by HELEN HARDT
Oh yeah. Braden. I can easily take care of that. I text him.
I’m having dinner with Tessa tonight. Will I see you later?
No response. Well, he did say he’d be on calls all day.
I quickly text Tessa and tell her I’ll meet her at the restaurant at six thirty.
I gave up an orgasm this morning to show Braden I won’t let him control every aspect of my life.
We can start with Friday night dinners.
Chapter Fifteen
Betsy and I arrive at the restaurant at the same time. Tessa texts both of us that she’s running about fifteen minutes late.
I can’t help it. I’m secretly glad because it gives me some time to chat with Betsy alone.
Betsy doesn’t look nearly as eager as I am.
“I talked to Braden,” I say.
She lifts her eyebrows.
“Don’t worry. I kept your name a secret, although I should tell you I did tell Tessa.”
She smiles weakly. “That’s okay. I figured you would. All I know is what Addie told me.”
I nod. “I get that. You did what a friend would. You were trying to help me, to possibly keep me from getting hurt. I appreciate that more than you know.”
“I’d never want to see you get hurt. Our friendship is new, but it means a lot to me.”
I grab my napkin and place it across my lap. “It means a lot to me, too. I just want you to know that I’ve spoken to Braden, and I feel good about our relationship. And also know that, other than to Tessa—and her word is as good as gold—I’ll never say another thing about who told me.”
“I wouldn’t have told you otherwise.”
“I know it was difficult for you to break Addie’s confidence.”
“I almost didn’t,” she says. “But on the off chance that it might be true, I didn’t want you in harm’s way.”
“On the off chance?” I wrinkle my forehead. “So…does that mean part of you thinks Addie is isn’t telling the whole truth?”
“I don’t know.” Betsy shakes her head. “Addie is a spoiled heiress. We both know that. She’s not above lying to get what she wants.”
I draw in a breath. “If Braden dumps me for whatever reason, I’ll live. I’m not Addie.” Though the thought of Braden leaving me makes me want to hurl. “I think Addie might have lied to you.”
“Maybe, if she thinks he crossed her.” Betsy sips her water. “As I told you, she was pretty obsessed with him.”
“Did Addie go into any detail? You know, about what they were doing? What got her shaken up?”
“No. I can’t even imagine what they were into.”
I can. Sort of. Braden likes sex on the darker side. So do I, frankly. I never knew until I met Braden, but it’s been eye-opening. Eye-opening and extremely gratifying.
But Braden is always very careful. He makes sure I give him a verbal consent, and he always asks if I’m comfortable when he binds me.
Of course, whatever happened between him and Addison occurred ten years ago.
Perhaps he wasn’t as careful then.
“Whatever happened between them,” I say, “Braden didn’t harm her.”
“Well,” Betsy says, “you know him better than I do.”
I nod. She’s right. I do.
The only problem is… I didn’t know him ten years ago. But I promised to trust him.
Tessa arrives, the drinks Betsy and I ordered for the three of us follow, and I take a minute to check my phone. It’s barely hanging onto a charge. Uh-oh. I should have plugged it in before I left. Not a great move for someone who hopes to make a living using social media. There’s no indication that Braden saw my text from earlier, and then, as if in response, the phone goes dark and dies.
I half expect Braden to show up at the restaurant to commandeer this dinner as he has others.
He doesn’t, though.
And that starts to bug me.
Will he punish me later? I have no idea, because I have no idea where he is or whether he plans to see me this evening. Since I haven’t heard from him, I make a quick decision.
“I want to join you tonight.”
Tessa swallows a drink of margarita. “At the club?”
“Sure. Why not?”
She laughs. “Because you hate clubbing, Skye.”
“I do, but you’ve been trying for years to get me to go out more often. Why not tonight?”
Tessa smiles. “Why indeed not? We’ll have a blast. Although…”
“What?”
“Betsy and I are meeting Garrett and his friend Peter.”
“That’s okay. I won’t horn in.”
No truer words. I have no desire to be with any man except Braden.
Though I look down at my wardrobe. Skinny jeans, a silk blouse, and wedge sandals. Not really club fare. Tessa is wearing one of her little red numbers, and Betsy is wearing a denim miniskirt and a sequined blouse. A far cry from her normal boho look. Tessa must’ve taken her shopping.
“Never mind. I’m not really dressed for clubbing.”
“Are you kidding? You look fab,” Tessa says. “Besides, you’re not looking to hook up. Just come along for the ride.”
“Okay.”
Why not? Braden doesn’t control me, as much as he likes to think he does. Four hours have passed since I sent the text, and my phone’s dead. Time to take a stand.
Besides, if I post on Instagram where I am, Braden may show up and take over the evening again, like he did at the MADD Gala.
Apprehension inches up my spine. Do I truly want to do this? I can easily borrow a charger to get me through the next few hours. My phone is my lifeline as a budding influencer. Also my line to Braden.
Take a stand, Skye.
No, Skye, don’t. You know you want him to control you.
What the fuck? Ambivalence coils inside me, but I know what I need to do.
I shove the dead phone to the bottom of my purse just as our food arrives. “Ladies,” I say, “I’m all yours tonight.”
Chapter Sixteen
Once inside the glitz, I’m reminded why I hate clubbing. The noise. The crowds. The sloshing drinks. In addition, I’m constantly aware of my dead phone in the bottom of my purse. I haven’t stopped thinking about it for a minute.
Damn. I know exactly what that means. Braden is controlling me.
Though Betsy and Tessa each had two margaritas with dinner, I only had one bourbon, knowing my presence at the club would require me to drink just to ease into it. Problem? I can’t get near the bar.
Yeah, I really hate clubbing.
I follow Tessa and Betsy through the crowd to a table in the corner, away from the dance floor. How Garrett and Peter got a table, I’ll never know. It’s a table for four, and guess who’s the odd person out?
Was this really my brilliant idea? I glance around. I’m underdressed, and although that doesn’t bother me, it does make me stand out.
Tessa slides onto Garrett’s lap, laughing and gesturing to the empty seat. “See? There’s plenty of room for you, Skye.”
I reluctantly sit. The good thing about having a table is a server comes to take drink orders. Good. No more trying to elbow my way to the bar. I order a Wild Turkey, neat. Tessa and Betsy both order another margarita, and Garrett and Peter drink Guinness, same as they were drinking that night at the MADD Gala. And why I remember that, I have no idea.
My dead phone at the bottom of my purse seems to vibrate with a homing beacon.
I could leave. Go home and plug in the phone. Or simply ask if anyone at the table has a portable charger on them. Tessa might.
Damn it!
I will not give up control of my daily life. Not to anyone, not even Braden Black.
Betsy and Peter are chatting, despite the fact that it’s too loud t
o hear anything, and Tessa is nuzzling with Garrett, still on top of him.
Just as well. I hate conversing in a loud atmosphere anyway.
Our drinks arrive, and I take a long, slow sip, letting the bourbon coat my throat with its spicy burn.
Something nuzzles my ear. “You seem kind of lonely over here.”
I look up. A handsome man with sandy-blond hair crouches next to me.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you are, sweetheart, but it doesn’t take a detective to see you’re a third wheel.” He chuckles. “Make that a fifth wheel.”
“What do you know? Maybe I’m contemplating a threesome.”
“If that’s the case, sweetheart, I really would like to get to know you better. You want to dance?”
“That’s kind of you, but no thanks.”
“If threesomes are your jam, I know someone who’d be into it.”
I can’t help a roaring laugh. “I was kidding.”
“Damn. Too bad. Though I wouldn’t mind a twosome, either.”
“Sorry. I’m involved with someone.”
“Okay, I get it. You can still dance, can’t you?”
I steal a quick glance at the two couples, one of them making out and the other having gotten closer within the last few minutes. “Thank you, but no.”
The music grinds to a halt, and then a lively Latin number begins. Tessa pops her head up from her snogging session with Garrett. “Oh my God! I love this song. We’ve got to dance.” She rises and pulls Garrett with her. “Come on, all of you!”
“See?” the guy says. “Let’s go.”
“I’m not sure—”
Before I can resist, though, Tessa and the others are dragging me to the dance floor. The blond man has somehow joined in our group dance.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Skye,” I nearly scream, to be heard above the noise. “What’s yours?”
“Marty.”
The music is fast, and within a few minutes of trying to follow Tessa’s moves, I’m sweltering in my jeans. This is why women don’t wear jeans to clubs. Men do, though. Don’t men sweat more than women? Marty seems comfortable enough, and he’s actually a really good dancer. Much better than I am. I try to take my mind off how hot I am and enjoy myself.
When the number ends and a slow song starts, I say, “Thanks. I think I’ll sit this one out.”
Marty pulls me into his body. “One more, okay? We both need to cool down a little bit.”
Sweat coats my neck, and I really wish I had put my hair up. “Thanks, but no.”
Marty doesn’t appear to hear me, though. He starts moving slowly to the music. I pull away. “Sorry, I’m done for the night. It was great meeting you.”
“Can I buy you a drink?” Marty asks.
“Thanks, but no. I’m pretty tired, and I think I’m just going to get out of here.”
“You read my mind. I have my car. I’m happy to give you a ride home.”
“Marty, I told you I’m seeing someone.”
“I’m offering you a ride home. I’m not offering to take you to bed. Just trying to be nice here.”
When we get back to the table, I turn to him. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll just get an Uber.”
He gives me a mock bow. “At your service.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m an Uber driver. You’ll see the sticker on my car.”
“You can’t possibly be on the clock right now. Haven’t you been drinking?”
“Nope.”
“But you offered to buy me a drink.”
“Doesn’t mean I was going to get one for myself. All it takes is a click on the phone. If you don’t believe me, check me out on the app. I’m BostonMarty352. Four-point-nine rating.”
My phone. Getting an Uber will require a phone that isn’t dead. Oh, I’m tempted. I’m dying to see if Braden has texted me, and it certainly won’t hurt to find out if BostonMarty is on the up-and-up.
Marty pulls out his phone and smiles. “Just clicked on. I think I might be in your area.”
Tessa and Garrett are still on the dance floor, and Betsy and Peter are nuzzling each other. That didn’t take long.
Yeah, I really want to get out of here. An evening at home bingeing Netflix sounds great right about now. I’m a pretty good judge of character, and Marty seems okay. Plus, he’s an Uber driver. Why he wants to leave the club right now, I have no idea. But going with him means I don’t have to wait around for someone to pick me up.
I tap Betsy on her shoulder. She looks up and meets my gaze.
“May I borrow your phone to call an Uber?”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah, but my phone died at dinner. Marty here says he’s an Uber driver, but I want to make sure he’s on the up-and-up.”
Betsy pulls her phone out of her handbag. “Sure. Here you go.”
I hastily pull up the Uber app, log out of Betsy’s account and into mine. Sure enough, there’s Marty. I type in my request for a ride, while Marty watches his phone.
“Got it,” he says, showing me his phone.
Sure enough. BostonMarty352 in a black Honda Civic is only a minute away.
”Perfect,” I say. “I’m ready for my Uber. I’ll even add a generous tip, since I didn’t have to wait.”
“Good enough.” He smiles, and we leave the club. He’s parked about a block away in a city parking lot. Sure enough, the Uber sticker is on the back window of his car, a black Honda Civic. It’s clean as a whistle inside, which also lends credence to his Uber story. So many guys’ cars are pigsties inside.
He opens the door for me, and I climb into the passenger seat. Normally I sit in the back seat, but Marty seems cool.
He sets his phone on the little holder, and we get moving.
“Looks like I’ll have you home in about twenty,” he says, “unless you want to go somewhere else. Like…my place, maybe?”
Uh-oh. Time to plan my escape. Problem is, we’re already moving. “I want you to take me home,” I say adamantly.
“Okay, okay. Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Why don’t you just pull over, and I’ll order another Uber.”
“Don’t be like that,” he says. “I said I’d take you home, and I’ll take you home. I’m just teasing.”
Marty is driving the route to my apartment. Unless, of course, he lives near me, and that’s where we end up.
“Home, James,” I say. “Or rather, home, Marty.”
“You got it.”
I spy a charging cord hanging between our two seats. I pick it up. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Go for it.”
I pull my phone out of the bottom of my purse and hook it to Marty’s charger.
Chapter Seventeen
My mouth drops into an O.
No text from Braden.
Not. A. One.
Marty’s phone buzzes through his GPS app. “Sorry, I have to take this. Hey,” he says into his Bluetooth.
I’m seething with rage. Not that I expect Braden to spend every Friday night with me, but he should’ve texted me back. Why the hell didn’t he? If he’s that into control, he should be texting me all the time.
Ten minutes later, Marty pulls up in front of my apartment building.
“Hold on a minute, Dave.” Marty turns to me. “You want me to park and walk you up?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks so much for the ride.”
“No problem. Now you know I’m cool. I’m in this area a lot, so look for me next time you need an Uber.”
“Will do. Thanks again.” I do my best to sound cheery as I disconnect my phone and get out of the car.
But I’m not cheery.
I’m livid.
I seethe as I walk inside my building. I seethe as I call for the elevator. I seethe as I ride up to my floor, and I seethe as I stand in front of my door, searching for my key in my purse. It’s buried, probably because it got tossed to the bottom when I had to dig out my damn phone. I sigh and lean against the doorway—
“Shit!” I scream out as the door opens against my weight and I tumble into my apartment, landing on my ass.
I left my door unlocked? No freaking way. I’ve never left my door unlocked in my life. But I must have, and apparently I also forgot to turn out the lights.
I stand, brush off my jeans, and—
“Hello, Skye.”
I nearly lose my footing again. Braden sits on my love seat, his legs crossed.
“How did you get in here?” I demand.
“Your lock is a piece of shit,” he says. “An amateur thief could get in here.”
“Does that mean you’re an amateur thief?”
“I’ve never stolen anything in my life. It means I grew up in South Boston and I know how to get inside a shitty lock.”
“You’re something,” I say. “Why are you here?”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
“I honestly have no idea, Braden. I texted you and told you I was having dinner with Tessa and asked if I’d see you later.”
“And I responded.”
I grab my barely charged phone out of my purse and pull up the text string. “Uh…no, you didn’t.”
“I didn’t respond by text,” he says. “I sent you an email telling you I’d meet you at your place at nine.”
I swallow. No, I didn’t check my email. My phone is set to notify me when I get a text or Instagram message, but not when I get an email. It blows up as it is. Besides, the thing was dead anyway.
It’s nearly midnight. Has he been sitting here in my apartment since nine?
I bite my lip. Damn it, Skye. No. You do not need to feel bad about this.
“Why would you reply to a text via email?”
“Because your text came in on my computer, and I had my email open, so I replied that way.”
I’m sorry. I truly want to say the words, but I can’t.
