me, please?”
He chuckles and holds out his coat. I slip it on and thankfully it comes just below my ass. “Thank you so much.”
Smiling, he shrugs at me. “Thank you. You just made this night worth my time.”
I frown at him. “I need to get out of here
.”
I yank out my phone and text Amy.
911. Had to leave. So, so sorry. Will make it up to you. Enjoy the night. You earned it.
“Come on,” he says, holding out his arm. “I’ll take you home.”
I sidle up beside him, and he wraps his arm around me. Whenever necessary, I rotate to avoid showing my ass. We’re almost at the entrance when my mother finds us.
“Leaving so soon?” she asks, her eyes glued to Sawyer’s jacket which covers my top half. I’d have my own jacket on right now if I hadn’t brought a stupid shawl that barely covered my arms.
“Yes. I’m not…feeling well. And Sawyer offered me a ride home.”
“That’s not necessary. Your father and I are leaving shortly. We’ll drive you.”
“No. He’s leaving now. I just want to get home. I have…this stupid headache. It just won’t go away.”
My mother’s look turns to ice, like she could dive for Sawyer and rip him apart with her canines. I'll probably have a phone call from her early in the morning about making good choices, and I'll hate every single minute of it.
“Well if you’re sure.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
We waddle out, awkwardly I might add, because I know my mother’s eyes are glued to us. I can feel her death stare heating up my back.
“I fight some pretty scary dudes, but your mother one-ups them all,” he says.
“You’ve no idea.”
***
Sawyer drives me home in his Jeep. No limo for him tonight. Somehow it suits him. He has money but doesn’t feel the need to flash it around. I respect that about him. I also respect that I would never know he had money if I didn’t know what his budget was for a house. He’s simple, but in a complicated way, if that makes any sense.
He slows to a crawl in front of Amy’s building and puts the car in park. His eyes are on my face and I feel uncomfortable. For a second, it feels like a date and we’re deciding whether or not to kiss. I give myself a mental shake and open the door.
“Thanks. For everything.” I clutch the front of the jacket. “Is it okay if I borrow this? Maybe give it back to you when I’m wearing something that doesn’t display my ass.”