Giving them distance and getting out from between the two of them, I wait for him to agree. I know he will. She’s got him wrapped around her little finger. I’ll do it with a smile on my face and babysit this fucker. I used to think of this differently. This all used to be fun. But it wasn’t like this, was it?
It doesn’t take more than one feminine mewl and a please from her to convince Kane that absinthe is good enough and that we should all head to her place.
It’s two blocks down and up a set of iron rails to get to the apartment. The sidewalk’s still wet and this late at night, there’s no one else on the streets. Just a bunch of drunk assholes stumbling on their way home. We fit in perfectly. I keep my eyes ahead, but occasionally look back and in all directions casually. I know the street and the apartment complex well. There aren’t any cameras or storefronts for onlookers. Still, I watch and wait for any type of paparazzi.
I follow them as Kane and his friend cling to the group of women. There are three of them, two blond chicks and a dark brunette with curls, each barely covered in skimpy clubwear as they grip the railing to the apartment stairs and laugh as they stumble their way up in heels. It’s difficult to tell with the other blonde if it’s an act and she’s playing up the drunkenness, or if she’s really that plastered.
Kane’s hands are all over Christi, moving from her hips to her ass as he walks behind her. Mikey’s into the other blond chick and the brunette’s checked out, only interested in smoking weed and getting trashed.
I tolerated the attention and flirting in the beginning of the night, but after a few minutes of ignoring the women, they lost interest and moved on. I’m certain this brunette is well aware there’s nothing happening between us. The number one rule of my job is to not bring down the vibe. So I offer her a smile when she peeks at me, but then go back to scanning the surroundings and blocking the view from the street. One thought gnaws at me as the group travels along: I just want to get back to Kat and make her take it all back. Make her forget what happened and remind her why we’re meant to be together. Remind her why she’s mine.
I don’t want this life anymore. Not when it makes Kat doubt me and what we have. Rightfully so.
I can’t take this shit. I’ll give it up for her. She’d take that, wouldn’t she?
As the girls laugh nearly in unison to something that Mikey yelled out and the door opens, I take my phone out of my pocket, glancing up to make sure none of the girls have theirs out.
The number two rule of my job: no pictures.
That’s my second concern. The first is getting Kane and peacing out of here. He’s had a good time; he’ll remember enough of it at least. I’m not interested in being here any longer than I have to be.
I’m distracted for only a moment. Half a second, but the moment I stop watching these girls, one of them breaks rule number two.
The second Christi’s blond friend pulls out her iPhone, flicking her long hair behind her as if she’s only taking a selfie, turning and posing with Kane in the background, I snatch it from her. She gasps and tries to grab it back like this is a game and I’m making a move on her. Her smile widens and she lets out a small laugh, again trying to snatch it from me.
Keeping the smile in place, I’m firm. It takes her a minute to realize no matter how much she pulls on my arm and makes that girlish cry, I have no intention of giving it back.
“No pictures,” I tell her simply, my voice low and admonishing. I don’t have time for this shit or her antics. She knows what she’s doing and it’s not cute or funny.
The smile drops from her face, her disappointment evident. I force myself to stare into her drunken hazel gaze until she looks down and then holds out her hand. The flirtation is completely gone. “I get it,” she snaps.
I place the phone in her palm after I shut it off and she huffs like I’m an asshole, but she’ll listen. They always do. It’s obvious she’s biting her tongue over wanting to tell me off and I can’t really blame her. She wouldn’t be the first. I’ve been slapped more times than I know. Mostly by women. Years of doing this have led to plenty of fights and unfortunate events.
I’ve beaten the shit out of assholes.
Called doctors and paid them in cash to come to hotel rooms.
I’ve paid off cops, bouncers, bookies. At this point I’ve seen it all, done it all. And I’m tired of this shit.
This little blonde, though? She’ll pout and listen, even if she tries to make a move on me and probably attempt even more pictures throughout the night.
The bright green of the absinthe bottle catches my eye as the blonde I just pissed off brings it to the coffee table. I watch as she sets it in the center and lines up three shot glasses before going back to the small kitchen only ten feet away to grab more.
Kane’s in the middle of the sofa with both arms draped across the back as Christi and the brunette cuddle up next to him. The sounds of them laughing and Kane saying something in a low voice as they huddle closer to him are barely on my mind as I turn my focus back to my phone.
I text the driver and let him know I’m going to need the car in about thirty minutes then send him the address.
It takes fifteen minutes for the alcohol to hit their systems. Heavy pours and three shots each will have them all out on their asses. Normally I’d feel bad cutting their party short, but I don’t give a shit. All I can think about is Kat.
I need to get back to her.
With an asymmetric grin forced onto my face, I roll up my sleeves, letting the tats show. “Let me get it, doll,” I tell the blonde as I make my way to the kitchen. “You sit back and relax,” I add, taking the bottle from her hands. I’ll pour the second round while they’re throwing back the first. She gives me a flirtatious smirk. “I knew you weren’t all asshole,” she teases with a playful peek up at me and then sits on her knees next to the coffee table. Too close, too presumptuous.
“You had it right the first time,” I murmur under my breath as I fill all six glasses and pass them out.
“Let’s do a couple rounds and get this party started.”
Kat
“I’m stronger than this. I deserve so much more.”
They’re the words I breathe, then collapse on the floor.
My eyes close tight; tears trapped, lungs still.
I can’t speak the truth; I can’t fight the chill.
“I’m stronger than this.” I whisper the words, my face hot.
But I know I’m a liar, and I know that I’m not.
Evan almost never texts me when he’s working but he did tonight, and I can’t take my eyes away from my phone because of that little fact. In all the years we’ve been together, I can count on one hand when he’s messaged me while out on a job. I’ve never minded it; he’s working. I’ve never needed a message that said he missed me, I always knew he did and that he’d be home soon. I had work to occupy me while he was away. Come morning, there was always a message to greet me, but while he was out, he was simply unavailable.
My body’s still and my focus is nonexistent when it comes to work now, though. There’s not a damn thing keeping me company but the memories of us and the constant worry of what’ll happen when—and if—he comes home.
Staring down at my cell, I swallow thickly. He messaged me. He reached out to me. I can’t explain why it makes my bruised heart hurt even more. Maybe I wish he’d just be cruel and not try or not care. It hurts so much more to think that he’s trying. Hope is an odd little thing. I want to cling to it, but if I do, the inevitable fall will be that much more deadly.
He always messaged in the morning, though, after the late night of whatever the hell he’d been up to. I’ve always thought it was cute how he’d text me to tell me good morning, even if he was only just then getting into bed.
But it’s 2:00 a.m. in London, his prime time, and my phone’s lit up on the desk with a message from him.
I was finally getting some work done, the keys clacking and the to-do list shrinking
somewhat although for every item crossed off, I feel as if I’ve added two. Focusing and managing to write up some feedback along with creating a marketing tactic for a client has been a highlight of my night … Until that message came through.
Half of me doesn’t want to answer him. Cue the grinding halt to any progress I’d made. I don’t want to read whatever he’s sent and go back into the black hole of self-pity. But I can’t resist. He is a drug and I am an addict. We could go days without speaking before, but in this moment, every second that I stare at my phone knowing there’s an unread message from him feels like an eternity in hell.
My hand inches toward it, the need to see what he has to say overriding the anger and the sadness. The need to be wanted by him and to feel loved winning out over my dignity.
So I click on the damn thing and my heart does a little pitter-patter of acknowledgment. When I swallow, it’s as if I’m shoving my heart back down where it belongs.
I hate it when you’re mad at me.
I stare at his message, feeling the vise in my chest tighten. My fingers hesitate over the keys as I read it again and again. Before I can respond, another message comes through.
Forgive me.
That’s the crux of the situation. The dams break loose.
Forgive you for what exactly? I message him back without even thinking. Whatever he’s hiding is bad, I know it is. I can feel it deep down in my core. Just like I knew that night when his mother was diagnosed. Whatever he’s done is enough to ruin us.
But we were already ruined, weren’t we? It’s been a slow burn of destruction. My intuition is hardly ever wrong. We’ve grown apart. We’re different people now. We don’t belong together. We never did, not really. Admitting that is what hurts the most.
With my body trembling, I force myself to get up and move, even if it’s just to walk through the house. I’m only wearing a baggy shirt and a pair of socks. I wore the shirt to bed last night and I should really shower and get dressed. It’s a rule I’ve had since I started working from home.
Every day, I dress as if I’m going into the office. Right now I just don’t have the energy.
Evan sends two texts, one right after the other as I walk to the kitchen.
We can work through this.
I love you.
I only glance at them before putting the phone down on the counter and heading straight to the fridge for some wine. Taking in a staggered breath, I focus on ignoring the pain. Think logically, I command myself. Don’t fall back into his arms without having a grasp on the problem. Because otherwise it will happen again. That’s what happens when you accept a behavior without acknowledgment and a plan to change.
There’s only half a glass left in the dark red bottle, but it’ll have to do.
I glance at the clock as I sip it. It’s after 9:00 p.m. I’ve barely slept, barely worked and hours passed before I realized I hadn’t brushed my teeth today. At least I’m drinking from a clean glass.
It only takes one sip before I tell him what’s on my mind. Communication is key. All the years of therapy taught me that. There is no relationship worth keeping if you don’t trust what someone says.
I don’t understand why you won’t tell me what you did.
Won’t tell you what? he texts back and it pisses me off.
“Does he think I’m stupid?” I mutter beneath my breath as my blood boils. The anger is only an ounce stronger than the pain. In the back of my mind I note that only crazy people talk to themselves, but even if that’s the case, I accept it. This man makes me crazy. I can admit that much.
Don’t treat me like this, I answer him, feeling weak. I’m practically begging him in my head but when I reread the text it sounds strong. I deserve better.
I down the remaining wine after sending the last line, the cool red soothing a tiny bit of an ache. I don’t know exactly what it is I deserve but I have a rough idea. Him telling me the truth. Him confiding in me. Or a better husband altogether.
As I grab the last bottle of red wine on the rack and bring it back to the kitchen, I realize this is how women feel when they stay in these marriages.
They’d rather be told a sweet little lie and believe it than face the truth. Those are my choices: demand the truth and accept the lie he gives me or … I don’t know.
Right now, it’s exactly what I want. Just lie to me. Tell me there’s nothing that happened. That it’s blown out of proportion. That it was just a kiss. Yes, that one. That last one. I could forgive it, but better yet, I could believe it. I could allow myself to believe it, even if deep down inside I know it was more.
Lie to me and love me. He knows I’ll still love him. It would make everything better.
The barstool legs scratch on the floor as I sit down to uncork the new bottle.
I just want him to come home. Tell me everything is fine and make up something that’s easy to forgive. It was only a kiss.
With a bottle of wine and a full glass in front of me, I go back to the beginning. Back to when I was stronger and I actually had self-respect.
Back when I knew better.
The memory and the wine are the only things to keep me company for the rest of the night, because Evan doesn’t text me back with the truth or a lie. He gives me silence.
Six years ago
The wind blows in my face, alleviating some of the stifling summer heat as I pull into the gas station parking lot in Brooklyn. It’s late and the hustle and bustle of New York has waned, but the nightlife on this side of the city is only getting started.
Some would say it’s the bad part of town, but others say it’s the fun part. I guess it depends on what circles you run in. New to New York and struggling to find where I belong, I suppose I’m keeping an open mind. The bright lights and sophistication are what I came here for, but making it here isn’t so easily achieved.
I’m slow to step on the brakes and pull into the last spot that lines the front of the small convenience store. I’ve only been here a few times, either needing to stop for gas or a quick bite to eat on my way to or from work on the west side of the city. It’s a clerical job for a newspaper, but beggars can’t be choosers and the bills need to be paid while I learn the ropes, snag clients and rub elbows, so to speak.
Several cars are parked in front of the store and a few men head inside as I pull up. They vary from obviously expensive to looking like they’re falling apart. The vehicles, that is.
I notice the men, and they notice me. Averting my eyes to avoid making small talk, I turn down my radio and put my car in park.
I mind my business and everyone around me seems to do the same. In the city that never sleeps, there’s always something happening. And I’m not interested in a damn one of those somethings. Distractions get a bad rap for a reason.
Grabbing my purse and keys in the same hand, I make haste, opening the car door to step out in a rush, but my eyes glance back to the cars and straight into a man’s gaze.
Not just any man, a man exuding power and confidence, along with defiance. Although he’s wearing a simple shirt and faded dark jeans, the way he wears them makes me think they were made to be fitted to his muscular body. He’s hot as hell, and given the way he looks at me, he could be a temptation the devil made just for me.
My driver side door shuts with a loud bang as I stand there caught in the heat in his gaze. He leans against the hood of a car, I’m assuming is his, a shiny black Mercedes that reflects the light from the store in its slick exterior. The windows are rolled up and tinted so dark it’s hard to see the inside. As my eyes move back to the man, my movements are slowed and I grip my keys tighter.
He doesn’t stop looking, taking me in and letting his eyes follow along the curves of my body. Arrogance and sinful thrill dance in his cocky grin. He obviously wants me to know that he’s watching me. Something about that small fact forces a blush to rise to my cheeks.
My breathing picks up and I subconsciously pull the hem of my dress down just slightly, smoo
thing out the cherry red pleats and wishing I hadn’t been wearing it all day. I take one step and the click of my heels keeps time with my racing pulse as I walk forward, knowing I have to pass him on my way in.
I can’t help that my eyes flicker over to his as I grip my purse strap and settle it in place. His shirt is pulled taut and over his muscular frame and his tanned skin is decorated with ink. Tattoos travel down his chest and arms, peeking out below his collarbone from the crisp white cotton shirt and leaving a trail of intricate designs all the way down to his wrists. I’m too far away to see what they say or what they are. I know if he were in a suit, the tattoos would be hidden, but something tells me he’s proud to have them on full display.
“What are you up to?” he asks me and catches me off guard.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I answer him easily, although I don’t know how, swaying a little from side to side in a flirtatious way I didn’t intend. My body can’t help but be attracted to his. Some part of me is eager to know how his tattooed skin would feel against my fingertips.
There’s a scar over his left eyebrow and it’s subtle, but even from this distance I notice it. As his deep rough chuckle fills the night air and drowns out the other sounds of the city, I find myself wondering how he got it.
“A man can wonder, though,” he says, causing a hot blush to creep slowly into my cheeks. I bite down on my lower lip, but that doesn’t stop the shy smile from showing. I have to stop and give him the attention he’s looking for as he leans forward, holding me captive to whatever’s on his mind.
“You’re pretty, you know that?” he says and I roll my eyes. Even if I know this flirtation isn’t just for me, that he’s simply playing with me, I still enjoy it. I crave it even. I’m sure he’s already used these lines tonight.
“Sure, and you’re not too bad looking either.” I enjoy the flirting, the attention. At least coming from him. He makes me feel things I haven’t before.
You Know I Love You: Book 1, You Know Me duet (You Are Mine 3) Page 5