by Shandi Boyes
I’ve encountered a riot of emotions the past month. It’s been a truly challenging time, both physically and mentally. But Lacey is determined to guide me through the tumultuous storm battering my life. She’s so strong-willed, she has forced me out of holey, food-stained pajamas for the first time in a month.
After ordering my heart into lockdown, I lift the martini glass to my mouth. My sole focus tonight is to push myself out of survival mode. Because as much as it kills me to admit this, Lacey is right. I need to start living again. I need to move onto the next stage of my life.
That would be a whole lot easier to do if I didn’t have so many unanswered questions.
I chug down the entire martini in one hit, more than eager to get our girls night off to a raring start. Lacey arches her brow and eyes me curiously when I help myself to a second serving of the delicious drink.
“Taxi?” she queries with raised brows.
The smile I award her with this time is genuine. Normally, I’m the designated driver for our monthly dance-like-the-floor-is-on-fire get togethers, but tonight, I need to let my hair down. I’m not saying I’m planning to get drunk, I just don’t need to stress about whether two martinis would put me over the legal limit to drive.
It’s lucky Lacey called a taxi.
Even with most of the alcohol in my system being pumped out onto the dance floor, there's no doubt I'm intoxicated. My words are slurred, my skin is a sticky mess, and I feel the most carefree I’ve been the past month. If I’d known alcohol was the cure for the world’s worst heartache, I would have started drinking the instant Erik dumped me onto the very plane that delivered Rico and me to Vegas only two weeks earlier. I don’t know if that private jet is Popov owned, but it was a cruel joke on a demented and twisted day.
Lifting my sweat-drenched hair off my neckline, I close my eyes and let the music overtake my body. There are attractive men as far as the eye can see, but I’m not interested. I’m here solely to wash away what’s been one of the worst months of my life using nothing but great music and the vibrancy of a bustling environment.
Over the course of the next forty minutes, that's exactly what I do. The pain inside my heart is still there, it just isn’t as paramount as it is when I’m lying in bed with nothing but time on my hands.
Several songs later, the hairs on my arm prickle to attention. I flutter open my eyes and swing them around the space. It takes three long blinks for my eyes to adjust to the blinding strobe lights bouncing around the decadent space. A smile curls on my lips when my heavy-lidded eyes absorb the area surrounding me. There's nothing as captivating as a group of cheerful faces having an enjoyable time. Well, except one thing. Nothing in the world is as captivating as Rico’s beautiful dark eyes.
When the song pumping out of the speakers switches from a heart-thumping beat to a slow and steady pace, I head to the bar. On my way, I spot Lacey on my left, grinding her backside on a handsome dark-haired gentleman. Sensing my snooping stare, her dilated eyes lift to me. I flash her a smirk, grateful I succumbed to her relentless nagging the past six days. She was right, dancing won’t cure my heartache, but it's a great way to relieve tension.
When Lacey cocks her brow in silent questioning, I gesture that I’m going to grab a bottle of water. I wait for her to nod her head before continuing with my endeavor. The smell of sweat on heated skin lingers in my nose as I weave in and out of the densely populated dance floor. With the popularity of the club and it being a Saturday night, the floor space is crowded with sweaty patrons.
Just as my flat-soled sandal steps off the mahogany floor, my long strides freeze, closely followed by the beat of my heart. Although it was quick, I swear I saw a profile a thousand whiskeys couldn’t erase from my mind. Rico.
Snubbing the twinge of pain hitting the middle of my chest, I push through the throng of sweaty bodies in the direction I saw him. When I hit the end of the bar I swore he was standing at, I stretch onto my tippy toes and swing my head to the right before slowly drifting it to the left. The sweat slicking my skin amplifies when I spot a flurry of black ducking down the hallway where the restrooms are. Adrenaline surges my heart rate to a never before reached level.
The blaring music booming out of the speakers dulls to a hum when I enter the hallway. Due to the club being at capacity, the hall is lined with patrons waiting to use the restroom. After wiping my sweaty hands on my skirt, I pace further down the hall. Once I’ve walked past the long lines, the vibrancy in the air shifts. My heart is still pumping, but it's more from fear than exhilaration.
I barely hold in a swear word when a clearly intoxicated couple stumbles out of a supply closet. They giggle loudly while smoothing their crumpled clothing. My wide-eyed expression watches them as they stagger down the hall. Once they become lost in the crowd, I gather my heart off the floor and continue with my endeavor. I could be completely off the mark, but I’m operating purely on instincts, allowing my intuition about Rico’s presence to guide my steps.
The further I saunter down the hall, the greater my perception of Rico grows. Just as I take a sharp left at the end, my wrists are seized, and I’m yanked into a hidden nook on my right. The window-shattering squeal rumbling up my chest is suffocated by a hand when it splays over my mouth. I suck in deep breaths as I fight through a torrent of emotions bombarding me at once. Joy. Despair. Hope. It all smacks into me.
The tightness spreading across my chest weakens when I lift and lock my frightened gaze with a pair of eyes I recognize: Colt.
“Jeez, Colt, you scared the living… hell out of me,” I breathe out heavily when he removes his hand from my mouth. He scared me so badly, the curse word screaming through my head nearly came out of my mouth.
The regret in his eyes grows. “Sorry, baby girl. I thought you saw me.” He glances into my eyes curiously. “You were following me down here, weren’t you?” Add his slurred words to the scent of alcohol on his breath, and it appears I’m not the only one who’s been drinking tonight.
“No. I thought I saw someone I knew.”
I lean out of the nook and peer down the corridor. The hope thickening my blood thins. Other than a fire exit door at the end, the hallway is empty.
“You know me,” Colt states matter-of-factly, dragging my attention back to him. The playfulness in is tone causes a smile to stretch across my face.
“Yes, I do know you, but I thought you were someone else. Did you see anyone come down here before me?”
Disappointment dampens my alcohol-fueled good mood when Colt shakes his head. “Only you.” He taps his index finger on the tip of my nose.
After dropping his finger to run it over the curve of my top lip, he murmurs, “You look good tonight, baby girl. You look happy.”
Arching a brow, I retort, “I look drunk.” And heartbroken.
“Then you should get drunk more often,” he jests, his smile enlarging so his dimples become exposed. “Drunks a good look for you.”
The curve of my brow arches higher. “Drunks?”
My heart rate I’ve only just settled down beats a little faster when he mutters, “I may be a little drunks myself. We’re a couple of good-looking drunks. Especially you. You’re a real pretty drunks.”
Even though he's under the influence, Colt’s compliment gives me back some of the confidence I lost while seeking Rico in a crowd. I can’t believe the first time I’ve left my apartment in a month had me going on a wild goose chase. If that isn’t already disturbing enough, finding out my perception of Rico’s presence isn’t as stellar as I first thought is another low blow to my already crippled ego. Not wanting my foolhardiness to end my night on a sour note, I loop my arms around Colt’s elbow and step back into the hall.
“How about us two drunks go and get some water?” I pull him into the packed corridor.
He grimaces. “Water? Oh, no, is Ms. Cardigan-Wearing-Williams back? I kinda liked the naughty Blaire better.”
I elbow him in the ribs, pretending his snide comm
ent didn’t dent my pride. “I didn’t say we would only drink water. We’ll do shot for shot.”
“Yeah! Shots!” He cheers, startling a group of girls in line for the bathroom.
As I guide a stumbling Colt down the packed hall, I ignore the pleas of my heart to peer over my shoulder. My heart truly believes it can distinguish the closeness of its mate in a crowded space, but I can’t risk disappointing it. With how many cracks my heart has sustained the past month, that little nick of disappointment may completely shatter it.
Chapter 32
I stumble out of my bedroom a little after noon on Sunday with a vicious hangover. It serves me right. I lost count of the number of shots Colt and I did by 2 AM. As instructed, we did a shot of water for every shot of liquor we had. For future reference, it doesn’t have the same effect as glass for glass.
Lacey giggles into her coffee mug when she notices my disheveled appearance staggering into the kitchen. My heavy steps aren’t just weighed down by the furious thump of my skull, but also from the guilt I’m feeling. When I’m hiding in my room, eating crap, and sleeping way too much, I never feel guilty. But waking up with overly exerted muscles from hours of dancing, and my finger void of the heaviness of my platinum wedding band, guilt has made itself comfortable in the place my heart used to belong.
Last night, I pretended to be someone who wasn’t heartbroken. Today, I’m back to the miserable Blaire I’ve been the past month.
“Coffee?” Lacey pros my hip onto the kitchen counter.
“Please.” I cringe when my tongue hits the roof of my mouth. It tastes like I ate roadkill for breakfast.
Lacey hands me a double-strength coffee before running her hand down my forearm. “You think you feel bad now; imagine what you’ll feel like after Colt’s self-defense class this afternoon.”
I wince when the coffee burns my mouth. “Defense class?” .
“Oh, no, does Care Blaire have a case of drunkenitis?” She laughs with a waggle of her brows.
While nursing my mug of coffee, I rack my throbbing head for the events that occurred last night. Although nothing is overly vivid to me, small fragments of Colt giving me an impromptu self-defense lesson in the lobby of our building crashes into my blurry mind.
“Twelve lessons?” I squeak out when the entirety of our night filters through my brain. “I agreed to twelve self-defense lessons?” The pounding in my head intensifies when my overly nasally voice bounces off the kitchen cabinets and shrills into my ears.
Lacey’s broad smile expands. “Yep! And you were so eager you paid up front.” She nudges her head to the now empty swear container housed on top of our fridge.
With her fondness for profanity over the past two years, the swear jar was overflowing. Now, only a few nickels remain.
After finishing my coffee, I shower and get changed. Three headache tablets have eased the furious pounding of my skull, but the niggling pain in my heart remains. The smile Lacey has been wearing most of the morning grows when I pace into the living room of our apartment wearing a pair of borrowed gym shorts and a crop top.
“How can you work out in these?” I mumble, digging the tiny shorts out of my backside and attempting to yank them down my thighs. “I can’t even walk in them, let alone bend over.”
Lacey laughs but maintains a quiet front.
Since my father raised me to be responsible about money and commitments, I will attend my self-defense class this afternoon. My dad’s rules are simple. Don’t ever buy something unless you intend to use it more than ten times in a year. Don’t fall for quick money-making schemes, and never make a commitment you aren’t planning to keep. If I hadn’t already paid for the self-defense lessons at Colt’s gym, I may have attempted to back out of our agreement. But since my hard-earned money has already been handed over, I’ll honor my commitment.
And if I'm being honest, I’m willing to give anything a shot if it will help ease the constant dull ache in my chest.
“Blaire,” Lacey snickers when I throw a super baggy shirt over my head, swamping the scandalously skimpy gym attire.
“I don’t want to get arrested for public indecency,” I argue before snagging my car keys off the coffee table.
She laughs but doesn’t refute my claim. She knows as well as I do this outfit can’t really be called an outfit. I swear my swimsuit has more material in it.
“Wish me luck.” I press a kiss to Lacey’s cheek.
She returns my gesture. “You won’t need it.”
Nervous butterflies take flight in my stomach the instant I pull open the heavy glass door of M.S. Gym. The smell of sweat mingles through my nose as blood-pumping music filters into my ears. There's so much testosterone thickening the air, the environment has an invigorating feel to it.
A small smile cracks onto my lips when I spot Colt in the corner of the room. He waves a greeting before finalizing his conversation with a blond gentleman working out on a leg press machine. I swing my eyes around the space, taking in the state of the art gym. It's over two levels and nearly every piece of equipment has a body attached to it. Whoever owns this gym must be pleased by the high attendance rate on a late Sunday afternoon.
My hand automatically darts up to smooth the frazzled pieces of my hair when Colt paces towards me. Colt is no doubt attractive—not as appealing as Rico, but who is?—but that’s not why I’m fluffing my hair like a woman fishing for a compliment. I’ve seen Colt shirtless numerous times, but not normally when I’m suffering the severe effects of a hangover. I look like I’ve been dragged a quarter mile under a bus. Colt looks like he’s just returned from being photographed for the cover of Men’s Fitness Magazine.
I snort. He probably has.
“Hey, baby girl, you ready?”
Colt swoops down to place a kiss on my cheek. Even his breath smells fresh. Not wanting to kill him with my skanky roadkill breath, I nod.
“Alright, let’s get this show started.”
He places his hand on the curve of my back and guides me through the gym. Numerous women’s eyes track his every move, no doubt admiring the way the muscles in his cut arms flex with every stride he takes. My disheveled appearance becomes even more apparent when I take in my female counterparts gawking at me in surprise. They are working out in body-hugging gym clothes, perfectly up-swept hair, and a full face of makeup. I don’t have a speck of makeup on my face, my shirt is three sizes too big, and my hair is limp since it's still carrying the effects of the sweat-infused club last night. I look as wretched on the outside as I feel on the inside.
When he walks us into a room at the side of the gym, my heart rate kicks into overdrive.
“Where is everyone?” I swivel around to face him.
He closes the thick glass door, blocking out the endorphin-pumping music blaring through the gym before shifting on his feet to face me.
His brows raise into his hairline. “Everyone?”
“For the defense class.” My voice is as unsure as my facial expression.
Colt smiles a boyish grin that makes my pulse surge a little faster. My reaction can’t be helped. Even hungover and nursing a broken heart, Colt has a wonderful smile.
“Everyone who needs to be here, is here, baby girl.”
I swallow, harshly. “Umm. . . are you sure? There are only two people here. Me and you.” I roll my eyes at the dimness of my voice. Squaring my shoulders, I straighten my spine and stand taller. “I thought I agreed to a self-defense class?”
“You did,” Colt confirms.
I wave my hand over the vacant room that's clearly void of any other gym patrons. My hand gesture freezes halfway when he mutters, “You requested one-on-one defense classes, Blaire.”
I drop my hand to my side. “I did?”
“Yes, you did.” He moves to a set of protective mats housed on shelves near the glass-paned window at the front of the gym. “And since you're a good friend of mine, I wanted to ensure you got the best instructor.”
He puts on a s
et of square black pads before spinning around to face me. “That means you get me all to yourself, baby girl, for an hour, three times a week, for a whole month.”
My mouth falls open. I should have listen to the pleas of my brain. Shots are never a good idea. No matter how heartbroken you are.
As Colt walks back towards me, his eyes absorb my baggy shirt hanging halfway to my knee. “Didn’t have any gym clothes to wear?”
Gritting my teeth, I shake my head. I hate lying, but with the way his eyes are beaming into mine like he wants to ravish me, I’ll let my little white lie slide. It’s funny, before Rico, I would have done anything to have Colt looking at me like that. Whereas now, I just want to go back to us being friends. I wonder if my logic will change as the months continue to fly by? Or will I never move on from Rico?
My heart squeezes. I’ll never forget him.
Placing his hand on the small of my back, Colt directs me to a section of floor that’s covered with a bouncy material similar to a gymnastics mat. It’s squishy and reminds me of a trampoline. It forces a genuine smile onto my face. I loved gymnastics when I was younger. Katie and I practiced our routines on the trampoline in her backyard for hours every weekend. That was what we were doing prior to our attack in the alleyway. Understandably, I haven’t done gymnastics since that day.
Trying to keep my focus on the task at hand and not the burning hole in middle of my chest, I yank a hair tie off my wrist and secure my hair into a ponytail. “Alright, let’s do this.”
Colt smiles a full-toothed grin while waggling his brows. I flinch and stumble backwards when one of the pads covering his hands whizzes past the tip of my nose. Although the pad didn’t connect with any region of my face, my first response is to drop to the ground and cower. Thankfully, even with ice-cold fear lacing my veins, I manage to hold my ground.
