She’s already packing her things away, but I sigh, because I know exactly how she’s feeling. It does feel weird, to be too old to party and be a student, but too young to be an adult. It’s the strangest in-between, and being in a new place with no friends…
Well, it’s lonely.
“Wait,” I tell her, stopping her before she can stand. “Let me just step out and call Cassie. We can reschedule.”
Chandler shakes her head. “No, no, don’t do that, I’m sure she’s looking forward to it.”
“We talk all the time,” I assure her. “And I’m going to see her in just a couple weeks. She’ll understand.”
Chandler bites her lip. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. Give me a sec.”
We walk out of the library together after putting away all the books I’d strewn out, and then I excuse myself to the corner of the building, cursing against the biting cold as I find Cassie’s contact and let my thumb drop on the screen.
“Hey, babe,” she answers. “I thought we had another forty-five minutes.”
“We did. Uh, do. Um…” I grab the back of my neck, casting a look at Chandler. “Hey, would you mind if we rescheduled?”
A pause on the other end was my only answer.
“I can explain later, but a friend just helped me out of a bind, and… well, again, I can explain later. But if you’re cool with it, could we have our date tomorrow night instead?”
The silence is long before Cassie finally says, “Sure. I mean… Yeah, I don’t see why not.” She pauses again. “Who’s the friend?”
“It’s Chandler, the one you met when we video chatted after Big/Little reveal.” I let out a breath of a laugh that fogs in the cold night air. “She literally just saved my ass. I owe her a drink.”
“Oh.”
I smirk, narrowing my eyes as I turn even more so Chandler can’t read my lips or overhear. “Is someone jealous?”
“No!” A pause. “I just… you promise she’s just a friend?”
I don’t mean to laugh, and by the way Cassie screams my name when I do, I know it’s an asshole mistake. “I’m sorry,” I say, still laughing. “It’s just, the fact that you think I’ve got eyes for literally any other woman but you is hysterical.”
“You’re a prick,” she says, but I can tell by the way she says it that she’s smiling, too. “I’m sorry. Of course, you should go have fun. I know you don’t know anyone there, and I’m glad y’all have become friends. I just…”
“You miss me,” I finish for her. “And I miss you, too. And if it’ll ease your mind, I’ll tell you a million times. She’s just a friend. You are the love of my life. You have nothing to worry about.”
She sighs. “That does help.”
“I love you,” I say softly. “Call you in the morning?”
“Text me later tonight,” she says. “When you’re home.”
I chuckle. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And Adam?”
“Yeah?”
“Have fun.”
I blow her a kiss through the phone before we both hang up.
BALLING UP ANOTHER DOVE chocolate wrapper with my left hand, I close one eye and stick my tongue out, aiming for the ceramic decorative bowl on the coffee table.
“She lines up the shot,” I say softly. “And… she shoots!”
With a flick of my wrist, the blue and silver foil wrapper goes flying.
And completely misses the coffee table altogether.
I blow out a breath through flat lips, looking at the empty bowl and the tiny foil balls littered all around it. Then, I look at the TV, at the rerun of America’s Top Model, and then out the window at the palm trees swaying in the breeze along the beach.
Sighing, I grab another piece of chocolate.
I know without a mirror that I look as pathetic as I feel, and I wish with everything in me that I could snap out of my pity party and get back to the bad bitch I was before the accident. So far, I’ve only been able to pull myself together long enough to go to work, give it all the energy I had, and then come home and cry about the fact that I can’t go to the pole studio.
Not that I haven’t been invited.
Karen has called me almost every day, has even popped by unannounced a few times, saying the girls miss me and they’d love to have me back — even if just to coach from the sidelines until I’m well enough to get back on the pole.
But she doesn’t understand how much even the thought of that scenario breaks me.
To be watching and unable to do, to coach without being able to show, to have this vital part of me ripped away… possibly forever…
It’s been akin to losing a lung, each breath reminding me that I’m closer to death.
I’m close to being able to start PT — or so my doctor says. But I’m healing slower than he first anticipated, and every time I hear him tack another week on the end of my sentence, despair creeps in and grabs ahold of me tighter and tighter.
I thought I knew heartbreak, thought I knew depression.
I’ve never known any kind of pain quite like this.
A whistle shakes me from my thoughts, my unfocused eyes drifting from the TV screen to where Brandon is standing at the edge of the hallway. He’s freshly showered after his long run this morning, his short hair damp and glistening, gray sweatpants hanging deliciously off his hips. Without a shirt on, I have a front row show to the phenomena that is his abdomen, with his pecs and biceps a solid opening act.
“I didn’t know I was dating a basketball star,” he muses with a grin, eyeing the wrappers all over the ground.
“Watch out, Lebron James.”
He chuckles, arching a brow at the TV as he makes his way across the room to the couch. He plops down next to me, carefully pulling me into him while being mindful of my shoulder. “So, what was wrong with her?” he asks, nodding to the model now wrapped in a blanket and looking pale as hell at the judging ceremony.
“Food poisoning,” I explained. “But look, she still showed up.”
“Think it’ll gain points with Tyra?”
“It should. She nearly died and still got her ass to work.” My heart sinks, and then against every ounce of willpower I have, tears burn my eyes.
Brandon notices immediately, and he looses a breath, tucking me closer as he balances his chin on the crown of my head. “It’s going to be okay.”
“When?” I manage on a shaky whisper.
The question breaks me — even more so when Brandon just holds me tighter in answer.
He doesn’t know.
No one does.
“Will you take a walk with me?” he asks after a while.
I groan, but before I can reject, he pulls back and meets my eyes with his.
“Please?”
I sigh. “That’s not fair. I can’t say no to you when you look like that.”
“Then say yes.”
I do a little temper tantrum flail, whine, and then concede, letting him help me up off the couch.
Once I’m dressed in shorts and a tank top, Brandon and I take the elevator down to the lobby and push out into the pleasantly warm morning. Fall in Florida may not be cold, but there’s a break from the humidity, and the temperature hanging in the mid-seventies with little puffy white clouds and an otherwise blue sky make me smile in gratitude.
Brandon takes my hand as we cross the street to the park, a lush, green patch of land with running trails along the water and right to the beach. This was where we ran into each other in the spring, when he was trying to pretend like he didn’t still want me.
The prick.
He smooths his thumb over my wrist as our hands swing gently between us. “I know it seems like your world has crashed down around you,” he says, eyes on the water, then his shoes, then me before doing the circle all over again. “It’s hard not to lose hope when something so important has been taken away from you.”
“It is,” I agree, but already just being outside has my soul feeling li
ghter, my heart a little less tight. “But thank you for being here for me. For always being here for me. I…” I swallow at the truth of what I’m about to say. “I honestly don’t think I could do this without you. I think if I had lost pole in the spring when I’d just lost you, I… I…”
I couldn’t finish the sentence.
Brandon squeezes my hand tighter, and then leads us to a little bench in the shade under a wide oak. Spanish moss hangs from the limbs, and I stare at the sun rays peeking through it as we listen to the waves, to the people, to the soft sounds of a Sunday morning.
“You’ll never have to do anything without me,” he promises after a moment. “I’ll be by your side through PT, and when you go back to the studio and no doubt come home frustrated every night until you’re doing the tricks you were before the accident.”
I chuckle. “God, I will try my best not to be a nightmare, but…”
Brandon smiles, and it’s then that I see it — the worry etched in his features, the way his hands are trembling slightly.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
“Nothing,” he lies.
“Brandon…”
“Nothing is wrong, Ashlei,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “And that’s just the thing, isn’t it? When I’m with you, when we’re together, it doesn’t matter what we’re facing. Everything feels right. Everything feels… whole.”
I smile, looping my arm through his and laying my head on his shoulder. “I love you.”
He’s silent for a long time, and again we sit and enjoy the sun’s warmth, the ocean’s breeze, the feeling of being together — even when things suck.
And then, out of nowhere, he says the absolute last thing I expected.
“Let’s elope.”
I balk, sitting up ramrod straight so I can look at him and make sure it isn’t some sick joke. But when I meet his gaze, it’s as serious and level as if he’d just made a business proposal.
“What?”
“Let’s elope,” he repeats, turning to fully face me and folding his hands in mine. “Ashlei, I know without a fragment of doubt that you’re it for me. You’re the one. You’re my one. I want you and me, forever, and I want it right now. I want to put the biggest fucking diamond rock on your finger so everyone knows it, and I want to marry you somewhere far away where it’s just the two of us, and I want to make love to you on a tropical shore, and I…” He swallows. “I want you to say yes. I want you to pack up what you need right now, today, and I want to be on a jet or my yacht by dinnertime.”
“Why by dinnertime?”
“So I can marry you in the morning.”
My heart is beating so furiously in my chest that I have to steal one of my hands from Brandon to press it against the bones, trying to soothe, trying to calm.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he begs.
I sniff against the tears welling in my eyes. “I’m thinking I can’t say no to you when you look like that.”
“So say yes.”
I laugh, nodding as tears slip free. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
Another laugh as I climb into his lap and kiss him all over, not even caring when he points out that I’m not supposed to lift my arm that high to rest around his neck. “Yes. Yes, right now. Yes, forever. What do I pack? When do we leave?”
He slams a kiss hard to my mouth, holding the back of my head in his palm as we breathe each other in.
The kiss grows deeper and more urgent the longer we sit there, until Brandon finally helps me up off the bench and we half walk, half run back to the condo. It doesn’t take long to pick the place, and though I know we’re forgetting things we’ll need, we decide we don’t care as we haphazardly pack our bags in twenty minutes’ time.
And then we’re boarding the yacht and sailing off into the horizon.
“SHIT,” I MURMUR TO myself as I scurry along the side of the dance floor being built. Or should I say, the dance floor that was being built… before the entire crew we hired for the event decided to go on strike.
Literally.
“Everything okay?” Brittany asks when I pass her. She’s looking over something on the iPad with our intern — likely the bride’s instructions for centerpieces or the seating chart.
The smile I force comes too naturally, and it scares me a little how easy the lie spills. “Yep! Right on schedule. You good here? Need me?”
She waves me off. “No, just going to wrap this up and then we’re both leaving. You should go, too. You’ll need rest for tomorrow.”
“I just have to check on a few more things and then I’m out.”
She nods to excuse me, and when she’s back in the works with the intern, I resume my cursing as I run back to the kitchen where the owner of the event company we hired is desperately trying to get her crew to stop packing up their things.
“We told you,” one of the guys says when I push through the swinging doors. “Meet our demands, or we’re out. You thought we were bluffing. Well, now you know we’re not.”
“Jeremiah, we can discuss this at the office on Monday,” the owner tries to say — calmly, especially now that I’ve made myself present. “But right now, we have half a dance floor to assemble, chairs and tables to set up, lighting, and—”
“And you can do it yourself,” one of the other guys says, which earns him some enthusiastic agreement from his comrades.
I watch in horror as this fight continues on, something about Christmas bonuses being canceled this year. as well as them having to work all through the holidays, plus some murmurings about what they’re being paid. Whatever is going on, the crew isn’t happy.
And no matter how hard the owner, Sammi, begs them, they don’t go back into the ballroom I need turned into a glamorous wedding venue by the morning.
They all just leave.
Sammi sighs when it’s just the two of us alone, pinching the bridge of her nose and muttering something that sounds like a prayer in a language I don’t recognize under her breath before she turns to me with a dazzling smile.
“Well,” she says, and I wait for the solution.
But instead, she just throws her hands up, let’s them clap down on her thighs, and starts crying.
Another curse word finds my tongue.
“It’s okay,” I soothe her, running a hand along her back.
She blubbers something about being a failure and how her father is going to gut her like a fish, and as much as I feel for her, as much as I would comfort her even more if I was her friend, the fact of the matter is that I’m the woman who hired her.
And now I’m in a bind.
“Why don’t you go home, talk to your dad, figure out what can be done to get your crew happy again, okay?”
She sniffs. “What about you? What about the wedding in the morning?”
I tongue my cheek, but force a smile against my urge to scream. “I’ll handle it.”
“Are you sure? I… I can stay to help, I can—”
“Go,” I insist again, already shoving her toward the back hallway that her entire crew left through. “Just leave all your supplies and I’ll… figure it out.” God help me. “Can I call if I have questions?”
“Of course, but—”
“You’re not going to be any help to me or anyone like this,” I interrupt before she can argue again. “Go work through whatever needs to be worked through. It won’t ruin our relationship with you, okay? We’ll give you another chance, but you’ve got to get your crew happy.”
She nods, nearly bursting into tears again when I tell her she’ll have another chance. In this industry, a mishap like this can be the difference between a booming business booked every weekend, and a sad sap going door to door at event agencies begging for work.
I don’t want to be the one to hang her up to dry.
But I also have to do my job.
As soon as Sammi leaves, Brittany pops her head into the kitchen. “Alright, we’re heading out.” She frowns, looking around th
e empty space. “I thought I saw the crew come back here. I was going to tell them they need to move the dance floor about seven inches to the left. It’s not going to be center with the stage.”
“They just took a quick break to eat,” I explain. “Ran down to their favorite restaurant. Don’t worry, I’ll stick around until they get back.”
She arches a brow. “You sure?”
“I got this,” I assure her. “I want to take a second look at the cake, anyway, and you know how picky I am when it comes to table runners. I just want to make sure it’s all in order, then I’m out the door. Promise,” I added when she went to argue with me.
“Okay, but don’t stay too late.” She sighs, shaking her head. “A morning wedding. Who does that? I’m already crying thinking about setting my alarm for three AM.”
My smile is tight. “You and me both.”
With a salute, my boss leaves, and then I’m alone.
“Motherfucking shit balls!” I scream, grinding my teeth as I lean back against the countertop. I tap my fingers on the edge of the granite, thinking.
The wedding is huge — two-hundred-and-sixty guests, plus all the vendors. There’s no way I can set up the tables, chairs, linens, centerpieces, and dance floor by myself. I’d be lucky to get even half done before Brittany showed back up in the morning.
I sigh, pulling out my phone and dialing the first person I can think of who might be able to help.
Which, coincidentally, happens to be the last person who was inside me.
The phone rings and rings, but Jarrett doesn’t pick up. I debate just hanging up but decide I don’t have time for pride right now.
“Hey, I need your help. I’m texting you an address now. Can you grab some of your coworkers or a couple buddies and help me with some event set up? I can pay. Long story but… I’m in a bind.”
I don’t know what else to say, so I hang up and text the address.
As soon as I do, Jarrett texts back with a line of question marks. Then, he texts Is this where I should go when I’m ready to ravage you after the rally?
The rally.
Shit.
I close my eyes and force a breath as I text back Going to be honest, completely forgot about the rally. Disregard my voicemail and have a good time. Text me after.
Greek: A New Adult College Romance (Palm South University Book 7) Page 17