The posh shops and chic cafes with macarons would have been her favorite shops at only five years old when she wore lace and learned how to behave in boarding school.
She and Brett would have ruled these streets. Thinking about Brett makes me smile. Being the younger of the two of them, he got away with bloody murder and loved how it riled her up. He’s a goofball who can also fit in with high society.
Trish is high society. She is whatever she wants to be.
She was salutatorian in her high school, and she graduated with a double degree by the time she was twenty-four. She wanted to leave NYC and make a name for herself as an artist in San Francisco. When I asked her if I could come with her, I wasn’t sure what she’d say. It was last minute and I wasn’t in the best of places back then. We weren’t particularly close either. I was just one of her brother’s friend’s ex-girlfriends – sort of, not even an ex really - she’d seen me come and go throughout the years. But I was also someone in desperate need that night to get away from here and everything else. The same night I left Madox.
Oh, how things have changed.
“Hey, turn right, right here.” Trish’s tone changes and her words catch me off guard.
“Are you tracking me?” My voice reflects the ridiculousness of the situation. “When I gave you permission to see my location it was to help me when I get lost… Not to track me like a stalker,” I joke with her and she only laughs. I’m prone to getting lost. In life and on city streets both. My inner bitch shrugs and keeps filing her nails.
“Trust me, there’s a bar right around the corner I’ve heard good things about. Are you wearing something cute?”
I glance down at my hoodie and lie, “Yes.”
“You are so full of shit.” I can only laugh as she tells me, “When you look good, you feel good.”
Staring at the bright lights to a bar called The Tipsy Room, I breathe in deep, feeling her confidence. “I see it,” I tell her, although she probably already knows because of her app. “You can turn that thing off now, you creeper.”
“After one drink, you’ll be thanking me,” she jokes back.
“You should really quit your day job and do self-empowerment classes, you know?” I tease and let the people around me pass me by quickly as I take my time heading to the bar.
“I’d rather keep mine, thank you very much.” As she answers, I can practically hear the smile on her voice. “And as for you, this job and that apartment – you earned those. Be proud.”
The anxiety is still there deep inside of me as I think about my cardboard boxes sitting in the middle of the gorgeous hand-tufted rug in the living room. “It’s just a lot.”
“Well, you’re worth a lot… and New York is ‘a lot.’ You know that.” I can hear myself swallow as I nod, even though she can’t see.
“I’m going to get a drink.”
Before I can tell her I’ll call her when I get back to my new home, she’s already commanding me to do just that in her motherly voice. I’m telling her I love her back as I walk into the place frowning down at my attire, but too tired from the plane ride and stressed from the move to give a fuck.
It takes about two whole seconds for me to realize The Tipsy Room is going to be my go-to place for the rest of eternity. Black chandeliers hang from the ceilings, which are at least ten feet high, and the lights are dim enough that it feels cozy, but bright enough to see all the fine details in the rugged wood tables. Cast iron chairs and barstools with a slick granite bar top give the place its coldness. And a white quartz fireplace in the very center of the space with ottomans surrounding it give the décor the warmth it needs.
Whoever designed this place has my entire approval. The music is soft, yet upbeat. And it smells like a cool drink on a seaside beach. I am in love with this place.
New York may hit me like a brick in my stomach every time I come here, but I’m calling tonight a win already.
Climbing onto a barstool at the very back of the place, I immediately grab a thick paper menu and listen to the quiet chatter from the half-full bar and a roar of laughter from somewhere on my left.
As my eyes spot the very drink I know I’d love to order day in and day out – a combination of grapefruit and tequila - my heart skips a beat. Or at least I think it’s skipped one, but then it doesn’t beat at all.
Not until the laughter dies, and I tell myself there’s no fucking way it’s him. My face is instantly hot and my hands are clammy. I keep repeating to myself that I’m a fool, it’s not him, it only sounded like the memories of my past because I’m hung up on Madox.
But then I hear it again, the familiar roughness of it. The deep cadence of his chuckle somehow standing out in the bar. Even though my body is instinctively still, like a child hiding in the closet, I glance to my left and see a room off the side of the bar. Judging by the size, it’s probably for parties.
I can’t see him. No.
But my throat gets tight as I see some friends who I used to love. His friends really, but once upon a time they were my friends. Trish’s brother, Brett, is within view. His sweet but sarcastic voice is carrying on with some story as he runs his hand through his shaggy hair.
I can’t make out what he’s saying; everything turns to white noise except for the loud ringing in my ears telling me to get the fuck out. The barstool nearly tips over as I push away from the counter, ignoring a bartender who happens to walk up the second I’m tumbling out of the high seat.
Don’t look.
I can barely fucking breathe. With my head down and my cheeks hot, my legs move numbly. All the memories come flooding back at once, but I’m distracted with the sickness churning in my gut.
What are the fucking odds? No, no, no.
I didn’t even make it four hours in the city before running into him again. Fate is a cruel bitch. She can go fuck herself too.
If I thought I was freaking out before I got to the bar, I thought wrong. This is a real reason to have a damn panic attack.
Madox Reed is only feet away from me, and although he’s tucked away in a side room of this bar, I cannot bring myself to face him right now.
The last time I saw him, he took me the way he always fucked me back then.
Ruthlessly, and with an unforgiving passion that left me breathless. In a back alley behind a bar, no less. After I left, he came to my place, hunting me down. But those are the last memories he has of me.
There’s no way I can face him right now.
I barely manage to hide behind the brick of the fireplace, not that I’m sure he’s even aware of my existence right now. I let myself breathe for a second, shaking out my hands and giving the small gathering of girls to my left a small smile when they look my way.
I have to pretend I’m not thinking of that night. And that I’m not freaking the fuck out.
What are the odds?
I can feel every single second of what happened that last night.
I remember how my nails scratched down his back and my shoulders hit the hood of the car; I remember how I let my neck arch, breaking our kiss so I could breathe.
With his lips roaming down my neck and his teeth grazing along my sensitized skin, my heart hammered and pleasure built deep in the pit of my stomach. I feel it all over again as I lean against the brick wall to keep me steady.
Even though we hadn’t talked since our last fight – we did that often back then— getting into fights where I walked away, and we didn’t see each other for a while. Not unless I went back to him. I missed him. Everything was wrong, and I had no one.
I craved the way he looked at me with nothing but hunger in his dark green eyes.
And I needed someone. Desperately.
That night I was suffering, and I knew he could take the pain away.
Even now I can admit I wanted him to fuck me because it felt like nothing else mattered when I shattered beneath him. When I let him use me how he liked, savagely and with reckless abandon.
Even if we were
nothing other than lovers in that moment. He never called me his girlfriend, he never gave me a commitment. Never. That night, I needed to go far away and I knew he could take me there.
I fell back into his arms without second-guessing a damn thing, and the next thing I knew, I was staring off into the distance while he savagely fucked me in a back alley.
I felt the rush of pleasure as he groaned in the crook of my neck, but it was met with a pain that twisted my heart.
When he nipped at my ear, he called me his dirty whore and pleasure rocked deep inside of me with his words. He told me I was his to fuck and use how he wanted, and I loved it. In that moment, I loved every bit of it.
He told me to cum for him, and I did. I came with him, like so many times before. I unraveled underneath of him. But what was left of me when he was done was something I didn’t want to face.
When it was over, and the reality of what had happened left me cold and hating myself for what I’d allowed.
Just as I need to run now, I ran back then. As fast and far away as I could. I ran back to my apartment and called Trish because I knew she was going far away, and I wanted to go too. I needed to leave after everything that had happened that week. Madox didn’t know any of it, but it didn’t matter. I knew I needed to leave. And she said yes.
Facing Madox after leaving him the way I did… I can’t fucking do it now.
I sought him out, fucked him – I used him the way he used me. But instead of coming back inside, I ran. And when he followed me back to my apartment, I pushed him away and said everything I could to make him leave. Rather than telling him what had happened and why I cried myself to sleep every night that week.
It was my fault. Everything that night was my fault. I never should have gone to him.
With a blink, the memory fades and the bar seems even more vibrant and lively as I round the corner – not even getting to order my drink, dammit – and search for the exit. I need to get out of here.
“Sorry.” The word slips from me as I accidentally brush against someone walking by and she spills her drink.
“Shit,” she says, and the girl just laughs it off, her blonde hair tumbling down her back as she dabs at her arm. The smile on her face only broadens, and she leans into another woman who apologizes to me as if it was her friend’s fault.
The second girl’s smile dims as I merely stare back at them, not coming up with any words. Snap out of it.
I need to get the hell out of here.
Swallowing thickly, I turn for the door. So close. So close to getting away from him and never setting foot back in this place – or even on this street – it’s blacklisted now.
The second I open the door to the bar, the rain spills down, and Ryan Jacobs of all people is right fucking there. Madox’s best friend – shit, don’t see me.
I stop and stand awkwardly outside of the bar like a deer caught in headlights – don’t see me. The street, which is constantly busy, is fucking empty as I stand on the two feet of sidewalk protected by the awning. Of course it is. Leaving me nowhere to hide, and only Ryan to gawk at. He looks me right in the eye, blowing smoke from his cigarette before letting his lips tip up into a smile.
Fuck!
He looks older than when I last saw him, but age looks damn good on him. His leather jacket creases around his shoulders as he stubs out the butt of his cig, carelessly flicking it to the side before heading straight for me.
Fuck. Fuck.
“Hey.” The word crawls from me, hanging in the air as I try to form a smile that matches the genuine grin on his stubbled face.
“I can’t believe my eyes,” Ryan tells me before wrapping his arms around me and giving me a hug I’ve missed so much. And what can I do?
They were my family. My friends.
When I left Madox, I left everyone.
He holds me tighter when I squeeze him back. And that’s when Brett walks out behind us, giving me the widest smile.
Fuck me. Fuck New York. Fuck this damn bar.
“I can’t believe you’re back, baby girl.”
Baby girl. Their group called me that for the longest time.
“We need to celebrate with a drink,” Ryan says and starts pulling me toward the door. My heels dig in to the ground and I hesitate, my resolve to stay far away from Madox still firm. Until both Brett and Ryan look back at me, with questions in their eyes mixed with a touch of shock and pain.
“Come on Soph, don’t do us like that. We missed you,” Brett tells me and opens the door a little wider. “I promise you the drinks are good and the first one’s on me.”
I could never turn away Brett. It was weird seeing him the first time at Trish’s in San Francisco. But only until he hugged me. He’s a guy who’s hard not to love.
“Just one drink?” Ryan asks in his charming puppy-dog voice he knows gets me every time and I cave. The two of them are too damn sweet and too damn cute to say no to. And I owe them. I owe them both more than I can ever repay them.
“Just one.” They both cheer and wrap an arm around me, ushering me in the second I agree. As if I’ll change my mind and bolt if they don’t get me to the bar as quick as they can.
I know Madox is going to find out I’m here. If by some miracle he doesn’t see me tonight, then they’ll tell him. Deep in my gut, I know I’m kidding myself to think he’s not going to be right at the bar beside me in the next fifteen minutes.
I brace myself for the inevitable.
As I follow Brett and Ryan, smiling and laughing as they head to the bar and announce to the bartender their good friend is back in town, I think, what the fuck happened to keeping the past in the past?
Chapter 3
Madox
The King of Swords certainly rules, but what he rules is debatable. The swords are a suit of conflict; the King is serious, and rational… but also the most controlling. Kings are the end of the suit. With nowhere to go, and no one to turn to, the King has no one to blame but himself.
Long days at the office.
Long nights at this bar. My bar.
Every night spent having drinks with my closest friends.
Which is why this moment doesn’t feel real. I’m only a shot and one beer in; I don’t even feel a buzz. However, for a split second, I question whether or not I’m hallucinating.
I only got up to check on the bar. And standing at the far end, I see the one girl I’ve been waiting to see for so long.
“Whiskey,” I order the second I see Samantha, a waitress walking by me, headed to the back. My eyes don’t move to her to see if she’s heard me or not. I can’t rip them away from the girl at the bar.
Two and half years I shoved myself into this project, making each piece perfect, specifically designed for her. And when it was over, fuck, that pause in time where I wasn’t constantly busy with things that needed to be handled imminently, that pause in time would have killed me if it weren’t for the men I’d like to kill right now.
It’s difficult to keep a calm expression while accepting the tumbler of whiskey from Samantha with a tight smile.
I wouldn’t have seen them if I’d stayed in the pool room. I try to remember how long they’ve been out here, but my mind is fucked.
My pace drags slowly as I stop at the end of the bar, staring down my best friends. I’ve thought of seeing Sophie again so many fucking times. But never once did I imagine Brett and Ryan would be chatting with her in my own damn bar when the moment came.
Ryan’s too close to her. After he slips off his jacket, he places his hand on her shoulder. My eyes narrow as I watch, and my fists clench involuntarily.
My gaze lingers on the curve of her neck and the way she shivers when he takes his hand away from her bare skin. She’s mine. At one time, she was nothing but mine.
There’s a hint of a blush on her cheeks as they lean against the bar. He always liked her; all of my friends did. At least Brett isn’t hovering over her. I could still punch the grin off his face right now, though.
An agonizing mix of emotions stirs inside of me. Questions ricochet in my head and they don’t stop.
When did she get here? Why is she at the bar with them? Were either of them going to tell me? The jealousy that creeps up on me, making my hands tingle when they form white-knuckled fists as Ryan clinks his glass with Sophie’s, is unreasonable. He’d never go for her.
I know Ryan, and I know Sophie. He’d never do that shit to me and neither would Sophie. But maybe he knew she’d be here? If any of us would have known, it would be Brett. His sister tells him everything, but he would have told me. The anger rises as I question why no one told me. How fucking long has she been in New York?
It doesn’t matter though, and none of the questions barreling through me matter either. I’m already striding toward them, hearing her sweet laugh ring in my ears before I can even think straight.
I’ve built this bar from scratch and been in here a million times, but it’s never felt so small, so tight, so fucking suffocating.
A new song with a slow beat starts up, and it makes the sound of my shoes smacking on the floor seem that much louder. That much more foreboding.
Brett spots me first of the three of them. The second his eyes reach mine, he grabs his drink and leaves, nodding at me with a knowing grin.
My pulse quickens, but I control it all, forcing myself to calm down as I move to her left, since Ryan’s on her right. She looks so damn small between the two of us. She’s always been a short little thing.
With a soft smile still flirting on her lips, she peeks over her shoulder to see who’s invading her space just as I’m dragging the stool back, getting it the hell away from me. Everything needs to get the fuck back.
She came back. The whole goddamn world needs to pause until I know why, how long she’s staying, and how I can keep her this time. I’m not letting her go.
Cards of Love: Three of Swords Page 2