by D. K. Combs
Last night had been the first time in a while that she’d left her hair down. Even for her nights out, she had it pulled back for the most part. She never kept it down, had been told all her life that she looked too much like her, but last night...she had listened to Madeline.
And that small liberation of herself had felt amazing. She had kept her hair down and gone into public. She had let a piece of her show that she had only ever kept to herself.
She took her phone out of her pocket and set it on the dresser, then began her routine.
Like every day after work, she reached up, taking the band and the bobby pins out, and let the red waves fall around her face. The weight settled evenly across her head, the waves reaching down to just past her shoulders. That weight, that sight, was an oddity that she only allowed herself to experience once a day.
As she stared into the mirror, she saw exactly what she had been told to hide, what she had learned to hide.
Her.
Bright green eyes, flaming red hair. Thick lips and high cheekbones… Exactly like her.
Bristol shook her head, turning away from the mirror. Every day, at the same time, she saw the reflection of another woman in the mirror, and the part of her that wanted to run away from everything, just as she had, came back to the forefront.
She set the pins down, hesitantly touching an errant curl, a frown marring her face. Her hair was beautiful, but what it represented...was not. She would be better off getting it cut, but she couldn’t make herself do it. For whatever reason, she loved to torment herself, day after day.
Except for last night.
Last night had been different. It was as if some part of her had known something out of the ordinary was going to happen—and it had. She’d been catfished and touched by a stranger, all in the same night.
She could only imagine what would happen if she went out again with her hair down around her shoulders. Maybe the world would end, or Jesus would return for the Second Coming. All she knew was that, with her luck, something bad was bound to happen.
Her fingers combed through her hair, and then she pushed away from the dresser.
She should get into the shower, should clean herself. She had to wash away all of the work cooties. It was part of her routine. Come home, undress, shower, eat, then go to bed, then repeat it all the next day. That’s just what she did.
Heck, once a month, she spent the day at the hospital, and still came home to do that same exact routine.
But not tonight.
No, tonight, she found herself sitting on the edge of her bed, fingers splayed out on the silken burgundy comforter. She found herself staring around her, her chest...empty. Just like her home. Empty and lonely.
There was no reason to be sad over it, she told herself. Her home was gorgeous. The walls were a deep brown color, the panels pulled away from the wall just enough to have ambient lighting glowing softly behind them. The light bounced off of pale brown walls. Her furniture was brand new. Ebony wood, with a contemporary, squared off shape. All of the furniture—dressers, nightstands, end tables, and her headboard—matched.
The king-size bed was too big for just her, but she’d never had another person lay in it. She had no boyfriend to bring home, no casual fling that she could show off her place to, no friends to have over for wine.
Her home was an elegant, dimly lit wasteland of loneliness.
But then, she had done that to herself. That’s what she preferred. She could come home to an organized home—no one else making dirty dishes for her to clean up, no one else to worry about feeding when she bought enough food for just herself. There was no one she had to worry about seeing the side of her life she kept private and hidden, and no one to worry about leaving.
It was just her. She was the only person she had to worry about. Work was her life, and it would stay that way.
It had to.
Letting herself get attached to someone, letting herself care about someone? Out of the question. The last thing she needed was to have feelings for someone, and for them to leave. It had destroyed her past, and it would destroy her future.
Bristol took her hands off of the comforter and stood. This night wasn’t any different than the others. She couldn’t let it be. To do that would break her schedule, break her pattern. It would break her carefully crafted barrier she’d built, not just for herself but for the people around her.
Her pants slid to the floor, and she was just starting to reach behind her for the bra clasp when her phone started to buzz on the dresser.
She reached for it without thinking, not bothering to check the screen.
“Thompson speaking,” she said, forcing herself to sound professional, when that was the last thing she wanted to do. All she wanted was a shower and to relax, to wash away the “work” vibe, but, of course, that wouldn’t happen. Roderick Rhodes always followed her home.
“Jules.”
She froze.
“Jules, please answer me…”
She should have hung up, set her phone down, and gone about her night. It had been months since she’d heard that voice, and it brought back memories almost too painful to bare, memories that spread to her shoulder, the phantom pain coming back with a vengeance. Every time she heard the voice, the pain and insecurities came back, and tonight was no different.
“God dammit, Jules.” The voice turned harsh, furious. It had always been like that. Desperate and pleading one second, and then angry and violent the next. Always. Like snapping her fingers, like clockwork.
She swallowed thickly, realizing she was no longer frozen in place. How could she be? Her hands were shaking too much, so forcefully that if she hadn’t gripped the phone tighter, it would have fallen to the vinyl flooring.
“Why? Why did you leave? Why did you have to go—?”
She hung up before she could listen to the rest and quickly set the phone down, rolling her shoulder, trying to get the ghostly pain to leave.
It was a voice. Nothing but a voice. There was no one here, no one to degrade her, yell at her. No one to put their displaced aggression on her, no one to attack her from behind. She had fixed the problem by hanging up. That was it. Simple. Easy. Done.
The voice was gone. That harsh, furious tone, the one that had had her shaking every time she walked into the house, every time she walked by him...was gone.
She wouldn’t slip up again.
She wouldn’t fuel that fire, wouldn’t let that happen again.
With a shaky breath, she gave the phone another look—and all she heard was the voice. Even though it was gone, even though it wasn’t coming back unless she let it, she still heard it. In the back of her mind, it prowled there, spitting memories she had forced into the abyss.
She had to get out. As she quickly finished undressing, her actions taking on a new purpose, she knew one thing. She had to go somewhere, somewhere where she could forget about the call, forget about the memories.
She needed to forget...if only for a night.
Minutes after turning on the shower, steam clouded the large room. Water washed over her, only managing to take some of the shakiness with it into the drain.
The only two places that had ever truly helped her, that had ever made her forget, was her bar. Going to the hospital tonight wasn’t an option—her memories were too fresh, and going there would only open her up for more pain.
She hadn’t planned on going out tonight. The encounter with Noah was still too fresh, too stinging of a wound, for her to get over. But the voice…
She shook her head, angling her head to the water.
The voice and the memories it brought needed to go, and the only way that would happen was if she found release.
Chapter Eight
“Bristol,” the bartender greeted. She gave him the best smile she could, even though every part of her just wanted to sit down, have a drink, and find a man to get with. The need, that dark, burning need was inside of her, rearing its head like an ugly beast.
It was different than last night, more desperate. More demanding.
And it was all the voice’s fault, she thought, heart pounding. It was the anxiety, the feeling of helplessness. It ate at her like acid ate at flesh, burning away most of her sense of reasoning.
Most of.
Not all, but most of.
She would be fine, if only her needs were taken care of—and she had every confidence that they would be. She’d worn a low-cut, black cocktail dress, matching heels, and her make-up was flawless. Tonight, she’d decided to say screw it to her limitations and had left her hair down. Curled. Free and perfect.
“Hi, Jerry. How is your night going?” Jerry was a larger man, with an easy smile and a boisterous voice. After all the years she had been coming here, they weren’t as close as one would assume, but it was still easy to talk to him.
“It’s going pretty good,” he said, polishing a glass. He set it on the counter, giving her a knowing look. “What will it be tonight?”
“Martini. You know how I like it,” she said, smiling. It only took him a second to slide it across the polished bar table. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Are you here with a purpose tonight?” His way of asking if she was going to go pick up a guy.
She nodded, lifting the glass to her lips.
“I’ll keep an eye on your drink for you,” he said, like he always did. Jerry was a good guy—he looked out for all the women who came in there, including her. “If you think anything is going on, just let me know. I’ll take care of it; you know I will.”
“Thank you, Jerry,” she murmured, taking a sip of her martini. At the first touch of her lips against the clear liquid, she closed her eyes. Yes, she thought with relief. This was what she’d needed. Not wine, not beer. Just this amazing, clear liquid that could help her relax and forget.
The music in the bar was a little louder than normal tonight, but she didn’t have an issue with it. The Stir was the only bar near her house that didn’t involve her driving back toward the office, so even though this wasn’t the scene she preferred, it worked.
She got her business taken care of, and wasn’t too far from home, and that’s all she could really ask for.
As she scoped out the people, her eyes landed on several men who would work. She loved a clean looking man, a professional who worked in the same field as hers. Their needs were the same—one-night stand. Quick, painless. No strings attached. When she found men in her same field, she knew they would understand exactly what she was looking for, and knew they would be professional about it—up to a point.
There was only so much professionalism in sex.
As she nursed her martini, people milled in and out of the bar. She watched them, trying to pick out a potential man for the night. After waiting for about fifteen minutes, she almost gave up—and remembered why she normally waited until a weekend.
Businessmen had work during the week, so most times, they didn’t come out of their shells until weekends.
Today was a Thursday.
Still, she had hope—and when the door dinged, she looked over—
“Oh my God,” she whispered, horror washing over her as a group of people came in—familiar people. Two men and two women kind of people. Two I-never-wanted-to-see-these-men-again kind of people.
“What’s wrong?” Jerry asked, following her gaze. “Do you need me to kick someone out? Do you have a stalker?”
She shook her head slowly, eyes trained on the group.
Noah. Chase. Two girls. At her bar—no, at the bar that she was just now remembering they would be at. She wanted to smack herself. What had she been thinking?
Oh, right.
She hadn’t been.
She had been in a complete stupor all night it seemed, because this was her second slip-up, and this one was almost worse than answering the call. At least with a phone, it was easy to hang up on someone. Out here...in the real world…she would be lucky if she made it out of the bar without them noticing.
She quickly turned around, hunching down.
If they saw her, they would most likely assume she’d come for them when she hadn’t. And if she didn’t approach them like they expected, they would think she’s a creeper, scoping them out—or better yet, stalking them.
The thought was mortifying.
“Are you all right? Do you know them?” Jerry asked, frowning past her shoulder.
“Don’t look at them,” she hissed, waving her hand in a down motion. The last thing she needed was for them to notice that two pairs of eyes were staring right at them.
Eyes wide, Jerry knelt down. “So you do know them.”
“Barely. They invited me out tonight, and I completely forgot.”
“Okay, then go over there and say hi—”
“No, no.” She shook her head. Not in a million years would she go over there! “I declined. I didn’t want anything to do with them—they only invited me to get a rise out of me or something—I don’t know, okay? I just know that I don’t want them to see me!”
Jerry peeked his head above the counter, then gave her a sour look. “I’m sorry to say this, but it looks like they’ve already seen you.”
“Oh, no,” she moaned, hanging her head. “Which one? The blonde or brunette one?”
“The dark haired one—oh, girl. He’s handsome. Why aren’t you taking him home with you? He’s staring right at you—go say hi! Go!” He tried to wave her away, but she only covered her face with her hands. This was her worst. Night. Ever.
“No,” she hissed. “That’s the last thing I want to do. He—I—It’s too hard to explain. I just can’t—and won’t—” Despite herself, she had turned to look over her shoulder, just to see if what Jerry had said was true.
It was.
Staring right at her, dark eyes almost burned a hole through her. The heat of it seared her, left her almost breathless. Why was she reacting to an asshole? After all of her lamenting, she shouldn’t be able to stand the sight of him.
And yet, when she saw him, all of the emotions from the theater hit her.
The desperate need.
The intoxicating desire.
The irresistible attraction.
It all came back to her like a hurricane. A hurricane that destroyed her sense of thought, that destroyed her barriers. Despite everything that was wrong with the way she felt for him, she couldn’t help herself.
And she hated that.
Bristol whirled around, focusing on her glass. Dear God, why was her life choosing this night to spiral out of control?
This was almost as bad as seeing him earlier today—no, scratch that. This was worse. A thousand times worse. Because this time, it looked like she was stalking him. Even if going over there to say hi would fix that, she didn’t want to. Couldn’t. That wasn’t who she was.
Oh, and the really neat thing about all of this? He had a date. A gorgeous, blonde, long-legged, blue-eyed date who looked like she was more than ready for what happened when the sun went down. It wasn’t that she was jealous—no, Bristol wasn’t a jealous person, and never would be just for the simple fact that she already had it all.
The beautiful, luxurious house. The flashy car. The perfect wardrobe. She had everything she needed to be happy in life, so what was there to be jealous about?
Nothing. There was absolutely nothing to be jealous about...but that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel something similar to that.
“Don’t fool yourself. You have nothing, because you are nothing.”
That voice was real close to getting smacked, she thought, forcing it to the back of her mind. She couldn’t afford the insecurities to rise, not right now. Not when she could feel his gaze sliding down her body, not when she could feel it leaving a touchless sensation.
She took a swig of her martini.
Maybe what bothered her so much was that even though he’d touched her the night before, he still looked down on her. Still, he judged her—when he didn’t know who
she was, what she did, or what she was here for.
So consumed in watching him, she didn’t notice a body sliding into the stool beside her until a male voice spoke into her ear, saying, “It’s been a while.”
She jumped, turning to face the man—a man who had a very familiar face that she just couldn’t quite place. She glanced between the man and Noah, then focused on the stranger with a smile. Okay, yeah, she could really use the distraction.
“You were pretty tipsy that night. I think we hooked up about two months ago or so?”
Her eyes went wide. “Oh, you’re—”
“Yeah. The guy you gave a fake number to.” He laughed, and there wasn’t a single ounce of bitterness in it. She gave him a relieved smile. This...couldn’t be too bad. She normally tried not to interact with old lovers, but with Noah staring right at her, obviously assuming she was stalking him, this could work out.
She wasn’t here for him at all! No, she was here for…for...whoever this man was. Yeah, she was here for him.
Her smile was damn near blinding, and she laughed softly, touching the man’s shoulder.
If he was going to stare at her, she was going to give him a show. She could get any guy she wanted—she didn’t need his negativity to keep her down.
“There must have been a number off,” she lied. When he raised a brow, she quickly changed the situation. From Noah’s group, feminine laughter rose into the air. God damn players…
“Oh, sure, sure,” he said, chuckling again. “Listen, that night...was amazing. I mean, the way you—”
“I enjoyed it too,” she interrupted, just knowing Jerry was giving her a catty look. She might not be looking at him, but she knew he was listening. Against her better judgment, her eyes went over her shoulder again, her gaze landing on He Who Shall Not Be Named.
He was staring.
Right at her.
Frowning.
She couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. What was there for him to be frowning at? Like, really, he had written her off earlier in the parking lot.
Bristol leaned suggestively closer to the man—she still couldn’t place his name—and took a sip of her martini.
