Blackout: A Romance Anthology

by Stephanie St. Klaire

  “That’s not a humorous saying. It’s the truth. I do like coffee, wine, and three people. Maybe four.” I wink.

  “And your ‘Frankie says relax’ t-shirt?”

  “Again, it’s the truth. And at this point, a damn antique. I begged my parents for one after watching The Wedding Singer all those years ago. I’m glad it still fits.” A slight pang squeezes my heart as I recall some of the happier moments I shared with my parents, back when I thought they were the perfect couple. But, like everything else in life, it was as fake as a botched nose job.

  “Because you’re still the same size you were when you were ten.”

  I grab a pretzel and chuck it at her. “I am not. I’ll have you know I’m now over five feet tall.” I straighten my posture, attempting to look bigger than I am.

  “Barely.” She laughs as my phone pings with an alert. I shoot my eyes to the coffee table to see a text from my mother wishing me safe travels.

  I grab my cell and fire off a quick response, not wanting her to worry. I know how she can be. The last thing I want is to set her off.

  “She doing okay?” Izzy asks, obviously having seen who the text was from.

  “Yeah.” I take another drink of my espresso, finishing it. “She’s been dating this guy who works in the same building.” I stare into the distance, smiling. “It’s actually a sweet story. Somehow, they kept riding up to their floors in the same elevator. After about a week, he mentioned it to her. Said he couldn’t ignore it anymore, that it was a sign.”

  “Hmm… A sign?” she says knowingly, smirking.

  “That’s not the same thing,” I argue, fully aware what she’s referring to. “Mom works in the same building as Aaron. There’s a decent likelihood of running into him again. This thing with me and…whoever he is, well…it’s different. I have a better chance of winning the lottery than seeing him again.”

  Izzy shrugs. “You’re probably right, but what if you do?”

  “It’ll never happen,” I say incredulously. “I’m about to get on a flight back to New York. He was headed…” I wave my hand around, “wherever. So yeah. Not going to happen.”

  “But if it does?”

  “It won’t,” I insist.

  “But if it does?” she presses again.

  “It won’t.”

  “Yeah, but if it does?”

  I groan, remembering how persistent and annoying Izzy can be. This could go on for hours, even days. “Fine. If by some miracle I do see him again, maybe I’ll admit there might be a reason for it all.”

  She nods, leaning back in her chair, happy with herself.

  “But it won’t happen.”

  She glares at me, smirking. “Always have to have the last word, don’t you?”

  I grin. “Always.”

  When my phone dings again, I reach for it, assuming it’s a reply from my mother. Unlocking the screen, I see an alert from the airline.

  “Shit,” I mutter as Izzy’s phone begins to beep.

  “What is it?” She scrambles for her cell, reading the same message I received. “Dammit.”

  “Yup. Flight to JFK is canceled.”

  She groans, closing her eyes in frustration. “Just how I want to spend my day. Stuck in the airport.”

  “And not any airport,” I remind her, pointing at the busy terminal that resides just outside the lounge, the subtle sound of slot machines inching their way into our peaceful recluse. “McCarran Airport in fabulous Las Vegas.” My voice is laden with sarcasm. “If the Strip is the tenth circle of hell, this place is purgatory.”

  She laughs, shaking her head. “Glad to see all those literature classes paid off.”

  “What flight did they rebook you on?” I ask, opening the airline’s app on my phone to get my new flight information.

  She sits up and focuses onto her phone, then exhales in annoyance. “Red-eye. 11 PM. And here’s the kicker. No seat assignment available.” She holds out her phone so I can see her new itinerary.

  “Me, too.” I mirror her movement.

  “It looks like they’re cramming everyone onto that flight. What are the chances of us actually getting on?”

  “I’d like to say they wouldn’t rebook us just to tell us no in ten hours.”

  “My mother used to work for an airline. They absolutely would do such a thing.” She pinches her lips together, deep in thought, then jumps up. “I’ll be right back.” A woman on a mission, she starts toward the front desk of the lounge.

  While Izzy speaks to an agent for what I presume to be a solution, I return my attention to my phone, opening the web browser to see if there are any other options. Despite it being a Tuesday and a light travel day, most of the flights to JFK are sold out or, if there are seats available, are way out of my price range. Not to mention, it’s after one in the afternoon. The next flight into New York doesn’t leave until later tonight, even on a different airline

  “Hey,” Izzy says breathlessly. I look up from my phone, eyes brimming with hope. “I can get us guaranteed seats on the noon flight tomorrow. The red-eye is oversold and they’ll most likely be forced to rebook again if they can’t get enough people with confirmed seats to give them up. You in? Guaranteed seats or take a risk on the red-eye.”

  I blow out a frustrated breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. As much as I hate the idea of staying in Vegas another night and having to waste even more vacation time, it doesn’t seem like there’s an option.

  “Guaranteed seats.”

  “Give me your boarding pass and I’ll get you rebooked.”

  I grab my phone and find my boarding pass, then hand it to her.

  “Thanks. Be right back.”

  “Okay.”

  I watch as she scurries back to the front desk. She’s come a long way from the little girl who was too scared to approach Hannah and me when her family first moved into the neighborhood. Now, Izzy’s a typical New Yorker. Confident. Assured. And always gets her way.

  After a few minutes, she returns and hands me a new airline printout. “Here you go. You’re all set.”

  “Thanks,” I say, surprised at her efficiency. If she weren’t here, I would have sucked it up and hung around the airport in the hopes of getting on the red-eye. But now that we’re flying out tomorrow, there’s another problem.

  “Umm… Izzy, we can’t go back to the same hotel, not unless we want to get roped into day 317 of the never-ending bachelorette party.”

  A sly smile builds on her lips. “Don’t worry. I’ve got that covered.”

  She pulls me off my chair, then collects all her things. Raising the handle of her roll-aboard, she looks at me expectantly. “Ready?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “Where the hell are we?” I ask as our Uber driver slows to a stop in front of a gated driveway on the outskirts of Vegas in what I can only describe as the “rich kids’” neighborhood. “David Copperfield’s house?”

  “No.” Izzy rolls her eyes. “But my sources say he lives around here somewhere.”

  “Sources? What sources? I’m your source for all things celebrity.”

  “Maybe there are some things about me you don’t know.” She passes me a devious grin before opening the door, stepping onto the street. A little bewildered, I take a minute to collect my things. When she said she had a friend who was more than happy to let us stay the night, I didn’t expect to pull up in front of a piece of property that looks like it belongs in Bel Air.

  A knock on the window rips my attention away from the impressive gated entrance and I snap my eyes to Izzy as she opens my door.

  “Are you coming? Or do you want to call Bernadette and see if you can crash with her tonight? Maybe stay up and do a makeover, then go to some Pure Romance party.”

  “I wouldn’t mind going to a Pure Romance party.” I scoot out of the car. “I’m all for women exploring their sexuality. But I’d pass on the Bernadette makeover,” I say
as I head toward where our driver stands, holding the handle of my suitcase for me. “With the amount of makeup she’d cake on my face and the revealing outfit she’d stuff me in, I’d come out of there looking like a blowup doll.” Smiling, I take my bag from the driver as he eyes me up and down, discreetly adjusting the waist of his pants.

  The Vegas sun beating down on us, I follow Izzy toward the front gate, watching as she enters a code into a box. A quizzical expression crosses my face. I can’t help but feel like she hasn’t been forthcoming about who we’re staying with. Granted, I’m not as close to her as I once was, but she would have mentioned knowing someone who owned a palace in Vegas, wouldn’t she?

  “Are you coming?” she asks when the gate opens and she continues up the elaborate drive.

  “I suppose…,” I respond in a drawn-out voice, taking slow steps toward her as I absorb my surroundings. The driveway is made of pavers, the brick matching that of the flowerbeds lining it, which are filled with succulents. Palm trees shade the path, as well as offer privacy to the occupants.

  As we round the corner, the house finally coming into view, my jaw drops. I knew we were in a wealthy neighborhood, but I didn’t expect this. Whoever lives here has money. The modern two-story house looks like a snapshot from a home design magazine, a rare peek into how the rich and famous of Las Vegas live and play.

  I glance at Izzy, my curiosity increasing with every step. She knew the exact house we were going to, told the driver to stop when he was about to pass it. That means she’s been here before. Yet on the flight out here, she mentioned it was the first time she’d left the Tri-state area since graduating nursing school five years ago, being too busy to take a break from saving the world…one child cancer patient at a time. This leads me to believe she’s been here at some point this weekend.

  “Iz?” I say as we approach the short flight of steps leading to the front door.

  She stops, flashing her eyes to mine, a single brow raised.

  “Who lives here?”

  “Just an old friend from my undergrad days.” She avoids my inquisitive stare, smoothing a lock of nearly jet-black hair behind her ear, her olive-toned skin becoming flushed.

  “A…friend? Does this ‘friend’ happen to be of the male persuasion?”

  “Yes.” She holds her head high, but still doesn’t look directly at me.

  “Call me crazy—”

  “You certainly are,” she interrupts, an obvious attempt at deflecting my questions.

  “But I get the feeling there’s more to the story than this guy…” I wave my hand around at our surroundings, everything pristine and glamorous, “being just a ‘friend’.”

  She finally meets my eyes, a flash of indecision filling them. I can physically feel her turmoil, like she wants to tell someone whatever this is, but is scared of the potential backlash. Izzy has a habit of taking everyone’s feelings into account with every decision. It’s what makes her a fantastic nurse. She truly cares about each one of those kids as if they were her own.

  I place my hand on her arm, my eyes sincere. “What is it? You can tell me anything.”

  “I know that. But this…” She shakes her head, conflicted, pulling her lip between her teeth. When she looks at me again, her eyes are filled with a hint of shame. Her shoulders fall. “It’s Asher York.”

  I remain motionless as the name rings out between us. “Asher York as in Jessie York’s older brother?”

  She blows out a nervous laugh, still agitated, even though the truth is out there. The truth I’m still not completely clear on. “It’s not exactly a common name, is it?”

  “Asher York, the handsome, struggling musician?”

  “Yup.”

  “The Asher York with a singing voice that makes you forget your name?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “The Asher York who looks like a fucking Adonis with a guitar strapped to him?”

  “Yes, Chloe. That Asher York,” she admits, her voice growing louder, her face blushing even more as the tension momentarily lightens.

  “The Asher York who would have been your brother-in-law if you hadn’t smartened up and called off your engagement to Jessie?”

  Her expression falls and she slowly nods. “Exactly.”

  I stare at her, unsure how to react to this. She still didn’t admit anything’s going on between them, but she doesn’t have to. I can see it in her eyes as she silently pleads with me not to make a big deal out of this. And I won’t.

  I never liked Jessie to begin with. He was arrogant, pompous, and conceited. They dated in college. Got engaged young. I pretended to be happy for her. She’s my friend, after all. Deep down, I questioned whether it would last, considering they were both so young…too young to decide to get married. Thankfully, she realized that before it was too late, thanks to Jessie not being able to keep his dick in his pants.

  “Well…” I take in my surroundings, my voice brightening. “It looks like Asher’s not a struggling musician anymore, is he?”

  “Oh, this isn’t his place. He’s just kind of…staying here.”

  “Like, house sitting?” He’s not the first artist to use this tactic to cut into this industry. You see it a lot in LA or New York. Actors and musicians often house sit, pet sit, or even nanny for various celebrities in the hopes they’ll send their headshot or demo reel onto someone important.

  “Not exactly. He, uh…”

  Before she can finish her sentence, the door swings open and we both snap our heads to the entryway. I almost can’t believe my eyes when they fall on Asher York leaning on the doorjamb, arms crossed in front of his chest, his biceps stretching the fabric of his shirt, a wicked smile on his full lips as he admires Izzy.

  This is not the same Asher York I remember from all those years ago. He’s more mature, more muscular, more…experienced. There are hints of the man I saw a handful of times during some of Izzy’s pre-wedding festivities, but his short, dark hair is now longer, the strong jawline sporting a sexy five o’clock shadow. It’s only been six or seven years, but he seems like a different person. Then again, he could probably say the same about me.

  “When I told you it was okay for you both to crash here, I meant inside the house. Not on the front stoop,” he jokes, his eyes never leaving Izzy. I look between them, confirming that he’s just as infatuated with her as she is with him.

  “Hey, Ash.” A blush blooms on her cheeks, her lips turning up into a brilliant smile. Then she looks away, nervously pushing her hair behind her ear. “Thanks for this.”

  “It’s nothing, Iz. You know that.” His words are laden with a sincerity I feel deep in my core, despite them not being directed at me. “I was thrilled to hear your voice, considering I thought you’d be 35,000 feet in the air at this point.”

  “I guess the universe had different plans.”

  “I guess so.”

  Izzy peers up at him through thick lashes, her chest rising and falling in a quicker pattern. Asher holds her gaze a moment longer, something about the way he admires her making me think he doesn’t want to look away. Then he glances in my direction, clearing his throat.

  “Chloe. Good to see you again. I like the hair. It suits you.”

  I pass him a wry smile. “Thanks for letting us stay here.”

  “Anytime. I’d never turn away a friend in need.”

  He steps back, gesturing for us to enter the house. I lean into Izzy as we follow.

  “Hear that? He’ll never turn away a friend in need, Iz.” I waggle my eyebrows at her as we walk into the magnificent foyer complete with high ceilings and modern chandelier hanging overhead.

  “Oh, hush. It’s not like that.”

  I grin. “You want it to be like that, though, right?”

  Chewing on her lower lip, she shrugs. “Maybe.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “There you two are,” Asher says when Izzy and I round the corner from the stairs and into the open kitchen.

  After givin
g us a brief tour of this amazing house with sleek lines, modern furnishings, and luxury amenities, we took a few minutes to get settled before changing into bathing suits and heading down to soak up some sun.

  “All right,” I say, my tone firm. “Who the hell’s house is this?” I turn around slowly, craning my head at the high ceilings, my voice seeming to echo against the tile in the cavernous space. “Izzy said you’re not house sitting, so what are you doing in a place like this?”

  “Don’t think I can afford it myself?” He looks up from forming a mixture of ground beef and onions into four patties. Just the look of meat has my stomach growling and mouth watering. I feel like I haven’t had a proper meal all weekend.

  “Last I heard, you were playing bars in LA, trying to make it big.”

  He grins deviously. “Maybe I’ve made it big.”

  I place my hands on the large island, leaning toward him. “Have you made it big?”

  He considers my question for a moment, then shrugs. “Not yet, but I’m one step closer.”

  “What do you mean?” I look from him to Izzy, an amused expression on her face. I notice her eyes shift ever so slightly and I follow her line of sight, my gaze falling on a glass case in the living room.

  I walk toward it, my brow furrowing when I see six Grammy awards enclosed within. Squinting, I read the gold plate, then whirl around, my expression wide. “You’re in Fallen Grace?” I can’t hide the disbelief in my voice.

  Fallen Grace is this decade’s most popular boy band, five twenty-something-year-old guys from London who girls scream and fawn over everywhere they go. I would have noticed Asher York standing amongst their numbers. I notice everything about everyone.

  He shakes his head, laughing. “Certainly not. They’re not really my style.”

  “Then what—”

  “They hired me to work on their new album with them, and to help with their eighteen-month engagement here in Vegas.”

  “If they’re not your style, why are you working with them?”

  “They’re going for a more mature sound…less pop, more rock.”