by M. S. Parker
7
Blayne
My head was pounding again, but at least, this time, my mouth was just dry and tasted like leftover moderately expensive vodka. It wasn't entirely pleasant, but I was pretty sure I hadn't thrown up, so that was good. The thing that was not good was that I once again had no idea where I was or how I got there.
I groaned as I pushed myself up into a half-sitting position. To my relief, my stomach only did a couple mild somersaults. I opened my eyes and processed my surroundings.
I was on my own couch, which was weird since I had no clue how I'd gotten home, but I was grateful I was here. My couch was comfortable and that also meant I didn't have to spend the next couple hours trying to figure out where I was and how I would get home. I frowned. I really hoped I hadn't driven back. I remembered leaving my parents' house and parking somewhere. I rubbed my temples as I tried to recall if I'd left my car. I could be irresponsible, but I never wanted to be one of those idiots who got behind the wheel after drinking. As far as I knew, I never had.
I continued to take stock of my surroundings. I was fully clothed and nothing was buttoned up wrong or on inside out, so I assumed that meant I hadn't gotten lucky. I'd had a couple drunken hook-ups before and I always ended up with some part of my clothing being off.
Another good thing. The last thing I wanted to do was have to worry about getting some nameless random out of my apartment.
A noise caught my attention and I turned my head.
Oh shit.
Speaking of random.
Sitting in a nearby chair was a woman I'd never seen before. Caramel-colored curls, porcelain skin... she was gorgeous.
I let my eyes run down her body. She was dressed well in the sense that she looked good, but her clothes weren't overly expensive. She definitely wasn't a stripper and she didn't look much like the kind of women I usually picked up. Well, the smoking hot body did, but not the clothes.
Where would I have met someone dressed like that?
Where had I ended up last night?
I frowned and closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. I'd left the house, driven into the city. I remembered thinking about going to a club, but I hadn't. I'd decided against it, I was pretty sure. So where had I gone?
It hit me suddenly.
A bar.
I'd gone to a bar.
I opened my eyes and looked over at the woman in the chair. She was the bartender. Liz or Liv or something like that. She'd been nice. Accent of some kind. From the Czech Republic, if my memory was reliable, which I wasn't entirely sure it was.
What was she doing here? She'd been nice, but I didn't remember her flirting with me, which meant she hadn't brought me home thinking we'd fuck.
Shit. A thought hit me. I reached into my pocket, sure I would find my wallet empty. It didn't matter that she was still here. I'd met plenty of would-be thieves dumb enough to try to rob me and then pass out before escaping. I'd never claimed that any of the women I hooked up with were bright. It wasn't like I was into them for the conversation. Though I did have the vague recollection of thinking she was intelligent.
I opened my wallet and was shocked to see all of my credit cards were still there. I checked for the cash and that was there too. I frowned. Okay, so she hadn't tried to rob me. I was completely confused now. If it wasn't about sex or money, why was she here?
I started to stand and then stopped. That wasn't a good idea. I hadn't gotten sick last night, but if I kept moving, I might. I needed something to drink. My eyes fell on the glass coffee table. A glass of water and a couple pills were sitting there. I looked at the bartender. Had she put those here?
I picked up the glass and sniffed. Water. I took a sip and my stomach didn't rebel. That was a good thing. I reached for the pills next, turning them over in my hand to see if they were marked. I scowled. I didn't know what they were, but they seemed like as good an idea as any. Plus, I didn't have to get up to get them. They went down easy and I waited to see if they were anything good.
Hmm. Maybe that was it. I leaned back. Maybe she was here for drugs. Selling or buying. I looked at her. Maybe sharing.
But I didn't feel like I'd been high earlier, only drunk. Then again, maybe what I'd just taken was something good. As the throbbing in my head began to recede, I was forced to admit I'd taken aspirin. At the moment, however, I was glad that's what I'd swallowed. Now I wondered if I'd gotten the water and medicine out before passing out on the couch or if the bartender had done it. I was pretty sure it hadn't been me since I'd never been smart enough to do it before. I really hoped I hadn't left anything embarrassing in my bathroom or kitchen.
I sighed. I had no clue what I was supposed to do now. Did I wake the bartender up and ask her why she was here or let her sleep? How long was I supposed to let her sleep? If we'd had sex, I wouldn't have felt bad about waking her and letting her politely know it was time for her to go. But I didn't know why she was here and it felt kind of rude to wake her up. Plus, it would mean I'd have to get up, and while I was feeling better, I didn't want to press my luck.
I looked at her again. She was curled in the chair, her long legs tucked up under her, her hand cradling her cheek. Asleep, she didn't look old enough to drink legally, much less be a bartender. Her lashes were impossibly long and I tried to remember what color her eyes were.
Livie. That was her name. And her eyes were green.
It still didn't tell me why she was here.
I wasn't sure how much time passed, but at some point, I realized that I really needed to take a piss. As I slowly got to my feet, I was actually a bit relieved that I had to go since that probably meant I hadn't pissed my pants during the night. It didn't happen often, but I'd have been lying if I said I'd never done it.
When I came back out into the living room, the bartender was starting to wake up. I walked over to the couch. but just perched on the arm rather than sitting down again. I was worried if I did, I wouldn't get back up.
I managed a smile. “Morning.”
She flushed as she straightened, smoothing down her clothes. “Good morning.”
I figured I'd get the elephant in the room out of the way. “This is awkward.”
She laughed, a soft, low sound. She stood. “I do not know what you remember from last night.”
“Not much,” I admitted.
“You passed out while I was running your card for your tab,” she continued as she pulled her hair out of its ponytail. Her curls tumbled over her shoulders. “I could not wake you, so I had a taxi bring us here. You paid.”
I was aware I was staring at her, but I couldn't stop. She'd had my credit card, but had only used it to pay my bill at the bar and then for a taxi? I would have to check my account to be sure, but I didn't see where else she could've used it.
“And you stayed?”
She gave me a stern look, the kind that I'd seen Hannah give her kids. “No one else was here and I could not leave you. What if you had become ill?”
Now I started to wonder if I'd guessed her age too young before. She sounded much more like my mother than some sexy model wanna-be.
“Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate you doing that for me.”
She nodded and looked around. I wasn't sure what she was looking for until she picked up her coat. I wasn't sure why I was surprised that she was getting ready to go. She'd stayed because she'd wanted to make sure I didn't get sick. Now I was awake. Problem solved.
“So, um, did you drive?” That was a stupid question. “I mean to the bar. Do you need to go back there to get your car?”
She shook her head. “I take the bus.”
“I can give you cab fare,” I offered. “I don't know when the next bus runs.”
“I will wait,” she said. “I do not mind.”
“Livie, right?” I said as I stood again. “You could've taken everything out of my wallet and sent me to the drunk tank, but you didn't. Let me at least send you home in a cab so you don't have to w
ait in the cold.”
I could see on her face that she was debating the offer. She didn't want to stand at a bus stop in February, but there was pride on her face and I knew she was thinking of it like charity.
“Think of it as payment for baby-sitting me.” I gave her my best charming smile. Or at least the best one I could muster in my current condition.
That got me a partial smile. “Thank you.”
I pulled out my wallet and handed her a few bills. I didn't even bother to see how much I gave her. She followed my example and didn't count it. She put it in her pocket and picked up her purse. We looked at each other and I realized she didn't know how to stop the awkward silence any more than I did. Should I tell her I'd see her later? Thank her again?
I was saved from having to figure things out when someone knocked on the door. I went to it, wondering who it could be. As soon as I opened it, however, I wished I hadn't. I wished I'd just pretended I wasn't home.
“Blayne.” My father's voice would've made it clear that he wasn't happy with me, even if I hadn't been able to feel the disapproval radiating off of him. He stepped past me into my apartment without waiting for an invitation.
I supposed I couldn't really blame him. I wouldn't have asked him in anyway.
“Good morning to you too,” I muttered as I turned and followed him.
“I called you.”
“I turned off my phone.” I wondered if I could get Livie out without her having to hear whatever shit it was my father would say. That hope vanished the moment he stepped into the living room.
“Is she why?” He pointed at Livie, like she wasn't even there. “Is this the reason you fucked everything up for our family?”
“Dad,” I hoped interrupting him would work.
“No,” he snapped. “I will not let you stand here in an apartment I'm paying for and watch some good-for-nothing gold digger ruin everything!”
“She's not a gold digger!” I didn't know much about Livie. Hell, I knew practically nothing. What I did know was that she was kind enough to take care of a complete stranger and expect nothing in return. What I said next, however, came out of nowhere. I hadn't thought it at any point and I sure as hell hadn't planned it, but I said it anyway. “She's my fiancée.”
8
Livie
It was a good think that Blayne's father wasn't looking at me, because he would've seen on my face that nothing his son had said was true and that I had absolutely no clue why Blayne was saying it. I remembered what he'd said last night about his father forcing him to get married, but that still didn't explain why he'd decided that the best answer to that problem was to tell his father I was his fiancée. I was shocked that he'd even remembered my name.
“She's your what?”
Mr. Westmore's voice was flat, but even I could see that he was holding himself back. I tried to stay very still
“My fiancée,” Blayne repeated, a stubborn set to his chin.
My eyes widened. I'd really thought he'd change the subject so he wouldn't have to repeat the lie and make things worse. Mr. Westmore's expression was one of barely restrained fury.
I needed to get out of there. I hadn't done anything wrong, but I doubted Mr. Westmore would believe that I had nothing to do with the lie. He had called me a good-for-nothing gold digger, after all. I may not have been able to speak perfect, unaccented English, but I understood it quite well. There was no positive spin on those words.
I wasn't sure what I should do. Just walk out and not say a word? It wasn't like I owed Blayne anything. He had given me cab fare, but if I was honest, I didn't feel it was entirely undeserved. It seemed fair enough compensation for going above and beyond my bartending duties. I didn't know how much he'd given me, but I doubted it was even close enough to what staying around would be worth. But I also didn't like the idea of making things worse for him by acting as if he and his father didn't exist.
My internal debate was quick as I decided upon the right course of action. I raised my hand slightly, hoping the movement would catch his attention. It did and he glanced over at me. I gestured toward the door and he nodded. Our eyes met and held for a single moment and I could see the unspoken apology for making me a part of this. I nodded in acknowledgement and headed for the door.
As I rode the elevator down to the lobby, I realized that I hadn't checked my phone for calls from my sister. I also hadn't checked in last night. I pulled it out of my purse and saw that she'd left a text message. In typical Katka fashion, she'd simply said I guess you got lucky. Do everything I would do. Love you.
I smiled and shook my head. My little sister exasperated me at times and angered me at others, but I loved her. She was the only family I had left, but I would have loved her even if that wasn't the case. She was the kind of person who everyone loved. People couldn't help it. She was carefree and fun, charming and sexy. Everything I was not.
She scolded me when I said that, but it was true. I wasn't jealous of her for it though. We had been through so much and I loved that she could still smile and dance.
I climbed into the cab and gave the driver the address. We lived at the edge of Fishtown, in one of the cheaper apartments. We had gotten a good discount on it because the owner of the building came from a family who had emigrated back when our country had been Czechoslovakia. The grandmother had wanted someone to come speak Czech with her. Once a month, either Katka or I visited for tea and spoke to the woman in her native language.
I looked down at the bills in my hand. I wondered how Blayne was faring with his father. At least I was respectable looking and hadn't spoken. I could only imagine what Mr. Westmore's reaction would have been if I had been dressed like the other bartenders I had seen or if he had heard my accent. I was sure he would have assumed I was after a green card as well as money.
I did have my application in, but I refused to do things what Katka called “the easy way.” She had suggested finding someone to marry when we had first come to this country and I had immediately vetoed the idea. She still occasionally brought it up, but I was never sure if she was serious.
My sister was, for all of her flirtations, a hopeless romantic. She believed in the fairy tale happy endings. I was a realist. Blayne was a perfect example. Katka would no doubt believe that fate was bringing us together. I saw things for how they were. He'd been desperate and I had been there.
Still, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be engaged to someone like him. To be a part of that world. I knew he was wealthy the moment I had seen his address, but after I'd entered his apartment, I realized that I'd underestimated things. His father's presence this morning, coupled with Blayne's drunken ramblings at the bar last night, told me that he wasn't just rich. He was part of a world I would never be a part of, no matter what happened with my determination to become a fashion designer.
I paid the cabbie and climbed out of the car. I shivered at the brisk February air and hurried to get inside. Katka would probably be at work. She was a waitress at some bar somewhere, or at least I thought that was what she was doing now. Her jobs changed so often I didn't try to keep track anymore. I never needed to go there to talk to her and the money she earned went into the account we shared since her money managing skills were all but nonexistent.
I loved my sister, but I couldn't deny that I enjoyed having quiet moments to myself. Katka was never quiet. She was always talking about something, singing, dancing, doing something. One would think that a person nicknamed after a creature that spent most of its life sleeping would be less restless.
There was only one problem with the silent apartment that greeted me. It left me too much time with my thoughts. Thoughts that were consumed entirely too much by the handsome man with the sandy hair and dark gray eyes. I'd never seen eyes like that before, and certainly never had them look at me the way he had.
When I'd taken him back to his apartment last night, I'd written off his flirting as too much alcohol, but this morning, I saw the way he
looked at me. I wasn't foolish enough to think it was anything other than admiration, but to even have someone like him think I was attractive was a heady thing.
Very much against my better judgment, my thoughts kept turning back to the curve of his mouth. The way he'd smiled. The softness of his lips when he'd been sleeping. I'd let myself look at him last night as I'd sat in the chair and waited for him to wake up. I could never do that when he was awake. Risking him believing I was interested in him wasn't an option. Even if he was attracted to me, he would never want anything other than a night of sex.
Not as if I was looking for something romantic or sexual. I didn't have the time to be involved with anyone, even for a night. It had been foolish of me to even spend the few hours I had getting Blayne home and making sure he was safe. Every waking moment I had needed to be spent either making the money required to start my own business or working on designs. No sex was good enough to make up for the time I'd have to make up to stay on track.
I had a plan, a schedule. I was twenty-three now and I fully intended to gain my citizenship and have enough collateral to get a business loan with a good interest rate by the time I was twenty-five. I would start small, selling exclusive pieces that would, by the time I was thirty, garner enough attention that I could secure a larger loan to take my business to the next level.
Perhaps after I had done all that, I would begin to consider marriage. Katka had pointed out that if I wasn't careful, I would be fifty and single with no children or husband to care for me as I passed middle age. I had countered that she had enough sex for the both of us and I wouldn't need children or a husband to care for me. I would have money enough to hire people. And I always had her.
It wasn't that I disliked sex or didn't want it, as Katka had often suggested. I just preferred to take care of sexual tension the same way I did everything else. By myself.
My thoughts took a dangerous edge, teasing me with images of Blayne. I never pictured anyone I knew when I masturbated, but it was tempting to let him star in my future fantasies. To wonder what it would be like to wake up in that apartment after having spent the night. To find his muscular arms wrapped around me, his broad chest bare. I hadn't seen anything inappropriate last night, but my imagination was doing plenty to fill in the blanks. One of the disadvantages to the way my brain worked was that I could look at an outfit on someone and generally have a good idea of what was underneath. With Blayne, my mind's eye could easily create a chiseled body that would challenge even my self-control.
