Always Love Me: A Standalone Second Chance Romance

by Derrick, Zoey

  “It’s that counselor who made a difference in my life. As soon as I figured out who I was, I was happy. I thrived, and I can’t help but think that if I’d had that counselor one, two, or even four years before, I wouldn’t have struggled with my reality. So, it is for that reason I am here. It is for that reason I truly believe we are all equal, and we all deserve the opportunity to have someone there to help us.

  “The truth is, we can’t make them walk through the doors, but we can provide a place for them to do exactly that. If we can help just one teenager understand who they are, it’s worth every minute, hour, and penny spent to see they get the help they deserve.” I take a deep breath. “Thank you.”

  The audience stands, applauding, whistling, and I smile back at them as I gesture for the waiters to begin serving dinner as I walk off the stage to find Cami and Tristan standing there.

  “Thank you,” Tristan says with a hug and light kiss to my cheek.

  “You’re welcome,” I smile at both of them.

  “I would have never guessed,” Tristan teases.

  I laugh, “Oh, I’m not a lesbian, but I am bisexual. However, in high school, I didn’t understand why I was attracted to both girls and boys. Once I finally had a name for it, it helped me to see that I wasn’t going crazy.”

  “Well, I’m happy you were able to get the help you needed.” Cami smiles wide. “And thank you for helping us help them, too.”

  “Anything you need, you got it.”

  “Board position?” she smirks.

  I laugh, “We’ll talk.”

  “Good,” Tristan says, “now go, enjoy your evening.”

  “Thank you both.”

  We hug and I return to my table, except this time, Mr. Tyler doesn’t pull out my chair. Bastard.

  Chapter 6

  Skylar

  Several people approach during the meal to thank me for my speech and contributions. I don’t miss Xavier’s increasingly hostile behavior as dinner progresses. Odd expressions aimed my way, and disappointment colors his tone in conversations he has with everyone but me. By the time I finish my meal, I’m irritated and ready to get away from the bigoted asshole next to me. But in true Skylar style, I can’t walk away without a jab.

  I dab my mouth, not wanting to smear my lipstick, and place my napkin atop my plate. “Excuse me,” I say to the table before bending toward bigot’s ear. “Bigots have no place at an event like this,” I growl . “For the record, I’m not a lesbian.”

  I stand and quickly make my way through the half-empty tables and chairs as I walk toward the bar. When I get there, I immediately order a caramel apple martini and tap my nails against the counter as I wait.

  “I’m not a bigot.”

  I snort, “Could have fooled me.” The bartender places my drink on the bar, and I slide a 20 across to him. “Keep the change,” I tell him as I take my drink, walking away from the bar. And him.

  I get about five steps before his hand encircles my arm. “Stop, please.”

  “Why? I’m good enough to talk to, to have my chair pulled out for me, when you thought I was straight? But when you get the wrong impression and interpretation from my speech, I’m no longer good enough for you?” I look him square in the eye, squaring up my shoulders and stiffening my spine. “Asshole.”

  I pull my arm free of his grasp and turn, headed to where I see Ryleigh standing with several individuals vying for her attention. “Shit.”

  “That’s not why I stopped talking to you.”

  I roll my eyes as I feel his breath along my neck. The warmth sends a thrill through me, and the hairs on my arms stand on end. “Why?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got time,” I tell him.

  “This isn’t the place,” he counters.

  I shrug and move on, spotting the restroom and making a beeline for it.

  Once inside, I take a much needed long deep breath, then another. I didn’t realize I was starving for air until I feel my lungs expand and contract with each breath.

  “Who the hell does he think he is?”

  “A man,” someone responds. I can’t see who it is until I round the wall and see a beautiful woman in a bright red dress, I don’t know who she is, but I’ve seen her a couple times throughout the evening.

  “You can say that again,” I grumble and stand before the mirror.

  “Excellent speech,” she compliments me with a smile as she touches up her lipstick in the oval gilded mirror in front of her.

  “Thank you,” I smile and even blush a little at the compliment.

  “Did you come here with him?” she asks before rubbing her lips together.

  I chuckle, “No, I was introduced to him before dinner.” I pull my lip gloss from my purse and start to touch up my lips.

  “Well, if you want my advice, I’d say, fuck him.” Her smile grows wide as she tucks away her lipstick. “And forget him.” She exits the bathroom before I can formulate a response in my head.

  I shrug it off and finish with my lip gloss before stepping into a stall.

  She has a point.

  Whatever I may have thought about his attractiveness, the truth is, my hungriness for him has more to do with fulfilling a need tonight, and nothing more than that.

  It’s never anything more than that.

  One night, one time—okay, fine, maybe two—and then back to life and reality.

  Right?

  “Right,” I tell myself.

  I finish up and check my makeup while I wash my hands before taking another deep breath and leaving the bathroom.

  I smile to myself when I exit the bathroom and see him, not too far away, but his back is toward me, and I manage to sneak away, blending into the crowd without him stopping me.

  As much as I’d like to take him back to my apartment, fuck his brains out, and then walk away, I’m glad he’s otherwise busy.

  Regardless of my intention to make him a one and done, I can’t. There’s no anonymity between us. He can easily find information about me online. Though, I could do the same for him, I crave anonymity most of all. I don’t like knowing I can track someone down, let alone them being able to do the same to me. It’s this reason alone that I love the bars. No one I encounter there will necessarily know me. The apartment I take them to, or their own apartment, keeps that anonymity. I never ask for a name, though, they always offer it up, and I never offer too many details to them. It keeps them at arm’s length, and they get what they want, and if I’m lucky enough, so do I.

  I spot Ryleigh talking to a group of people, no doubt wanting to know her secrets, our eyes meet and I wink at her. She smiles back and continues talking like nothing happened. I’ve never understood her dedication. She doesn’t think twice, does things quickly and efficiently, it’s almost as if what she does is like breathing in her projects like air. Both are necessary for survival. It’s one of the millions of things I love about that woman.

  “Ms. McKay, may I have this dance?”

  I smile and turn to see Professor Palmer offering me his hand.

  “I’d be honored.” I smile at him, and he leads me onto the dancefloor. It’s only about a quarter full as the band started up while I was in the bathroom.

  “How have you been?” he asks.

  I smile. “Good, been really busy with a few upcoming acquisitions.”

  He chuckles, “Always acquiring, aren’t you?”

  I laugh, “I’ll never stop.” He spins me around, covering half the floor in a few strides. Martin Palmer is a microbiology professor at Hudson, and we met a few years ago as we volunteered at one of We Are One’s community centers. We later met again at one of these events. We eventually became friends, not Ryleigh-friends, but we often find ourselves at these events alone. It’s like a pact we have. If we’re alone, we always dance together, taking away that awkward moment of finding someone new to dance with.

  He’s an attractive man, older, in his mid-forties, with the crow’s feet aro
und his eyes and a receding hairline to show for all his hard work. I asked him once why he was here. He reluctantly told me his story. His son committed suicide at 16 years old because of bullying. His son was gay. Martin and his wife—who recently passed away—understood and accepted him for who he was. Unfortunately, We Are One came around a little too late to help save him.

  “Listen, I was hoping to have a moment with you tonight,” Martin says softly.

  “Oh?”

  He takes a deep breath. “I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

  “I don’t need help being set up, Professor.”

  He laughs, this time, it’s a hardy laugh, and the lines around his eyes deepen. “This, I know,” he says between chuckles, “but it’s not that kind of person.” He clears his throat. “Have you considered what we discussed before, about taking on interns?”

  “Oh, that.” I laugh a little, remembering the coffee date we had about six months ago.

  “Rebel Industries is one of New York’s leading investment companies, and we have countless students dying to make a statement in your building.”

  “Who sent you?”

  He laughs again, “Well, it seems that the other attempts are failing. The next step will be the Dean contacting you.”

  “No need. But I need some more information. I need to know what’s involved, what kind of students, at what point of their educations you’re looking to send them my way. Once I have all that information, I will consider it.”

  He stops dancing. “Oh thank god.” The relief is clear, his face relaxes, and so does his grip on my hands.

  “Am I really that hard to approach?”

  He chuckles, breathless, “You can be.”

  I playfully swat him and laugh, “No, I’m not hard to approach, I just delete emails and shred mail.”

  “Precisely,” he laughs.

  “Alright, alright, I see your point.” I smile up at him. “Now, how about that dance?” I wink at him, and he leads me around the dance floor.

  Chapter 7

  Xavier

  I narrow my eyes as I watch her swat at her male dance partner. They seem comfortable with each other. Her laughs come easily, and she almost lights up as she talks to him.

  They’d paused, but now he scoops her away around the floor. She’s a great dancer, and I can’t help wondering if I had anything to do with that, or if she’s forgotten me all together?

  We knew each other once, many years ago. It doesn’t surprise me that she doesn’t recognize me, but I’d recognize her anytime, anywhere.

  But tonight, going back to that time, hearing her talk about growing up, made my heart hurt. Remembering the beautiful, pigtail-wearing little girl that I got to have over every night. The little girl who was my best friend and the time we spent together was my own little heaven on earth.

  Then our dads died.

  She left.

  My mother falling apart.

  My mother dying…

  The next thing I know, I’m standing on the edge of the dancefloor. Watching her dance with an older gentleman. They’re still laughing and having a good time. I unclench my fists. I didn’t realize I’d tightened them. I step onto the dance floor just as the music slows down and changes.

  “Excuse me,” I say to both of them, “may I have this dance?”

  The man looks at Skylar for permission and she nods. “You may,” the gentleman says, and I quickly take his place, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her to me as we start to rock back and forth.

  “So, you won’t talk to me, but you’ll dance with me,” she says, sarcasm coloring her tone.

  “I told you, it has nothing to do with you being a lesbian,” I tease her.

  “I’m not a lesbian.”

  I laugh, “Be that as it may, a good portion of the people in this room think you are, based on that speech. So, can you blame me for jumping to that conclusion?”

  “Yes,” she snaps. I feel her try to pull away from me.

  “I don’t care if you’re a lesbian,” I tell her, and it’s not entirely the truth, but maybe, it might be enough for me to let the past go.

  “Then why?” she asks.

  She has a right to know the answer to that question. I turn her, making slow movements across the floor.

  The dance floor is filling up. People have finished their dinner, placed their bids, and have mingled enough to start to separate. The couples together, the singles who’ve mingled with other singles and have decided not to spend the rest of tonight alone, are now taking to the dance floor.

  “You brought up a time in my past I wasn’t prepared for,” I tell her.

  “What time is that?” she asks in a somber tone.

  “Teenage years,” I say simply.

  She pulls back, searching my eyes and me for more information, information I’m unwilling to give her, at least not now. Her eyes are warm, dark blue, almost sapphire in color as they soften toward me.

  The hair on my arms starts to stand on end. Her touch feels like a warm blanket consuming me. My breathing falters, and my limbs feel like they weigh a ton. Our eyes remain locked on each other. The music fades away into soundless whispers in the distance.

  Then it happens.

  Our lips meet.

  My heart races, my breathing stops all together as the warm softness consumes me. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her closer to me. My cock hardens between us, and my desire explodes.

  All too soon, she pulls away. “Wanna get out of here?” she asks.

  I lick my lips, her taste lingers, and a shivers of need spreads through me. “Yes,” I breathe.

  She pulls back, grabbing my hand, hers is warm in mine, and it’s like there’s electricity flowing between us, warming me. She pulls me from the dance floor and straight to the coat check area. She hands over her ticket, and then her arms are around my neck, pulling me toward her, and our lips lock together, again.

  I gently press my tongue into hers, and she opens, accepting my tongue inside her, and my head starts swimming. My breathing shallows, and my mind wanders to all the amazing places I want to take her.

  She pulls back, breaking our kiss, and my breathing stops, disappointment washes through me until I realize she’s grabbing her coat. I take it from her, holding it open for her to put on. She smiles, turns and slides her arms through the sleeves. It’s heavy, but beautiful.

  She fastens the top two buckles as I slide my ticket to the next gal, who’s quick to hand over my jacket. “Thanks,” I smile sweetly at the coat girl and slide a 20 across the counter and indicate it’s for both of us.

  I throw my coat on, it’s nothing compared to the fanciness of hers, but it’s warm, and warm is good.

  I offer her my arm, she takes it. “I have a car,” she says.

  I smile, “So do I.”

  “I have a driver.”

  I laugh, “You win.”

  She laughs in return and pulls her phone from her clutch and texts something. I don’t watch her fingers, but the flush in her cheeks. It’s a comfort to know I’ve done that to her.

  “Okay,” she says, looking up at me. She’s caught me looking at her, but she just smiles, blushing a little more. “They’re waiting,” she states, and I lead her toward the doors.

  I’m suddenly surprised by the fact we managed to make it from the dancefloor to the door without being stopped by anyone, and I’m thankful for it.

  “Where we going?” I ask.

  “Your place?” she counters quickly.

  I frown, “I’m staying in a hotel.”

  “You don’t live in New York?” She sounds disappointed.

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t. I’m here enough, but I don’t live here.”

  A small smile plays on her lips. “No worries, where are you staying?”

  “Park Hyatt.”

  “Perfect.” She leads me down the stairs to an Audi SUV with two men standing near it. As we approach, one climbs into the driver’s seat, and then
the other opens the back door for us. She climbs in and slides to the driver’s side as I climb in after her. The door closes, and the guy slides into the passenger seat.

  “Park Hyatt,” she says quickly, and before I know it, we’re pulling out onto Fifth Avenue. Then we’re turning around, toward the hotel I’m staying at.

  She places her hand on my thigh, I shiver, the cold air and her warm touch in contrast. I place my hand over hers. Good, she’s not losing interest. I know I’m not, but my cock is rock hard, and I don’t think I could get rid of this thing, no matter how hard I try.

  Within minutes, we pull up in front of the hotel and the gentleman that held the door for me, opens it again, and I climb out, offering my hand to Skylar as I stand. She takes it and climbs out with me. She nods to the gentleman, and he acknowledges her with a head tilt.

  I notice a tick in his jaw I can’t quite explain, especially for a hired driver.

  But I also notice that she doesn’t dismiss him.

  I lead her into the lobby and to the elevator.

  We wait a few moments before the door dings; I lead her inside, and then we’re alone again.

  I pull her into me. She comes easily, and I wrap my arms around her. She’s tall, five-eight, five-nine, and coupled with heels, she’s even taller, but she’s still short to my six-five frame. I lean my head down, breathing in a delicious vanilla scent that is all Rebel.

  Then, I’m pressing my lips to hers as the elevator lifts us toward the thirty-seventh floor.

  Her lips meet mine in a perfect dance of desire as we climb closer to our destination. I’m torn, I want to get there, faster, much faster, but I’d be okay with it taking forever.