Love Me (Promise Me Book 4)

by Brea Viragh

  “Turn around!” I screamed, fumbling. “Turn around!”

  Cassandra laughed while I struggled to regain control, ashamed beyond belief and attempting to stuff my boob back into its broken holster.

  “Oh my God, turn the fuck around and stop looking.” Ducking, I used the table for coverage. Curse words sprang out faster than my breast.

  “Are you serious?” she managed to get out through a gale of laughter. The hold-your-sides-and-try-not-to-cry kind.

  “Stop laughing at me!”

  There were no pins in sight to secure the thing in place. Face flaming, I scuttled around the kitchen island and bent to not be seen. Weston was right. I was a klutz, and that trait chose the worst possible moment—and the worst possible body part—to appear.

  “This is ridiculous.” Cassandra ran her hands through her hair, the laughter stealing her breath. “This is the worst showing I’ve ever been to in my life.”

  “At the risk of losing the commission on the condo, get out. Get out right now!” My free hand pointed to the door while the other gathered the two pieces of my bra together.

  Cassandra bent to retrieve the saliva-covered grape and placed it back in the bowl, a single tear streaking down her face. “With pleasure. I’d say we should do this again sometime, but although I haven’t laughed that hard in a dog’s age, I think we’d better not. We should also try to work out our schedules so as to not run into each other at the rehab house. Give Garth my regards and tell him I won’t hold this against him. If he wants to show me the condo later, have him give me a call.” Cassandra sailed out the door with a wave over her shoulder, but not even a backward glance.

  I gritted my teeth and mumbled, “Thank you for choosing Heartwood Real Estate, bitch.”

  ***

  After my disastrous showing with Cassandra—I did not expect a call from her—I decided it was time to stop moping. If one could call ugly crying behind the island of a listed condo for fifteen minutes moping.

  It took effort to lock the place up and make it back to my car without anyone seeing me. Once home, and with my mother sleeping the day away, I ripped off the bra and lit it on fire. Both pieces.

  I’d known it was time to throw the thing out. If only I’d listened to the tiny voice in my head feeding me life lessons and words of encouragement. It whispered insidious tidbits like brush your teeth before you go out. Buy another bra before the old one disintegrates. There might be something more to your feelings for Finn.

  Untrustworthy subconscious.

  I knew I needed to get out of my own way. If things didn’t feel normal, at least I could pretend by getting out of the house. The need to leave hit hard enough to have me throwing on a nice shirt, floor-length skirt, and slouch boots. I flung my hair in a ponytail and left my reading glasses on the bed.

  Trista glanced up from the table when I rounded the corner into the kitchen, darkness shrouding the corners of the house. She was the night owl risen from its perch, and I was the morning bird determined to make it out past bedtime.

  “River?” She blinked, taking me in from head to toe. The orange vest hung around her bony shoulders and she adjusted her belt, taking it in a notch. “Where are you going? You’re usually in bed by now.”

  “Out.” My voice was gruff, adamant. A far cry from the norm.

  Trista stood, apparently dissatisfied with my reply. Damn, I wonder why? “What do you mean, out? Out where, and when are you coming home? Are you going alone?”

  I flung a jacket over the ensemble, probably looking more like a hobo than a confidant woman. “If you’re done with the twenty questions, and if you must know, then yes, I’m going out to the Tooth for a drink. Alone.”

  “Do you think it’s safe for you to go out alone? There could be unsavory characters there.”

  I fixed her with a look. “Nell goes there alone every Friday night. Or she used to until she met Kai. I’ll be fine.”

  “I worry about you.”

  I paused to place a kiss on the top of her head. It wasn’t her fault. None of it was her fault, and I had to learn to stop blaming her. “I know you do. Please don’t worry. I’ll be back later.”

  “I’ll be at work,” she stated.

  “Then I’ll see you in the morning. Trust me.”

  Her expression said she didn’t. My shoulders stiffened at the tension in the room and I left before I spilled the beans about my day.

  The entirety of the drive to the Tooth was spent psyching myself up. A brief glance at myself in the rearview mirror assured me this was as good as it was likely to get.

  “Everyone goes out for a drink alone from time to time,” I told the woman staring back at me. The intermittent headlights from vehicles I met sliced through the dark and illuminated my drawn face, my tousled hair. “Slug a few back and forget about the boob.”

  My breath caught in my throat. It would take more than a night out to forget about the boob. If Weston and I had still been together, I would have never heard the end of my mistake. He would have made sure I was properly attired before going out again, with a minimum of ninety-six lectures on appropriate etiquette.

  He’s not here, my flinty-eyed reflection told me in no uncertain terms. He’ll never be here again.

  I found a parking spot and pushed myself out of the car before I could change my mind. The flashing sign above the door let me know exactly where I was. Sadly, the choice establishments to get a good beer in Heartwood were limited. There were only two restaurants in town—a French bistro and a Mexican place—which made for a sad situation.

  The Tooth. Where the drinks have bite.

  Before I reached the door, I could hear Aerosmith screeching about Janie and her gun. I pushed open the swinging metal door, finding the bar packed close to capacity. As many bodies as could fit inside the hole in the wall, filled with the din of angsty rock music, too many drunks, and not enough optimism. The jukebox blared and made it impossible to zero in on a single conversation above the background noise of the rock selections. People struggled to be heard over the music.

  It was a typical hick-town bar, nothing fancy, with its share of dings and scratches. I waved to the fellow manning the draft taps, who was some friend of Nell’s from back in her heyday.

  The interior of the place had five booths lined back to back by the front windows, wretched things made of brown vinyl. They were all filled; a few scattered tables situated in the center of the room looked uninviting and filthy.

  I tried to ignore the stares and eyed the bar instead, the empty stools there waiting for someone to claim them, and wondered if I’d be forced to socialize. A booth would have given me the chance for privacy. Guess not.

  Crossing the floor, I caught the bartender’s attention and signaled. “Something hard to knock me on my ass, please,” I called out.

  “Sure you can handle it?” The slur came from my right and I turned to stare into the rheumy eyes of a stranger with graying hair.

  Raising a brow, I took the offered glass from the bartender. “I’m fine,” I answered. Then I chugged.

  The tingle shot straight to my stomach with the strength of hellfire. I promptly spat the drink into the stranger’s face.

  Amidst a terrifying swell of embarrassment and indignity, I struggled to grab a stack of napkins. “Oh my God, I am so sorry!” The tiny pieces of paper were ineffective against the monsoon of spit dotting his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to—”

  Instead of pouring out a tirade of abuse at me, the man chuckled. He took my trembling hand in his larger one, calluses dotting each knuckle. “You think this is the first drink I’ve had tossed in my face? Try not to take yourself so seriously, miss. You’re a hair prettier than the last girl who threw something at me.”

  I tried to smile, pulling my hand away and taking the second drink the bartender offered. I was tentative with my first sip. This one was barely large enough to drown a moth and burned slightly less than the first round. But at least I held it down. Yes, I could handl
e this.

  “You look like her,” the bartender stated above the music.

  “What?” I called back.

  “You’re related to Nell,” he answered. “You have the same bone structure. I’m Fenton.”

  “Charmed.” I made a face, turning away. The last thing I needed was a man trying to flirt with me.

  The old fellow I’d spit on was drying himself off when I shifted to face the door. And my heart stopped. I didn’t notice until seconds later, when the a-rhythmic beating caught my attention. An irregular rat-a-tat to make the ribs sore.

  “Well.” The stranger followed my gaze and continued to laugh with a chuckle like a rusty blade through wood. “Look who’s back.”

  The newcomer walked into the bar with confidence, evident from the tips of his biker boots through the broadness of his leather-clad shoulders. Time slowed, the noise dimmed, and it was as though he had his own personal entrance music.

  Only I saw the halting footsteps. The way his left leg hitched a split second before swinging forward.

  I recognized the rhythm of the music. Watching him, I heard it in my own body. A guitar riff and heated drum solo while the world around me came to a screeching halt. If anyone deserved a theme song, in this moment, in this place, it was Finn Price. Walking on his feet like a demon in search of a soul.

  He’d dressed in a pair of jeans and a worn t-shirt, covered by a jacket straight out of an action flick. An amber amulet hung from a leather thong around his neck. The boots were scratched, worn, loved.

  He’d shaved.

  I licked my lips against the sudden dryness. Did the man have his own backlighting? My fingers clutched at the glass I held and I wondered if he would notice me.

  Finn speared a glance to the left and, finding nothing to hold his interest, moved straight ahead. And then his gaze captured mine.

  I was acutely aware of the moment he found me in the dark, and swallowed at the intensity in his face. His feet fell heavily on the floor, and if I hadn’t known any better, I’d say the swagger was natural. He hid the limp well.

  Those eyes drew me in like a tractor beam. Heat pooled down to my ankles.

  “Hey, Ros.”

  The smooth baritone caressed me from the inside out. I heard it through the music, above it, below it, a frequency too low for others to recognize. Exactly as he’d intended. Exactly as I’d expected. Part of me hated the way I reacted, in the same way countless other women had before me. Like the way Cassandra had acted when he’d reined in her affections. The other part of me told the first to get lost and took over control.

  “Finn. You’re here.”

  He held his arms wide. “This is my home turf. It’s good to be back.”

  “You shaved your billy-goat beard.”

  He didn’t seem surprised by the comment. As if it was nothing that the first thing I noticed was the shaved beard, instead of the obvious fact that he was out of the rehab house and walking. “You’re an astute one, aren’t you? Always the first to note any changes. Yeah, I shaved.” There was a single, rolling laugh. “Anything else?”

  “I always knew you could do it.” I swallowed, hating the way my voice rose and cracked at the end. “Look at you.”

  His hair was shorter, groomed, and he no longer sported the four-day stubble some people found hip and others dirty. His eyes smoothly and smugly skimmed over the crowd before snagging on me again.

  “It’s amazing what a person can do when there’s someone to be his cheerleader.” He gestured down to his legs and tapped against his upper thigh. “I still fit into my old clothes. Did you notice?”

  “I’d hope so. It’s only been a few months. You couldn’t have gained that much weight. Although with the amount of candy I snuck into your room, I’m surprised…”

  “I think what you mean to say is, ‘Looks good on you, Finn.’”

  His voice took on an affected tone, and the prompting drew a smile from me. “It looks good on you,” I told him.

  “Thank you,” he answered, inclining his head. “Now, what are you doing in a place like this?”

  Should I tell him the truth? About my humiliating day and loss of a sale? I hid my reaction in a sip of alcohol only to find there was none left. “Thought I would come out and try something new. I wanted a change of pace.” I placed the empty glass down on the bar. “And what about you?”

  He led me from the bar to an empty table, with the barest touch of a finger on my arm. I jumped like I’d been zapped by an electric fence.

  “I’m a work in progress,” Finn answered easily, pulling up a chair and slipping into it with a tiny wince. “There are still a few kinks to iron out, but Cassandra okayed me. I’m officially released.”

  “And you returned to the motherland. It figures.” I shook my head. “You’re a free man and you zero in on the hole-in-the-wall.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “The wenches need someone to keep them occupied. I’ve been away from the roost for too long.” He shot me a slow, obvious up and down look. “You ditched the work pants for a dress. I’m shocked. Almost as shocked as seeing you here.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t come out for me?” I couldn’t help the jab for one simple fact: I wanted to know the answer.

  “For you, Ros, I’d travel to the ends of the earth.” Finn gestured toward Fenton and had a beer in his hands within seconds. “Hope you’re not afraid to be seen with me.”

  The memory of my argument with Cassandra returned full force. “Oh, I’m happy to be with you,” I said with more force than was warranted. “Best prospect for a date I’ve had in months.”

  His smile was worth the teasing. “Explains the skirt.”

  I hid my odd reaction to him in a pile of peanuts from a nearby bucket. “Yeah, the skirt.” How asinine could I sound before he caught on? If he hadn’t already, he was either doomed or a special kind of stupid. “Sometimes a girl needs to get out and experience something different. You of all people should understand the need to break the mold every once in a while.”

  “But the mold was made for you, sweet thing.”

  Finn touched my shoulder and the peanuts went scattering. The sight seemed to amuse him.

  “I couldn’t stay home,” I said hastily. “I wanted to stay in. My day…didn’t work out the way I’d planned. It was a bust and I don’t care to explain.”

  “Aw.” Finn flashed me a face painted with false sympathy. “What happened? Was everyone too busy to take you out? Couldn’t get a reservation at some hoity-toity place like The Point? Or did you invite your friends here and they declined the oh-so-delectable offer?” He licked his lips. “More for me.”

  “Oh stop. I’m in the depths of despair and wanted a boost. Okay? Then you walked in the door.”

  “Yes. Walked.” He pointed down to his legs.

  I ignored the tingling in my chest and reached across the table to pat his hand. “I’m proud of you. A lot can happen in a month.”

  “Right. With Cassandra’s diligence, I was up in no time.”

  Ugh. My mood plummeted again. “Sure. Cassandra. Because I had nothing to do with it.”

  “There you go again with the jealousy. It’s adorable.” Finn leaned forward, steepling his fingers on the table. “The two of you worked together and this miracle happened. You should be pleased,” he stated.

  Pleased? I’d botched the potential deal with her, embarrassed myself, and still hadn’t made a sale yet at work. As far as life was concerned, I was hopeless.

  “Yes, okay. Real pleased.” Instead of explaining the sarcasm, I grabbed his beer and took a sip.

  “I’m pleased.” His eyes followed the movements of my throat. “I can walk, Ros. You passed your exam and have a bright career ahead of you. There’s a lot to be happy about.”

  I refused to tell him about the botched showing, or the ass I’d turned into. I didn’t have the heart to admit what I’d done.

  “We should be celebrating,” Finn continued. “Probably in a be
tter place than this shithole.” He used the toe of his boot to scuff at the peanut shells I’d dropped to the floor. “It doesn’t exactly scream good time. My memory made it out to be better than it is.”

  “I like how you say we instead of me. It makes me all tingly inside.”

  The problem was, I did feel tingly inside. And I had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t the alcohol.

  “We’re here together. Let’s have a drink. An end to our bet, which, in the long haul, I’d have to say was a draw. You can’t take all the credit for this beast of beauty, and let’s face it, you weren’t winning any Miss Congeniality awards.”

  “I haven’t been thinking about the bet,” I said with a stiff shake of my head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. We can say you won. You don’t need me, and from this point on, we are free to go our separate ways.”

  “Is that why you’re frowning?” he prompted. “There’s no reason for you to be this unhappy. Listen. They’re playing our song on the jukebox.”

  I scoffed. “We don’t have a song.”

  “This one will do.”

  “It’s ‘Thunderstruck’.”

  “Exactly.” Finn stood on shaky legs before finding his footing. Towering over me and forcing me to look up and up. “You promised me a dance.”

  “What?”

  “A bloody samba, if I remember correctly.”

  “That was a joke.”

  “That was a promise, and you never go back on your word. Come on. Live a little. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of little old me? You look nervous.”

  His outstretched hand was there, in the middle of my vision, larger than life. From my periphery, I could see the other people in the bar. The patrons enjoying their evening adult beverages or greasy hamburgers from the grill. Some were in the middle of conversations with their friends and partners. And some, drunks mostly, buzzed around the bar like weather-beaten mosquitoes. The place had one pool table, currently occupied by two older men who looked like they were pushing eighty. Which left a tiny space cleared of tables which could be used for dancing. At least the ancient jukebox in the corner was brightly lit and playing a decent selection.