by J. M. Paul
I lower my head and twist my high-heeled foot into the carpet.
Two of Maya’s fingers lift my chin until I meet her dark gaze.
“I know I can’t completely understand your pain, but your sorrow hurts me in here.” She places her hand over her heart. “You’ll figure everything out, like you always do, but for now, let’s forget about being responsible. Let’s bury our troubles and party our asses off until we can’t walk straight. Then, we’ll be so hungover tomorrow that we’ll forget about everything, except for our headaches.” She smiles wide.
I’ve already decided I’m going to throw my inhibitions to the wind tonight, but I remain quiet to make her squirm in her tight dress a little longer.
“Jos, come on,” she practically whines.
The corners of my lips slowly lift, and I know a mischievous gleam enters my eyes.
“You biotch.” She playfully wiggles me back and forth.
I cringe at the twinge of pain that shoots through my abdomen, and Maya immediately apologizes.
“No worries, girl. Just get me drunk, so I can’t feel anything.” I wag my brows and twist toward the counter lined with future mistakes in liquid form.
“Done.” She turns with me.
We each lick our own hand, sprinkle salt on it, lick again, and then toss back the first shot of tequila before sticking the lemon in our mouth.
“You know what that tastes like?” I toss the lemon into the air, and it slopes into the basket.
“Besides crap? What?” Maya throws her lemon, but hers doesn’t even come close to making it.
“Another.”
I lift the salt, and we repeat the process.
After downing another shot, there’s a knock on our apartment door.
“I’ll get it,” Maya sings. She teeters toward the entrance.
I hear two familiar voices intermingle with Maya’s.
“Have you two started without us?” Camila’s husky voice says. She walks up behind me, and when I face her, she wraps me in a tight hug. “Hey, amiga. I’ve missed you.” The tone and her lingering embrace let me know it’s true.
“I’ve missed you, too.” I squeeze her just a little bit tighter.
“How are you feeling?” When she leans back, she takes my face in her hands and studies me.
She’s Latina—all olive skin, shiny and long brown hair, and expressive dark eyes—and it goes without saying that she’s drop-dead gorgeous in an almost goth kind of way with her heavy makeup and all-black attire.
“Good.” I’m not sure if it’s the two shots of tequila talking or if I really am starting to feel better, but for once, my answer isn’t a lie. I would know if it was because I can’t lie to Camila. She’s my person. Maya’s my best friend, but Camila and I have a special bond I can’t explain.
“Are you telling me the truth?” She tips her head.
“Yes, Mom.” I give her a saucy smile.
She studies me, and when she sees the truth behind the words—at least, my truth for tonight—she smiles back at me. “Well then, quit being a selfish whore, and give a girl a drink.”
“I got us into V.” Liz shoves her long red hair back from her chubby face.
She’s pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way, but she tries too hard. Her makeup is always impeccable, her hair’s always perfect, her skin’s as white as a pearl, and her clothes are always trendy and expensive.
Maya lines up four shots and pours the alcohol, and we toss them back like we know what we’re doing.
“The swanky new club downtown?” Maya’s forehead scrunches in surprise.
“The one and only.” Liz flips us a cocky grin.
“I thought that place was impossible to get into.” I grab a handful of chips that Maya set out. They’re my weakness, and she knows it.
“Um, have you met me?” Liz pops her hip out and bats her eyelashes at us.
“Yes, we have, but you were quiet for a minute, and it almost made me forget what a rich snob you are.” Camila pats Liz’s cheek.
“You’re such a bitch,” Liz jokes with her.
“Only to you, princess.” Camila pulls the bowl of chips between me and her and winks at me.
To anyone else, Camila’s words would be taken as an insult, but both girls speak their minds to each other and have a love-hate relationship. Liz is comfortable with who and what she is—a snotty rich girl with mostly good intentions—and Camila’s a saucy Latina who has no filter and would do anything for the people she loves.
“Lucky me.” Liz rolls her eyes and adjusts her black leather pants. Then, she smooths out the sheer cream top she layered over a bold-patterned camisole.
“You bet your sweet ass that you’re lucky enough to be friends with us.” Maya skirts around the counter and slaps Liz on the butt as she passes. She rifles through her purse and fixes her lipstick. “Thank your lucky stars that we’re willing to let you drag us to this shady joint that you claim is high-class.” She smacks her lips together. “When I walk in there, we’ll see how many notches it’s knocked down when compared to someone as elite as this fine piece of meat.” Running her hands down her painted-on red dress, she winks at us.
“It’s obviously time to leave.” I shove another handful of chips into my mouth and chomp.
Camila shakes her head at me and brushes her hands along my boobs. I peek down and see crumbs fall to the floor. Shrugging, I adjust my simple, loose-fitting lacy black dress.
“You look pretty tonight.” Camila moves her hand through my long, thick hair.
I took the time to curl it into beach waves, but I’m sure it’ll go flat by the end of the night.
“Thanks, girlie. There’s not much left of me that’s still a woman, so I wanted to feel feminine.” I shrug. “Since my surgery, I don’t fit into my regular clothes, so I had to find something…comfortable.”
I gently lay my hands over my swollen abdomen. It’ll take time to heal and go back to “normal”—as my doctor told me—but I’m impatient. So much was taken away from me, and I want to reclaim what’s left of my life. I want to embrace the new me and make the best of what’s yet to come.
“Jos”—Camila cups my cheeks and stares into my eyes—“you’re still one hundred percent woman. You’re more of a woman than the three of us combined.” Her eyes flit around the room, searching out Maya and Liz, who are both watching me with sympathy written on their faces.
In the last couple of weeks, I’ve grown to hate those thin-lipped smiles of sympathy. Sympathy means something in my life sucks, and I’m tired of the suck. It’s time to move past the sorrow and find the good.
I will find positivity even if it kills me.
“I already know that.” I try to lighten the mood even though we all know the words I’m spewing are complete fibs. “At least this surgery gave you guys a fighting chance against my awesomeness.” I sashay over to the coat closet and clutch my funky leather jacket.
Leather and lace—that’s the type of mood I’m in tonight.
“Okay, bitches. Let’s go show the hoity-toity at V what real women are like.” Maya hands me my purse and wraps her arm around me.
Then, we head out the door to what I hope will be a fun girls’ night.
“I can’t believe your dad let us use his limo,” I whisper to Liz as we walk through the doors of V.
Liz smiles at me and then tells the hostess her name.
The hostess, clad in a sophisticated tight black dress, leads us to a gated off upper level of the club and to a rounded corner booth that faces the dance floor and room. There are two bottles of liquor, each one in an iced metal bucket, and a few appetizers in the middle of the large tabletop.
The hostess hands Liz a menu. “Let your waitress know if there’s anything you need or want. The bill’s been taken care of, so have fun, ladies.” She wiggles her fingers at us before she turns and saunters back toward the stairs.
“You didn’t tell us you scored VIP seating.” Maya drops her badass-chick act
as her mouth hangs open in awe.
“You guys keep me around for something other than my hot body.” Liz lifts her hands in the air and shakes her hips to the pulsing beat bouncing up from the dance floor below. “Plus”—she lowers her arms and climbs into the booth—“Daddy’s really happy I got into the graduate program at U of M, and this is his way of expressing his pride.” She gives us a mischievous smile and motions at us to join her. “Come on, let’s get this party started! And no wimping out on the alcohol consumption since none of us have to drive.”
We immediately open a bottle of vodka and start partying.
An hour later, I tap my teeth to make sure they’re still in my mouth. They’re numb along with my toes. I’m on the dance floor, and if I’m shaking it, I know I’m drunk, and help needs to be called.
“Girls—” I stumble over my own two feet as I turn toward Maya, Camila, and Liz, and then I giggle uncontrollably until I snort. “I need to sit.” I point up toward the VIP section and then wave.
“Want me to come with?” Camila grabs my arm.
I teeter into her. “No, keep dancing. You’re good, sexy, and super hot at it.” I try to smile, but I can’t feel my face. “I need a time-out with some water. I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll come back down in a bit.”
Camila nods, but her concerned expression doesn’t go unnoticed.
I stagger up the stairs, somehow make it to our table without falling, and crash down into the seat. I lean my head against the backrest and close my eyes. It makes the room spin.
Whoa, bad idea.
Opening my lids, I pour myself a glass of water from the pitcher at our booth and let my eyes wander around the room.
I’m not sure what I was thinking when I tried to pace myself with Maya, Camila, and Liz. They are serious party chicks, and I’m only a sometimer. And, this sometimer will definitely pay the price with a colossal hangover while those three professional drinkers will have a slight headache tomorrow morning.
My eyes keep moving over the small crowd gathered around the railing that overlooks the dance floor while my mind wanders to my ex-boyfriend Brett.
I wonder what he’s doing tonight. Is he thinking about me? Does he miss me? Does he regret what he did?
I shake my head to stop those thoughts before they go any further. That asshole doesn’t deserve for me to think of him, miss him, or wish that things had happened differently. Brett broke my heart when it was already torn to shreds over a situation I couldn’t help. Anyone without at least a little decency and understanding doesn’t deserve to be called a man. He’s a jerk, and he isn’t worth my time.
But, despite my pep talk, I still care about him because I spent three years of my life with him, and I’m human. I can’t turn my emotions on and off like a faucet.
My attention moves and fixates on the people surrounding the VIP bar. I’m guessing the group of men are enjoying a guys’ night out or a bachelor party, and the three women standing next to them desperately want to be invited into their circle.
I drain my water glass and start to turn from the pathetic show of womanhood when my gaze catches on familiar piercing blue eyes. I blink a couple of times, thinking I’ve fabricated him from my imagination, but when I focus on the group of guys again, those sea-blue orbs are still trained on me.
Oh, holy hell, why me? I’m too drunk to handle this right now.
Grinning, Jacob leans over to a blond guy with a man bun, says something, and then gestures in my direction. Man Bun scans me over, cocks his eyebrows as one side of his mouth lifts in a half-smile, and nods slowly as he says something back to Jacob. Jacob shakes his head, sets his empty glass on the bar, pats Man Bun on the shoulder, and then heads in my direction.
Shit.
Averting my attention, I pick up the bottle of vodka that’s still on our table and pour myself a shot, regardless of the fact that I deemed myself too drunk minutes ago. Grace be damned, when this man is stalking toward me with a cocky grin on his face, the only way to handle the situation is with more alcohol.
“Hello, Joslyn,” he says. When I don’t say anything, he shifts his weight. “Mind if I have a seat?”
I shrug. Maybe more alcohol isn’t the answer because it’s left my social skills seriously lacking.
Jacob lets out a low chuckle and then scoots into the booth next to me. There’s enough distance between us that we’re not touching, but I can feel the heat radiating off his body, and, damn, if it doesn’t feel heavenly. I want his warmth to seep into me, surround me, and unthaw the frozen voids hidden deep within.
Seconds ago, I was feeling drunk, lonely, and sad, but as soon as this attractive man sat next to me, I find I’m not any of those things anymore. I want to lean into Jacob and let him make all my anguish disappear.
But I can’t.
“Care if I share one with you?” He motions toward the shot.
“Suit yourself.” I pour another, slip the bottle of vodka back into the bucket, and then slide the glass over to him.
“Should we make a toast?” Jacob lifts his drink in the air.
I raise mine, deciding to attempt to play nice. Even though I can’t involve myself with him the way I would really like to—it would be wrong on so many levels—I’m trying my hand at being a new girl. One who doesn’t let her situations define her, who finds the silver lining in the midst of a storm—or some bullshit like that.
“To new beginnings.” I clink my beverage against his and then slam it back. The burn feels good in my throat, but my stomach doesn’t agree.
With his attention on me, Jacob tips his head back and shoots the liquor with ease. “Fancy seeing you here.” He leans back in the seat.
Is he always this at ease with himself, or is his confidence a charade?
It has to be as weird for him to see me here as it is for me to see him.
“Lucky maybe. This usually isn’t my scene.”
The lavish backdrop, the exorbitant bottles of liquor at the table, and the extravagantly dressed people trying too hard to fit into a mold—it all makes the skin on the back of my neck crawl.
“No?” Jacob scoots a little closer, and something tightens in my chest.
I finally make eye contact with him and bask in the beauty that is him, but I remind myself—again—that he’s off-limits.
“Hi,” he says in a soft tone.
“Hi.” It comes out breathless.
“You look beautiful tonight, Joslyn.” His gaze dips to my lips, sinks down toward my cleavage, and lingers before it lifts back up to my eyes.
“Thank you. You’re not too shabby yourself.”
And he isn’t. Oh dear goodness, he doesn’t look bad at all. He’s a woman’s sexual fantasy with his floppy almost black hair, a day’s worth of stubble on his chin and cheeks, and his dark brows framing his striking eyes. The blue shirt he’s wearing accents those baby blues, making them seem electric. And they are focused on me and expressing thoughts I think I’m only fabricating in my head because this can’t be real life. Someone as handsome as him can’t possibly feel desire for me.
Jacob lifts one of my now-limp beach waves and rubs it between his thumb and forefinger. “You have gorgeous hair.” He lets the thick strands slip through his fingers, and then he trails his hand down my bare arm, leaving a wake of heightened skin, before entangling his fingers with mine. “You’re stunning, period.”
Raising my hand to his mouth, he brushes a featherlight kiss against my skin. It sends chills down my arms, and when he notices, the corners of his lips quirk up into a smirk.
Bastard.
I try to speak, but instead, I shiver. The embarrassing gesture makes Jacob’s smirk turn into a full-on cocky grin, and it’s sexy as hell.
Bad, Joslyn. Bad girl. He’s forbidden, and you have to remind both of you why.
“How was Jenna today?” I scoot away from him, but it does me little good. My body can sense his near mine, and it wants more.
His movements falter, and I
know I’ve hit home.
Even though Jacob and I met under friendly, normal circumstances at the park, our relationship is ultimately professional now. His daughter is sick, and I’m one of her caretakers.
Rule number one of my personal nurse professionalism: Don’t get involved with the patients or the patient’s friends or family. Or doctors. Or other nurses. Because workplace love affairs can get messy. Sure, everything’s sunshine and rainbows when the going’s good, but when things start to get real, sides have to be taken, and lines need to be drawn because the battle can get dirty.
Jacob slouches back slightly and clears his throat. “She was doing okay today. More alert than normal.”
“That’s positive news.” Sitting up straight, I know my face expresses my excitement about Jenna’s prognosis.
“Yes, it is. It was wonderful to see her so aware and moving.” His eyes find mine. “But…”
“But what?” I prompt him to continue.
He sighs just loud enough that I can hear it over the pulsing music and the laughter vibrating around the room.
“I just don’t want to get my hopes up.”
Without thinking, my hand moves across the booth to cover his and squeezes. Jacob glances down, and after several seconds, he flips his palm up to entwine our fingers again. He studies our conjoined hands before looking at me.
We get lost in that moment of intimacy—our eyes tangled and our hands clasped together, as if they were made for the other.
“It’s okay to be hopeful, Jacob. I can’t even begin to imagine what you and Jagger have been through.” I rub my thumb back and forth against his soft skin. “Take the small victories where they’re given, and use them as the fuel for the days that aren’t so wonderful.”
“How did you become so wise?” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.
“I’ve been through my share of shit.” I shrug.
He studies me for a few seconds. “As much as I want to hear all about it, I don’t want to talk about our problems tonight, Joslyn.” He scoots so close to me on the bench that, as he talks, I can feel the slight bursts of air against my face. “Right now, I want to put a serious dent in that bottle of vodka with you and talk about you and me.”
