High Strung (Power Station Book 1)

by Gephart, T

  It’s funny how I now measured time. It wasn’t December tenth. It was three weeks post Dan. It was cold, brutal and unrelenting. The gray sky fought for slivers of sunshine, not usually successfully. And it had already started to snow.

  Dan had stopped calling and I didn’t know what was worse. Knowing he’d finally given up, or realizing I wish he hadn’t. Not that it was his fault. He stuck it out a lot longer than I thought he would. I just had been too scared to give it another chance. The gamble. Not knowing if he had loved me as deeply as I had loved him, or if it had been an illusion.

  I had stopped crying, too. Well mostly. There was still a night here or there when I’d slip from the wagon, but overall I was doing better. Work kept me busy which helped, hard to be sad when you’re neck deep in property analysis. I was still cautious online, avoiding any website that could potentially spill gossip, and I ran past newsstands like they contained a life threatening disease. I was okay, but I just couldn’t see it yet. Dan with other women. Even though I knew I had no right to think it, I just couldn’t stand the thought of him with someone else. He would have moved on by now. Found someone else, perhaps more than one. Maybe one for every day of the week? I don’t know why I tortured myself.

  If it weren’t so tragic, it would be funny. That I had been the one to end it, and yet here I was, obsessed over whether I’d been replaced. I really needed a hobby. I’d heard knitting had suddenly become cool; maybe I’d knit myself a scarf. Or I could cut out the lead-time and just become a crazy cat woman now. Except that I hated cats and wool made me itchy.

  “Ash, we’re heading out for lunch. You want to join us?” Celeste from marketing knocked at my door. I’d tried to make friends around the office, thought it would help. But it didn’t. It just added new names to the list of people I had to fake it for. So much for intelligence. I was clearly a dumbass.

  “Thanks, but I think I’m going to work through. I have a vicious deadline,” I lied, not wanting lunch or the company.

  “Maybe some other time.”

  “Yeah, another time.” Like when I stopped being a downer. I forced a smile back.

  She was kind enough to leave without pushing it further. It wasn’t the first decline she had received from me. Honestly, I’m surprised she kept asking. Maybe she was going for sainthood. Or, I just looked really pathetic.

  I turned my head back to my monitor, the sound of her heels heading down the hall marking the end of the conversation. What was I doing again? That’s right, reworking this email for the hundredth time, and hopefully making it seem like someone who was college educated wrote it.

  “Hey.” Rob rapped his knuckled against the doorframe. Not sure if it was a knock or a call to attention, but it got me to stop shooting daggers at the computer screen for the minute.

  “Thought you might be hungry.” He held up the plastic bag of non-descript containers. “Got some lunch. You want to share?”

  My stomach growled on cue, shooting down the anticipated I’m-not-hungry my mouth was working on. Both of them, my stomach and my mouth, were assholes.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Rob grinned, strolling into my office. The bag of takeaway waved like a victory flag. “I hope you like Chinese. There’s enough here to feed an army.”

  “Thanks,” I conceded. Busy or not, I had to eat. My body was only going to tolerate the lack of fuel for so long before it turned on me. My stomach’s vocal protest proof it had already started the revolt. “Chinese is great,” my asshole mouth offered. It sounded like a shitty tagline. Something a second rate advertising manager would come up with. Thank god I was in the numbers business instead of words.

  Rob pulled up a chair, seating himself opposite my desk and started unpacking the takeaway bag. “Sooo.” It began. The small talk. I should have known the Chinese would come with a side of conversation. Hadn’t we already established that words were not my friends?

  “I’m not trying to pry,” Rob held up his hands in mock surrender, “but it’s hard not to notice how sad you’ve been.” While he was still oozing sympathy, his hands moved to a more important task, like spooning out the General Tso chicken.

  “I’m okay.” I shrugged. It wasn’t complete bullshit. I was definitely better, and at least I hadn’t said I’m good, which would have been a total lie.

  “I liked it better when you weren’t just okay.” He handed me some chopsticks, the look on his face telling me he wasn’t buying it - that I wasn’t anything other than miserable.

  “Dan and I broke up.” I might as well tell him. He probably already knew. The absence of Dan and his fancy car would have been the first tip off. Followed closely by recent overtime and my reluctance to go home.

  “I figured as much. I’m sorry.” He looked genuinely sorry for me, which I couldn’t decide if that made him a nice guy or me pathetic.

  “It was for the best.” Sure, it’s been a while since we’ve tried this explanation on. Let’s walk around in it and see how it fits this time around. “We were just too different.” Nope, it still didn’t feel right, even though it was the truth.

  “Ash, if there is anything I can do… ,” Rob paused like he was shifting through what he was about to say, “I know it can’t be easy to lose someone you care about.”

  No it wasn’t. It was the opposite of easy, and I didn’t just care about him, I loved him. Which made it even harder. Which got me wondering if Rob was talking from experience, or just commiserating.

  I knew he dated, I’d seen the odd female friend stop by the office, although never the same one twice, and I had ruled out him being gay. He didn’t seem like a player, but he’d never spoken about a significant other, and from what I could see he didn’t have any major flaws. He was polite, well spoken, and good-looking. A winning combo. And assuming he was earning at very least what I was, although probably more, he ticked the box for steady job and good income. Rob being single didn’t make sense. Unless he was rocking some deep, dark secret? Or he had a tiny penis.

  “What about you?” I heard myself say it before my brain had a chance to back out. “No girlfriend?” I stuffed a spoonful of fried rice in my mouth before I could do anymore damage. I guess it was only fair, he knew about my love life.

  “Not recently. In the past, sure. Some I even thought maybe could be the one. But none of them really filled the criteria, and as conceited as it may sound. I just didn’t want to settle.”

  “I used to have criteria, too.” I had to smile as I remembered my old list of requirements. “Before Dan. He blew it all out of the water though.”

  “Do you think maybe that’s why it didn’t work out? That even if your heart wanted something your head knew better?”

  “Is that the way it was for you?” I stopped eating, suddenly interested in his response.

  “Yeah. I know this sounds a little messed up but, what the hell, right?” His easy laugh was a nice sound and I realized that I was having a conversation, and wasn’t thinking about running away. Or crying. Or wanting to cause someone or myself physical harm. He took a deep breath. “I have it all planned out.”

  ****

  There were no sparks between us, Rob and me, but we were so similar it was impossible to ignore we would make an amazing team. After our lunchtime confessional, he’d asked if I’d consider going out with him. I wanted to say no, that there was no way, but I agreed anyway. Better to move on and move forward right? I had no reason not to, unless you counted that I was still in love with someone else. There was a perfect guy, with the perfect criteria right in front of me, and we were both single. I should at the very least give it a chance. See if maybe something can grow. Make me happy. Six months ago I wouldn’t have even had this debate. I would have been giving thanks to the relationship gods and high-fiving my good fortune. Sadly, it wasn’t six months ago.

  Megs was trying to be supportive, but her lack of encouragement told me otherwise. She hadn’t spoken about Dan or suggested I call him, but I think deep down she tho
ught we’d get back together. We weren’t though, so sitting around and avoiding men didn’t make sense. Even if things didn’t work out with Rob, at least it would get me back in the game.

  “So where’s he taking you?” Megs sat on the edge of my tub and watched me get ready.

  “A play. Off Broadway.” I applied a layer of mascara. I was supposed to be excited. Why wasn’t I excited?

  “Wow. Could he be any more pretentious? Off Broadway? Why doesn’t he just take you to a jazz club and call it a day.” She yawned. She wasn’t tired, and I knew sarcasm when I saw it.

  “Megs, give him a chance. He’s a nice guy.” I moved the mascara wand to the other eye. I wonder if he’s going to try and kiss me. I really hope he doesn’t.

  “Nice and boring. Come on, Ash. You don’t even like productions.” Megs’s support had come to an impasse.

  I wasn’t sure if she was anti-Rob, or if she’d have reservations about anyone I would be dating. Strangely, I would have assumed she would have welcomed this. A return to my old self now my course had been corrected.

  “Well if I recall, it was you who said I should try new things. This is new. Besides, it’s what grown-ups do. He’s exactly the kind of guy I should be with.”

  “Ash, he’s the perfect guy, except that he is all wrong for you.” Megs took my face in her hands. Forcing me to stop applying another layer of mascara. Probably just as well. I didn’t want to look like a hooker.

  “He won’t make me cry.” This was the only reason I could offer.

  “Ash,” she wrapped her arms around me, “I love you.” She hugged me closer and I tried not to get emotional because a, we had talked about me not crying and, b, I had just applied mascara.

  “I’m going to go to this boring-ass play, and I’m going to learn to like it. There are worse things in life.”

  I think we both knew I was no longer talking about the play. I was happily resigned. Accepting that while I had gone slightly off the rails, I was done with that chapter. The one where I made out with guys I barely knew in nightclubs, and let them hold me all night, the one where I got into relationships I didn’t understand and had crazy unrestrained sex, and the one where I fell in love with a larger-than-life rock star, who turned my world upside down. Yes, done with that.

  “Dan.”

  Troy yelled over the noise, as I passed the waitress another fifty. She’d been a sweetheart and kept our glasses full. Not that I’d been doing much drinking tonight. I was still nursing the same Jack and Coke I had palmed an hour ago.

  “What’s up?” I handed him a fresh beer as he closed the gap between us.

  “How long we going to keep doing this?” He took a swig of his long neck.

  “What you mean? This is what we do.” I was wondering if the music wasn’t fucking with his head. The DJ was spinning this bullshit techno shit, and it was making me seriously angry. I could understand the big guy wanting to bail.

  “Dan, you want to feed yourself those bullshit lines ’cause it makes you feel better, go right ahead, but this is not what we do. We haven’t done this shit in a long time.” Oh, we were back to that again.

  The asshole was trying to get his Dr. Phil on, and start dissecting the whys or the whats. What he didn’t understand is right now, I had a huge case of the I-don’t-cares, and just wanted to feel good. I wanted to feel something, even though I knew it wouldn’t be a hundredth of what I had with Ashlyn.

  “Fuck, Troy. Stop being a whiny bitch already. You want to go home, go home. No one is keeping you here, but I’m staying and getting laid.”

  Or so was the plan, not sure my balls had got the memo though. It seemed I’d had the ghost of limp-dick past wave its wand over my crotch and no amount of tits or ass was getting me hard. Even jerking off had become a chore. I wasn’t entirely sure I wasn’t permanently fucked up. I should’ve probably been more worried about it, and yet, I couldn’t find the motivation to give two fucks. Pun entirely intended.

  “Like last night? Or the night before? Or what about the night before that? Those times all good for you? Funny, ’cause my recollection is you ending up going home alone.” Fucking Troy pointing out the obvious.

  Maybe we had been beating this dead horse, a little too much. We’d been out every night since Tuesday. Different clubs, different parts of town. The end result always the same.

  “I’m just biding my time. Just waiting for the right girl.” More like trying to forget her.

  “Well then, you are in the wrong place, ’cause the right girl is in a piece-of-shit apartment in Brooklyn, not trying to score in some shady club.” Troy had to go there and state the fucking obvious. Again. It wasn’t enough how much it killed me to try and forget her, like that was even a possibility, but he had to fucking bring her up too. Throw a bit more salt in the fucking wound. ’Cause I got to tell you, it hurt plenty without the reminder.

  “You really going to come at me with that? What the fuck, dude? She doesn’t want me. It’s finished. Done. Don’t be playing like I didn’t fucking try.”

  If she had even given me the slightest hint of a chance, I would have toughed it out. But all I seemed to do was make her cry, and she made it clear she wanted nothing to do with me. Short of embracing my new stalker status, and getting cozy with an orange jump suit, I had no choice but to let it go.

  “Dan, seriously, what are we doing here? We both know if you wanted to fuck someone, you would have done it already. This shit was never my scene, so you can’t be telling me this is for my benefit.”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I have to do something. Something that will hopefully get me back to where I don’t feel like beating the living shit out of everything, and everyone. This is what I know. This is what I should be doing.”

  I couldn’t think of anything else to do. At least nothing that made sense.

  “So do it. If you think that going back to what you were doing before is going to make shit all fine and dandy, then why are you sitting around with me, drinking watered down bourbon and Coke, instead of getting your dick sucked. You like redheads right, there’s one right over there.” Troy pointed to a chick that’d been trying to catch our attention all night. She’d been pushing up her tits and playing with her hair for hours. Her efforts wasted. I almost felt sorry for her.

  “Watch it, Troy. I’m giving you a pass right now on account you’ve gone above and beyond for me in the last couple of weeks, but don’t think that if you keep running your mouth, that you and me ain’t going to have problems.” I stood up and got in his face. The fucking reality of the situation at breaking point.

  Troy didn’t back down, instead meeting me toe to toe.

  “You wanna take a swing at me, brother, be my fucking guest. At least it’s a fucking reaction. Something. You’ve been on the cruise control for too long. I’ll take you mad any day of the week, rather than indifferent.”

  “Troy, I know what you are doing, and you know I love you for it. But I’m fine.”

  “Fine you say?” He eyeballed me hard. “You still have her number?”

  “Nope. Deleted it.” I tipped my chin toward him. I had deleted it, a safeguard to stop me from trying to call her. Only issue was, I’d dialed the number so many times the digits were permanently burned into my brain.

  “How many times you drive by her place?” He tilted his head, testing me.

  “I don’t, she could have moved, and I wouldn’t know.” Well if she’d moved anytime after Monday, then I’d have been oblivious. Just another reason for our repetitive, late night excursions, it stopped me from getting my car, and cruising by her neighborhood.

  I know all this shit was making me sound like a contender for creeper of the year, but I was worried that she was going to throw in the towel at JenCorp, and go back to the bar. While I couldn’t give a rat’s ass where she worked as long as she was happy, the thought of her coming home late at night, by herself, was enough of an incentive for me to get familiar with her nocturnal activi
ties. Thank fucking Christ, she liked her job more than she hated me. I figured if she hadn’t left by now, she probably wasn’t going to, so I relaxed the after-dark tail.

  “So you don’t know anything?” Troy gave me a cocky look, like he knew something that maybe I should.

  “What should I fucking know, Troy?” I looked him dead in the eye, this wasn’t playtime, and if she is in any kind of danger or trouble, I didn’t give a fuck what promises I’d made about staying clear of her. All bets were off.

  “Just thought it was interesting that she’d recently start seeing someone, and you hadn’t mentioned it.”

  It’s like someone pulled the fucking pin on a grenade. Even though I hadn’t been drunk, I was immediately sober, my reflexes razor sharp. I couldn’t even hear the music anymore, the backdrop of the club completely off my grid.

  “How recently?”

  “Two days ago. I have it on a good authority that your girl is fucking miserable. And about to make a mistake with an asshole, ’cause for some messed-up reason, she doesn’t think she has a choice.”

  Seemed like pretty specific intel for a dude who played drums for a fucking rock band. So, unless Troy had been moonlighting as the new Gossip Girl of the Upper East Side, he had been swapping late night whispers with one Megan Winters.

  “You’ve been talking to Megs?” The fucking smile on his face was enough of a yes. “Please tell me it’s not that motherfucker she works with.”

  “Bingo. Give the boy a prize.”

  “Troy, don’t fuck with me. What did Megs say, and do not paraphrase for my benefit. I want you to be real clear about it.”

  My heartbeat had jazzed up to double what it had been clocking before. The thought of Ash unhappy made the blood ring in my ears.

  “She’s given up, Dan. Lost the fight in her. Decided she’ll settle for mediocre, and that douchebag she’s dating, she doesn’t even like him let alone love him.”