by Sadie Grubor
"Room service," a male voice announces.
"I didn't order anything," I shout, securing my purple bra at my back.
"Room service," the voice repeats.
"Goddamn it," I grumble, trying to situate Thelma and Louise into the dreaded man created contraption.
Thelma wants to pop over the top and Louise is trying to hide in my armpit.
Another rap at my door spikes my frustration.
"Hold on," I shout, "I've got mammary monstrosities to deal with in here!"
Finally situating the rebellious girls, I slip on my baggy red t-shirt and yank the door open.
"Ms. Campbell?" a young guy in a hotel uniform asks.
"Yeah," I look at the multiple silver domes on the tray, "but I didn't order room service."
"I did." Xavier's voice brings my head up in a snap.
He hands the guy a wad of cash.
"I've got this," he says as he grabs the cart and pushes it through the door.
I just back away, not wanting to get run over, and stare open-mouthed.
What the fuck is he doing here? And why does he look so damn good?
His worn denim covered ass hints at what I know is beneath and the black t-shirt is tight enough to see his back muscles flex.
Cool, collected Sid wavers.
Damn it! Lock it down, girl.
"What are you doing?" I step into the room, letting the door close.
He stops the cart next to a small sitting area.
"Breakfast," he explains, turning to face me.
In bold white lettering, his t-shirt reads, My Couch Pulls Out. I Don't.
"That's just wrong," I say on a laugh.
"My dad thought it was hilarious," he says, shrugging.
"Your dad bought you that?" I can't keep the surprise out of my voice.
"No, Mom did," he clarifies, taking a seat in one chair and motioning to the other. "Let's eat."
He moves the tray of food from the cart to the small table.
I walk over and take a seat.
"Eggs and pancakes seemed like a safe choice," he explains, removing the food covers.
His eyes come up to meet mine.
"That okay?"
I nod, unable to respond.
Arguing and insults—that's what I can do with him. This sweet and nice is fucking hard.
Running a hand through my damp hair, I pull it back to secure it on top of my head.
"Don't," he blurts.
My hands freeze.
"It looks good down," he says with a grin.
My lips twitch at the compliment.
Traitorous fucking lips.
I bite my lower lip, fighting the smile wanting to form.
"You won't say that in an hour when it's a frizzy mess and you find stray hairs all over your stuff," I warn while continuing to tie it up. Might as well inform him of the things he'll soon hate or find annoying.
"Let's start with my bed." His response causes butterflies.
Fucking butterflies? I don't get butterflies.
"Then, maybe my shower," he continues, smiling.
The cocky fucker.
"But I'm pretty sure," he leans forward over the table and the food, "I won't give a flying fuck about your hair as long as it's my fist wrapping around it at night," he finishes.
Xena gives her warrior call and I clench my thighs together. My heart pounds, wanting to jump out of my chest and hand itself over.
Fear and anxiety tingle across my senses and I pull the bitch veil over myself as I settle back into the chair.
"Last night was a one-time thing." I level a look at him and raise one brow. "I don't do repeats."
I used to not do repeats. Now, every fucking guy is ruining me. The bastard barista using me, the queen of a different day a different dick, to get what he wanted. And this beastly ginger-haired cocky asshole… I'm not sure what his goal is yet, but I'm not falling for this shit again.
He snorts, stacking three pancakes and scooping two helpings of eggs onto a plate. Lifting the plate, he trades it for the empty one in front of me.
Goddamn it, that's not fair! How do I keep a cold, angry, bitch aura if he's pushing pancakes?
"We'll see," he finally responds.
After making a plate for himself, we start eating and fall into silence, but I watch him.
He's so calm, smooth, and comfortable. I can't figure out what his game is and it's driving me to distraction.
Unable to take it anymore, I ask, "What do you want?" around a mouthful of eggs.
His eyes meet mine over his cup of coffee. Placing the cup on the table, he runs a napkin over his mouth and sits back.
"Why do I have to want something?" he asks, still calm and comfortable.
"Everyone wants something," I say with a smirk.
"Liza?" His brow rises in question.
"Doesn't count," I shake my head.
"Red?" He tries again.
"He wants me to help run shit and take care of business things," I respond with a one-shoulder shrug.
I take a bite of toast and cock my head in challenge.
"That's why he pays you, not why he's a friend," Xavier responds without hesitation.
I open my mouth, but close it and furrow my brow.
"Red adores you, Sid," he admits. "Not because you do good work, but because he genuinely likes you. Is that really so hard to believe?"
Unwanted and unfamiliar feelings bubble up.
"Christ," he tosses his napkin onto the table, "you have no idea."
He's baiting me with the question. I know it, and fight not to give in, but you know what they say about the cat…and I do have a pussy, so…
"About?" I press.
He pushes out of his chair, rounds the cart, grabs the arms of my chair, and jerks it so I face him. Using his arms to brace him, he leans over me. I sink back.
"You have all these people around you, people who like you, but you think they want something, and you're right."
Furrowing my brow, I ask, "Huh?"
"They want to know you, Sid. To be your friend. Christ, my girls haven't shut up about you since the cabin," he states. "The day you left, they were so disappointed you were gone."
Guilt stabs in my chest.
"Do my girls want something from you, Sid?" His tone turns rough, angry. The arms of the chair protest his tightening grip.
Unshed tears burn at the back of my eyes and tingle the tip of my nose. Afraid of sobbing, I shake my head.
His body relaxes and he squats down, placing his palms on my knees.
"I know people can suck and you've had your share of suck, but where's the rebellious bitch I met at Lux?" he asks, pressing himself between my legs.
"Rebel against the assholes and like yourself enough to realize you deserve to be liked without expectations," he whisper-growls the end of his sentence and cups my face.
My throat burns and I clench my jaw to stop my chin from wobbling. Then, I sniffle.
Damn it to hell. He's destroying the bitch veil one sentence at a time.
Unwilling to show any more weakness, I pull my face away from his hand and shove his chest.
"Don't act like you know me so well and have me all figured out," I snap, slipping away from him.
I grab my things and start throwing them into my bag.
His heavy sigh is the only warning I get before his hands clasp my shoulders and spin me. Pushing me back, he pins me to the wall.
"Back off, Xavier," I warn.
"Stop running away and talk to me," he demands.
"Why?" I cry. "Why can't you just accept last night and move on?"
"Why?" he asks on a humorless laugh. "Because I care."
His eyes hold mine.
"You care about all your one-night stands and backstage habits?" It's mean, snarky, and hateful. I know it, but it's hard to break old habits—and, let's face it, do I really want to?
He releases my shoulders and takes a step back. His breaths are long and
deep, flaring his nose.
"Just go," I say, but my voice is weak. I've lost my fight.
Then, he does exactly what I asked.
The slam of the door splits me wide open, and pathetic, stupid, girly Sid rushes forth on a loud sob.
Chapter Nineteen
Xavier
Damn, mean ass woman!
Waiting for my cab to the airport is the worst fucking torture. Instead of spending time with Sid, I'm in the hotel bar drinking with Mel.
He tried to start a conversation once, but quickly discovered his mistake. Now, he sits quietly on my right, nursing a beer.
"Xavier…" I turn at the female voice and raise a brow.
"What can I do for you, Liza?"
Turning back to the bar, I catch Mel ogling her and snap my fingers in his face.
"Hey, she's taken," I say, and see Jackson in my peripheral. "And I'm pretty sure you don't want to deal with that," I say, shifting my eyes to Jack. Mel follows and blanches. "Exactly."
I feel her presence on my left before she speaks.
"Sid—"
"Is she alright?" I interrupt, giving her my full attention.
She gives a quick nod. "Yeah, she just left for the airport."
My furrowed brow sparks her to continue.
"Her flight is earlier than ours."
She's going back to Pennsylvania.
"Gotcha," I quip, turning to Mel and shooing him off on a task.
"She's going to kill me, but I think you should know." Her words grab my curiosity.
"What's that?" I spin on the stool, leaving one arm on the bar.
"Paul…" she starts.
Every muscle in my body tenses. I hate this bastard and I've never met him.
"He's not the reason she has a hard time with…people." She licks her lips and twists her fingers. "Fuck, she's going to kill me."
"Actually, I'd rather her tell me, but I'm not someone she wants to talk to at the moment," I grumble.
Why did I walk away? I should've stayed and stood my ground with her. Leaving her was a pussy move.
"But she won't," Liza blurts, putting her hands up to stop my no shit response. "Not because it's you. She doesn't talk about it. Even hinting at it will make her shut down."
Worry twists my gut.
"What the fuck happened to her, Liza?"
Every terrible thing a guy can do to a woman flips through my head like a horror movie.
She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and begins.
"To make a super long story short for this conversation, Sid was unknowingly videoed in college having sex at a party."
"He rape her?" The hard edge to my question makes her blink.
"No." She shakes her head. "Sex was consensual."
I relax, but only a bit.
"Go on," I encourage.
"Sid has always been super smart, quick with numbers and technology. It's like she spoke computer before English. In high school, there was no grading curve for her classes and the same went for college. Her professor once challenged his class to hack his computer. He'd built fire halls, or something, and a ton of them. She cracked it in less than a day, and after that, she was his pet. When people wanted her to change grades, she refused. When she became the first freshmen teacher's assistant, people in line for that were pissed off."
Reaching past me, she grabs my glass and drains it. Her face contorts at the burn of the tequila.
"They found an opportunity to exploit the person they saw as an enemy. They secretly videoed her having sex with some football player…" she pauses and takes a breath, "and shared it."
"Shared?" I ask, though I already know what she's saying.
"Email, text, online—you name it, they did it." Tears fill her eyes.
"Fuck," I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck.
"That's just the beginning of what she went through," Liza chokes out.
Our gazes meet and a tear slips from the corner of her eye.
Jackson's inked hand appears, wiping the tear away and pulling her back to his chest.
Taking strength from Jack's presence, she continues.
"The family church turned against our family, shaming her for being promiscuous. Another video surfaced of the football player and his girlfriend fighting about the video. In it, he says he was drunk or he'd never have fucked a fat chick. There was name calling, they made noises when she walked by, and body shamed like it was the newest fucking trend." She hiccups. "They were cruel."
"My aunt and uncle pressed charges and it took a year for all the legal bullshit, but in the end, there wasn't enough evidence to convince the court to charge anyone. These assholes got away with it, and their families made things more difficult for Sid and her parents. Aunt Char and Uncle Marc wanted to keep fighting, but Sid walked away. She couldn't deal with any more of the questions, doubt, accusations, and guilt. It broke something inside her. Hell, it broke her down to the point she went to a psychologist steadily for years."
Liza grabs a napkin from Jack's hand and wipes her face.
"They flew Sid to stay with me in L.A. at one point. She stayed for a month while they moved their life to a new town. Over half of their friends and what family they had already stopped associating with them."
"Jesus," Jackson breathes, and presses his lips to the top of Liza's head.
"She blames herself for destroying her parents' lives and putting them in debt—debt she busted her ass to pay back even when they refused the money."
A small smile breaks through the scowl on my face.
"And she may be one of the strongest women I know, someone who will kick anything and anyone in the balls, but deep inside, she's also a scared, hurt girl."
Her small hand covers my forearm.
"I don't know much about what's going on between the two of you, but…I haven't seen my cousin get this emotional over a guy without a panic attack."
"Yesterday," I remind her.
"That wasn't you." She gives a small smile. "At first, I thought it was, and I'll admit to plotting your death…a few different ways."
I snort.
"But, after this morning, no." She shakes her head. "You don't realize it, but you've touched that hurt girl. Now," she sniffles and her voice hitches, "I need to know what you're going to do about that because I've seen the way you look at her. And that shit better be fucking genuine or you will learn very quickly how much Sid means to me and the lengths I'll go to for her."
"Damn, baby," Jack croons, "the boys are going to need to ride in a different car to the airport after that." His arms tighten around her.
Giving me a grin, she leans further into him.
"The boys aren't riding in another car." She pats his arm.
"There's no way in hell I'm going to walk around with a hard-on in the airport," he argues.
"And…I'm done here."
"Oh, no you aren't," Liza snaps, pursing her lips.
"Gorgeous," I use Red's endearment for her, "put your claws away. If I weren't genuine, I wouldn't have already had my flight changed for Pennsylvania."
Her eyes widen and mouth pops open.
Jack laughs. "When the fuck did you do that?"
"When I sent Mel away." I slip from the stool.
"Nice," Jack approves, holding out a fist.
I give it a bump with my own and wink at Liza before walking off.
Sidra
"I don't know why you don't ask us to pick you up," my mom complains.
"I don't know why I bother calling if you're just going to bitch at me," I snap, instantly regretting it. "Sorry, I don't mean that."
"Someone's cranky," she practically sings. "Is Aunt Flow visiting?"
I groan and I roll my eyes.
"No, it is not uterus evacuation week, but thanks for asking."
The taxi driver gives me an odd look in the review mirror and I inform him, "Women have periods," a bit exaggerated.
His eyes quickly return to the road.
"Le
ave the driver alone, Sidra." Mom knows me too well.
The familiar turn onto my street is a welcome moment. My flight wasn't long, but the toll of having feelings costs a person.
"Mom, I'm about to pull up to the building," I tell her.
"Okay, honey," the term of endearment makes my chest ache, "call me when you can do breakfast, okay?"
Immediately suspicious, I ask, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she says without missing a beat. "Why would anything be wrong?"
"Because you never ask when I want to do breakfast, you tell me. So, what's going on?"
The driver pulls to a stop and I hand over my credit card.
"Really, Sid, you are being paranoid," she retorts. Then, in true lying Mom fashion, she starts to ramble. "I know you've had a long weekend, you're obviously cranky, and then there's all the Paul stuff. I'm sure you need time to settle in and—"
"Is someone dying?" I blurt. She has me terrified. "Dad's okay, right? Or is it you? Oh my God, Mom, who's sick?"
"Calm down," she soothes, "everyone is fine. I was trying to be considerate. Your father says I use bullying tactics, so I'm working on not doing that."
"Dad says, or your counselor says?" I ask, knowing they still visit a marriage counselor after all these years.
The stress of the college incident took a toll on more than their finances; it almost tore them apart. All of it's my fault, but they still won't let me pay for the sessions.
"That's not for you to worry about," she scolds. "Go get some rest. I'm sure this won't last long and I'll be demanding you to breakfast soon enough."
"I hope it won't last," my father says in the background.
I bite my lip to fight laughing. They've been good for years, but Mom insists the sessions will keep them from falling back into bad habits. Honestly, I think she thought the counselor would side with her during disagreements, which she doesn't, but Mom won't admit she doesn't want to go anymore.
"All this niceness is making my balls shrivel," Dad continues.
"Marc," Mom shouts, "Sid doesn't want to hear about your parts."
"That's fine," his voice sounds closer now, "but I'd be obliged if you gave them some attention."
My gag reflex is activated and I cover my mouth.
"Gotta go, honey. Bye," Mom says before ending the call.
"Don't puke in my car," the driver warns.