by B. K. Rivers
Tammy’s Nails looks good and has a couple chairs open so I put my name on the list and pick out a pale shade of pink, and when my name is called I sit in the chair and soak my feet in the blue water. I can’t remember the last time I had a pedicure. I’d forgotten how good they feel. My tech is an expert masseuse and I offer to pay her to come live with me. She smiles awkwardly and finishes my mani-pedi. I thank her and then move on to a salon where the stylist twists and curls and weaves my hair into delicate waves and a couple side braids that look amazing. By the time I make it to Angie’s I’m pumped and ready to get the night started.
The club is already crowded and as the three of us enter we struggle to find a table. We end up sitting in a far corner with poor lighting and order our food. Caleb is more talkative this time and begins talking about his latest classes and then asks me if I go to school. I sigh and try to decide where to begin, but thankfully Angie steps in.
“Leave her alone,” Angie says as she slaps his arm playfully. “The girl’s taking care of her sick grandmother. That’s more than enough work for any one person.”
I mouth a thank you to Angie and then excuse myself to the restroom; I need some air and maybe a drink. I brought my own flask this time that Angie loaded up with vodka for me before we left her house, but suddenly I’m not feeling up to drinking it. Staring at me straight in the face of the ladies’ restroom is a photograph of Jordan, totally strung out, dark circles around his eyes, hair mussed, and at least two topless girls hanging off of him. My knees threaten to buckle, and I have to bite back tears and fight the urge to rip the photo into shreds. Somehow it feels like a slap in the face to see the photo in the bathroom. Checking to see that the bathroom is empty, I remove the photo and study it closely. My hands begin to tremble as I recognize the pasty blue color of the paint on the bathroom stalls. This photo was taken here. In this very bathroom.
A knot forms in my stomach and it feels like it’s multiplying. Folding the picture into a small square, I tuck it into the other side of my bra, opposite my ID and cash. I have to get out of here. I push my way through the bathroom door and in between two already obviously drunk girls who look at me like I have the plague. As I make my way back to Angie and Caleb someone grabs my arm and pulls me around.
“Let go of me,” I say, jerking my arm from the grasp. As I look up I see Vic standing in front of me with both his arms held up like I’m holding him at gunpoint.
“Sorry, I just saw you barreling through people and I called your name a couple times.” His hair is shorter than the last time I saw him and he’s wearing a tight-fitting black v-neck t-shirt, which is only slightly distracting.
“What the hell, Vic?” I stand up straight and cross my arms over my chest. “What happened to I’m going to call you?”
Vic steps back, drops his hands to his side, and says, “Coming from the girl who isn’t dating right now.” He sounds serious, but the gleam in his eye makes me think he’s just teasing me.
“Listen, we danced and flirted, but you never called so I’ve moved on.”
“You’ve moved on?”
The folded photo in my bra presses against my skin, making me uncomfortable. The sharp edges are digging into my flesh. I nod my head and wiggle my shoulders a bit, trying to make the photo change positions. Only, moving makes it worse.
“Give me a chance to explain,” Vic says, and gestures for me to follow him to an empty booth. “And buy you a drink.”
“Whatever,” I say blankly. A free drink might do this girl good.
The table is built for two, tucked in between two shoulder-high walls in a series of tables and walls. Vic orders our drinks and then pulls his phone from his back pocket.
“Would you believe me if I told you a tractor ran over my phone?” he says with a coy smile.
I shift in my seat and fold my arms across my chest, pressing the edges of the folded photo closer to my sensitive skin.
“No. Your phone is right here in front of me.”
“That’s true,” he says, and proceeds to open the phone to the contacts screen. “But this is a different phone.”
“Phones have a SIM card in them. You could have used that to get my number.”
Vic nods and flashes me a smile. “Yes, but a tractor ran over my phone. Do you know how much one of those weighs? The SIM card was beyond recoverable, I checked, believe me.”
“So what? You know where I live, you could have stopped by.”
“You’re getting great pleasure from all this, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” At this point, a smile begins to creep across my face. It has been fun giving him a hard time. Our drinks arrive and Vic goes on to explain how his phone really did get run over by a tractor and how he did try to recover my phone number. His laugh is deep and gravelly and oddly soothing.
“So let me get this straight—you drive a tractor as a side job?” I ask, taking a sip of my vodka soda.
“You mean you don’t like this stunning farmer’s tan I’ve got going on?” Vic slides the sleeves of his black shirt up, revealing quite the bronzed skin as well as some stunning muscles.
“Wow.” Count me impressed.
“Wow, the tan or…?” Vic smiles and types my name into his contacts. Without even thinking, I offer up my digits and before long we’re out on the dance floor having a great time.
Through spins and two-stepping, Vic tells me about his job as a firefighter and how his shifts work. He works twenty-four hours on and then has forty-eight hours off. In his off time, he drives a tractor or performs whatever farm work his parents need.
“So, tell me about you,” Vic says during a particularly slow song.
Shrugging my shoulders, I ask, “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. How old you are, your favorite color, what you do, or if you’re in school?”
“Can I plead the fifth on my age?”
“Shit, how old are you?”
A pink flush rises to my cheeks as I tell him that I’m only twenty. We stop mid-dance and Vic backs away. The blush turns into something more, embarrassment at his obvious disappointment is written all over my face. Vic waves his hand for me to follow him and I’m almost positive he’s going to turn me over to management for underage drinking. My stomach begins twisting itself into knots as he leads me away from the dance floor.
Chapter 27
Jordan
I hate everything I am feeling; guilt, shame, stupidity, and worst of all I have this ache in my chest that appeared shortly after leaving Jemma. I’m using the drugs to avoid the feelings, but it’s like they make them even stronger. She is all I can think about—well, her and the next score. Leaving Jemma was probably best for her since I am so far down this road of destruction it isn’t fair to bring her with me. That is what I keep telling myself anyway.
I’ve rented this shit-hole apartment in a crap part of Warner where nearly anything I want is only a text away.
And I’ve gotten some good shit.
Sifting through the shallow drawer in the nightstand table beside this lumpy bed, I find a syringe and my drug of choice at the moment. I close my eyes and let the effects of the drug wash over me, in hopes of it drowning out the thoughts of her. As I lie here next to some girl I wish was Jemma, my body tenses as my eyes close and picture her. Nothing about her was wrong. She drove me crazy and made me want to haul her over my shoulder and take her to her room and do incredible things to her.
The drugs begin to take effect and I’m transported back to her ranch. She’s the one lying next to me with a cool breeze flowing through her bedroom window that blows wisps of her hair over her face. I brush them away on the girl next to me, who stirs, rolls over, and smiles. I don’t see her, I see Jemma, and I pull her into my arms and kiss her. Our tongues collide and she wraps her legs around me, pulling me close. She’s moaning against my lips as I roll her on top of me so she can straddle me. She comes down on me hard in one swift movement a
nd then we’re lost in my drug-induced daydream of Jemma and me back on her ranch.
Chapter 28
Jemma
Vic pulls me back into our little booth and sits next to me and I prepare myself for a lecture in underage drinking. His lips are pressed into a thin line as he grabs my drink and pushes it to the edge of the table. He beckons to a nearby server who looks like she’s working to pay off her boob job.
“Whatcha drinking?” she asks as she smacks her gum.
“I’ll have another Jack and Coke, she’ll have a Shirley Temple.”
I want to shrivel up into a ball and roll under the table and sulk out of here. Could this be any more embarrassing?
“No,” I say, and start to stand. “I was just leaving.” Vic reaches for me, but I dodge his grasp and head toward Angie and Caleb. This night just got hella bad.
“Jemma.” Vic calls for me, but I ignore him. I guess his swoon-worthy exterior melted away, revealing the jerk below the surface.
Angie and Caleb aren’t at the table when I get there. Crap. Vic’s right behind me. He practically has me cornered. He’s wearing a sideways grin and my eyes rake over the muscled expanse of his chest.
“What? Did you want to make a complete idiot of me?” I say as I turn and really look at him.
“I was just having some fun.”
“Somehow, I didn’t get that memo.”
“Okay, so maybe it was a dick move. Let’s go dance some more.” He reaches his hand to me, and for a mere second I think about taking it. But then I see Angie coming out of the bathroom and I ditch Vic.
The room is growing thick with people and my night isn’t getting any better, so I find Angie in the mix and tell her I’m ready to go home. She informs me the front door to her house is unlocked and I’m welcome to whatever I want. I give her a quick hug and then make my way toward the front of the club to hail a taxi. It’s only a little after nine and most people are coming rather than going, so getting a taxi shouldn’t be hard. Except there isn’t a single one in sight. A small bench, barely built for two, looks like a welcome place to sit while I wait.
Several cars pass by where I’m sitting before a large black truck pulls up in front of the bench and comes to a stop. The passenger window rolls down and I see Vic inside, smiling at me.
“Wanna ride?” he asks.
There hasn’t been a single cab in the ten minutes I’ve been sitting here, so I stand up and meet him at the window.
“How much have you had to drink?” My arms rest on the window ledge and I await his answer. I haven’t had more than half a glass, and I know he’s had more than that.
“Probably more than I should have. You can drive,” he admits, and it’s at this point I begin to seriously consider taking his keys and driving myself back to Angie’s house, leaving him here at the club.
“Fine. Slide over, I’ll drive.”
Vic’s truck is a newer model black Ford F-250 with a gray cloth bench seat in the front. The interior is clean, which should surprise me, but somehow the way he presents himself as clean cut and put together is a good indicator of how he keeps his vehicle.
“So what was all that in there?” I ask as I shift the truck into drive and pull away from the curb.
“Maybe it was just my tactic to get you out of the club and into my truck. You do know how to drive a truck, right?”
I rev the engine as I glare at him. “I live on a ranch, remember?”
“Hot and she knows how to drive a truck. My kind of woman,” Vic says with a smile that could possibly melt my tough exterior. “Where are we going?”
“We aren’t going anywhere. I am going to my friend’s house to crash for the night.”
“But how do you know I’ll make it back to my house safely? I have had quite a bit to drink.”
He’s got me there. Not knowing exactly how much he’s had does make me a little worried about him driving home. But then again, I can’t just let him crash at Caleb’s house. They don’t know him.
The house is just a bit farther down the road, and I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do about Vic. I could text Angie and see if she and Caleb minded if Vic stayed over, or I could just chance it that he’s sober enough to drive. The other option is for me to follow him home in my own car to make sure he gets there safely. Crap, what am I going to do?
“This is a great place,” Vic says as we pull up to the curb behind my car. We both exit the truck and Vic walks behind me up to the house. Standing at the front door, I fidget with the door handle, still trying to determine the best course of action.
“You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind. You haven’t said a word to me in ten minutes.” Vic reaches his hand to me, placing it on my lower back. “I’m a good guy. I promise.”
Attempting a smile only makes my chest begin to pound against my ribs.
“I’m not really sure what to do with you,” I admit, and then open the front door.
Vic shrugs and then says, “I can offer a few suggestions if you need some ideas.” He laughs and I shove him off the porch steps.
“Get inside, you drunk horn dog,” I say as I pull him back onto the porch.
Vic straightens and follows me inside, guiding me with his hand on my lower back again, which creates a ring of heat around his fingers. Suppressing a shiver, I close the door and my cheeks begin to flush. Okay, I like Vic, but who am I kidding, I can’t afford to lose myself in him.
Vic wanders through the front rooms of the house, taking in the low-back beige sofa, river rock fireplace, and the maple wood furniture. He sits on the sofa but looks out of place. His height dwarfs the furniture and his long legs make the coffee table look like something that belongs to a toddler.
“You have really short friends,” he says, and pats the cushion beside him.
“I’ll be right back,” I say instead of joining him on the sofa. “I need to text Angie to let her know I made it back.” It is a lie, but the air in the room has suddenly become way too charged with…something that I am not ready for. My purse and phone are where I left them in Angie’s bathroom, and I pull out the rest of my cash and my ID, placing them back in my wallet. Then I pull out the folded picture of Jordan from the club’s bathroom and my heart stills and then sinks to my stomach. He looks so lost in the photograph. He’s paler, thinner, and so far beyond anything I can do to help him. I find myself lightly crying at my realization that I cannot save him. No matter if he were still staying with Gran and me, eventually he would have found his way back into destruction.
“Is everything okay?” The picture falls from my hands as I jump in surprise. Vic bends down, scoops up the photo, and studies it. “What is this?” He hands the picture back to me. It’s all I can do to not tear it up and then scatter the pieces across the room. Instead, tears fall freely and Vic wraps me in his warmth, letting me cry into his shirt.
Chapter 29
By the time my tears stop falling, Vic’s shirt is pretty damp. He held me in his arms, letting me cry for God knows how long without telling me to stop or to grow up. In the mix of my tears for Jordan, tears for Vic’s kindness fell too.
“I’m sorry.” I sniff into his shirt, which smells of musk and some sort of amazing cologne. Vic stares down at me with a loose smile and softness in his eyes and then I realize I’ve probably cried all my eye makeup off. “Oh my gosh,” I say, covering my face quickly to hide my embarrassment.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Don’t do that. You’re even more beautiful than before.” His fingers gently pull at my hands to remove them from my face. I glance up only to see Vic not staring at me in disgust, but there is something more, something deep and tender. His thumbs brush against my cheeks slowly and then below my eyes. “There,” he says with a smile. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Sniffing once again, I nod and allow him to lead me back to the sofa, where I prepare to dump the last three years on this man who I barely know.
Vic lies back against the armre
st and cradles me close to his side, my back rests against the side of his chest, and our legs tangle together. This feels safe, warm, and as our breathing becomes synchronized, I feel like something about tonight will change me forever. The walls I’ve created are slowly crumbling, like bits of plaster that flick off in the wind. The desire for my rules to stand guard around my heart is fading.
“Take your time,” Vic says as his free hand slides slowly up and down my arm and his other rests on my stomach.
“I don’t even know where to begin.” I sigh, closing my eyes.
“How about the picture. Who was that?”
“Seriously? You don’t know?” Vic doesn’t have to say anything. I can feel the shake of his head to know he doesn’t. “That was Jordan Capshaw…of White Shadow…the band…you really don’t know who he is?”
Vic’s chest rises and falls as he laughs and a part of me wants to turn over to see his face. But that would give me better sight lines to his dimples, and that’s dangerous. Instead, I stay where I am and enjoy the soft petting on my arm and stomach.
“Well, he’s a rather famous rock star.” I proceed to tell Vic about how I found him on the road and took him to Gran’s house. I explain how I’ve had a mad crush on him for years, as well as spill everything that happened since I found him on the street, even how Jordan kissed me. And I had liked it, even though it killed me to drive away from him.
“That picture is recent, you know? He’s destroying himself and there is nothing I can do about it.” I thought I had cried all my tears, but a rogue one finds its way down my cheek.
“None of that is your fault,” Vic says softly into my hair. “You did nothing wrong, and actually, I think you went above and beyond anything you should have done.” His fingers stop at my shoulder and rest there, while his lips press against the top of my head. I close my eyes and savor the feel of his lips on my head and suppress a shiver.
