by Monica James
As I notice fellow pedestrians’ style and looks change, I know I’ve ventured down here without a second thought. I’m intrinsically drawn here, which just adds to the shit pile. Sunset Boulevard is filled with trendy, jaded people, too strung out on sex and drugs and rock and roll to spare a second look at someone like me.
My heart begins an intermittent beat the closer I get, but I persevere. Not many bars are open at this time of the day, so a false sense of security wraps around me when I stop and peer upward at the non-blinking sign.
Absinthe of the Heart.
I can’t help but think that whoever owns this bar has probably experienced the highs and lows that come with loving with all your heart. The only cure for a broken one seems to be written in big letters above me.
My phone chimes, a welcome distraction from this clusterfuck of a day. My enormous Coach handbag looked amazing in the store with its separate compartments and eight different pockets, but now it only adds to the confusion. I hunt through each pocket, cursing the one before it because I have no idea where my phone is.
With a huff, I yank open both handles and dig around the middle compartment. When I see the screen light up with Lincoln’s name, I sigh in relief. With one handle hanging limply from my hand, I reach for it, but never get to take the call.
When I realize what has happened, it’s too late, because the whoosh of air which rustles past me matches the air which gets snatched violently from my lungs when I fall onto my ass. It takes me a second, but when I brush the hair from my brow, I see that someone has just rudely bumped into me, but if that isn’t enough, he’s taken off with my bag.
It wasn’t an accident—that asshole just stole my handbag.
Such a rookie mistake, but I can scold myself later, because now I have to put my self-defense classes to good use. Ignoring the shooting pain radiating down my leg, I jump up and give chase, because I sure as hell won’t get mugged in LA. I’ve survived the mean streets of New York, so this is just insulting.
Methodical spin classes have shaped my calves and given me the stamina I need to hunt down this bastard and make him pay. When he turns down an alleyway parallel to the bar, I push my muscles harder as I will not let him slip away. That theory is all good and well, but when I round the corner, intent on payback of biblical proportions, I don’t take into consideration that running into this blind is probably not the smartest thing to do. Waiting on the other side are two other men, one of which has no problem beating up on girls.
The wind gets knocked from my sails the second time today as this chump has watched far too much UFC and clotheslines me with his meaty forearm. I don’t stand a chance and fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes. To add insult, I twist my ankle, thanks to my Jimmy Choos. I attempt to crawl forward, but I’m not moving an inch. The three men don’t look back as they jump into a black SUV and race off into the sunset.
“Come back here, you assholes!” I scream, pounding on the cement, which only adds to the pain engulfing me from head to toe. The taillights grow smaller and smaller, announcing my defeat.
Every inch of my body throbs, but I drag myself to the side and lean up against the wall to catch my breath. I can’t believe this. I should be horrified, but I’m pissed off—pissed off that I let my guard down so easily. It appears that’s the common theme for this place.
Groaning, I slump my head back against the bricks and close my eyes. I have no idea what to do, and I can’t move. I don’t have my wallet or phone, so it looks like I have to wait it out until a good Samaritan walks by.
It’s early, and I’m not exactly sitting in prime real estate, either. Speaking of which. Peering down, I cringe when I see I’m sitting in an unidentifiable liquid which smells like piss and sauerkraut.
“Fucking great,” I mumble to myself but screech and attempt to move to the side when an animal which could be a cat or a gigantic rat slinks by, smelling my toes.
Lunging forward, I scramble for my discarded shoe, which sits just beyond reach, taunting me. I tongue the corner of my mouth in concentration, bobbing forward, hoping that by some miracle I can reach my heel and use it as a weapon until someone can save my sorry ass. Five minutes later, I’m still only wearing one shoe.
The rat-cross-cat isn’t deterred by my curses and rummages through the trash cans beside me.
This has got to be the worst day of my life. Nothing worse can possibly happen, says me, who wishes she kept her mouth shut.
Every girl wants to hear a door opening when she’s sitting in filth, unarmed, and completely at this mutant creature’s mercy. But when I look to the left, I raise my eyes to the heavens and curse whatever god I can.
My heart wishes it was drowning in absinthe because it’s the only way I can deal with the next thirty seconds. His motorcycle boots stop mid step, and I can feel his gaze combing over every inch of my flesh. How I’m wishing I’d rendered myself unconscious.
When his steps get closer and closer, I attempt to test the theory; out of sight, out of mind. I focus on anything other than that warm cinnamon smell, and that deep husky voice which should be illegal in every country in the world.
“Holland? What the fuck are you doing?”
I ask myself that daily, and so far, I have no idea what.
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m not here for Taco Tuesday.” My words may seem big and brave, but inside, I’m trembling like a leaf. London is here, in the flesh, in broad daylight, and I’m shoeless, covered in brown goo.
He breathes slowly and steadily through his nose and exhales in a long-winded spiel. Good to see I still have the ability to get under his skin.
Kudos to me, but when I move, my victory is short-lived. “Ow!” I cradle my ankle, cringing in unbearable pain.
London finally clues onto my situation and drops the two garbage bags he’s holding. He rushes to my aid and crouches by my feet. “What happened?”
His concern for my well-being throws me for a loop because in the past, he’d usually be the cause of my pain. But pulling back my shoulders, I steady my pulse and look him dead in the eye. I instantly get lost in those depths, and a charge of a gazillion volts of electricity kickstarts my heart.
Last night, I didn’t really have a chance to soak him up, but now, under the bright sun, it’s all I can do. His dirty blond hair is kicked high to the heavens, the longer strands styled into a faux hawk; his blue eyes appear clearer, more intense if that is even possible, but the dark beard he has may be the reason the contrast is so apparent.
His lips are still sinful, constantly marred with that cocky, lopsided grin. However, a small scar traced above the left side of his upper lip is a new addition, making him appear all the more depraved.
He’s always been big, but now it seems like he’s grown into that vastness. He’s muscled, taut in all the right places, and his impressive arms are showcased in the tight white t-shirt he’s wearing. Once I’m able to swallow past the lump in my throat, I admire the colorful artwork inked on both arms. The swirls of color burst from his bronzed skin, and among the beautiful chaos, I can make out the elegant script of one single word, which sits dead center on his right forearm.
Defy.
An archway of stars surrounds the simple yet powerful command, leaving me with more questions than answers, but that’s nothing new. Neither is the fact I’m burning up inside.
As if the heavens are reminding me of where I am, the sunlight catches my five-carat diamond, blinding me into submission. “Can you just call me a cab?”
I need to get the hell away from here because his signature fragrance brings back so many memories, memories which feel like they were only made yesterday.
I should have known he’d completely ignore me, however, and do the total opposite. He cups my ankle and squeezes gently. I try not to flinch. “It’s not broken,” he reveals, running his thumb over the sensitive flesh. My skin instantly breaks out into tiny goose bumps, and I curse every single one.
“I did
n’t realize you were a doctor,” I snap, jarring out of his grip and shifting away from him. “Call me a taxi and I’ll do both of us a favor.” Our eyes lock, neither of us backing down.
He’s the one to finally cave. “You didn’t say the magic word,” he mocks, standing to full height, brushing down his ripped jeans coolly.
“Fuck and you?” I quip, rolling my eyes. I’ve always felt dwarfed in his presence, but now, I feel beyond minuscule, especially since he has no intention of fulfilling my request.
When he goes to turn, unappreciative of my sarcasm, a sheet of panic drapes over me for two reasons. The first is, if he leaves, I’ll be at the mercy of the elements, and I’m pretty certain I just saw a family of rat’s scurry by, and the second, which overshadows any need before it, is I don’t want him to go.
“No, wait!” I demand a little louder than intended. I exhale when he pauses, but his back is still turned. “You can’t leave me out here.”
He raises his broad shoulders, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I’m not your butler. Call a cab yourself. Last I checked, your ankle was sprained. The rest of your body works just fine, especially your mouth.”
“I would, but seeing as I was just mugged, that might be a little difficult,” I bite back, angered that I’m once again allowing him to get under my skin.
My words are like fire beneath him because he turns so quickly, I recoil, stunned by the savage look he bestows upon me. “What? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Me sitting in an alleyway, shoeless, was kind of a dead giveaway.” He shakes his head, jaw clenched. Good to see some things don’t change.
His cheeks puff out as he blows out an exasperated breath, but that’s where my victory ends because before I know what’s going on, he charges over, bends down, and scoops me up into arms. “Put me down!” I exclaim, attempting to kick and scream, but he chuckles, my request appearing to humor him. “You barbarian!”
In response, he cradles me closer with an arm wrapped under my knees while the other is fastened tightly around my shoulders. My head is spinning because my face is inches from his, and his warm breath sends a chill straight through me, but I quash it down, as it has no business being here.
He pays no attention to my demands as he carries me like a helpless baby down the alley and shoulders open the back door he came from. I have no choice but to surrender.
He ventures down a long hallway with faded band and gimmicky stickers plastered all over the black walls. There is no doubting he knows his way around, which has me wondering why?
“Did you break in here?” I question, ignoring the way his heart beats soundly against me. He scoffs but doesn’t answer my question. He instead boosts me up higher, which has me yelping as I’m afraid he’ll drop me on my ass.
We pass the restrooms before he takes a left and comes to an archway, opening up to a place which is all too familiar because I was here…last night.
“Do you work here?” I ask, snapping my head from left to right, taking in my surroundings to ensure I’m not seeing things. The all too familiar red leather couches and well-stocked, lengthy bar points to the fact I’m not.
London has gone silent on me, which I would usually celebrate, but if he doesn’t work here and has broken in, then I need to get out of here now. “I can’t be in here if we’re trespassing. I’ll lose my job.”
“Oh, that’s right, you’re some hotshot lawyer, living it up in the Big Apple now, aren’t you? Shouldn’t surprise me that you get paid to argue with everyone and bust people’s balls on a daily basis.”
My mouth falls open, not because I’m insulted, but because I’m utterly speechless. I don’t have time to question how he knows what I do to earn a buck because my ass is slammed onto the bar. He smirks when I glare at him something wicked.
Before I get a chance to scold him, he presses his chest to mine and slowly reaches behind me. We’re caught in a deadlock. I’m barely breathing while he licks his bowed upper lip, unaffected. I shuffle backward, uncaring that I’ll probably fall off the edge because that alternative is far better than burying my nose into the length of his neck. He smells so good. I just want to take a bite.
But up goes my guard as I refuse to succumb to this insanity a second longer. “This is a new low, even for you. Manhandling a defenseless, injured woman.”
He has the gall to laugh. “You? Defenseless? That is one word I would never associate with you, Princess.” When that momentous nickname slips past his lips, we both freeze, him gingerly meeting my eyes.
A thousand emotions are reflected deep within those shadowy depths, transporting us both back to being seventeen. And just like that, my walls crumble. He clears his throat while I avert my eyes, focusing on a lone beer bottle cap on the floor.
There are bottles clinking and some sort of rustling happening behind me, but I don’t dare turn around to see what the commotion is. When he finally pulls away, I take a breath, but it’s in vain because he drops to his knees before me.
I have no idea what he’s doing until he lifts my injured ankle and presses a dishcloth filled with ice to the swollen flesh. The relief is instant, so I don’t fight it. I watch as he tends to me, on his knees, as it’s a sight I never thought I’d see. I envisioned London on his knees, begging for forgiveness more times than I care to admit, but this is different.
Something is selfless, almost repentant about his actions, and I can’t take pleasure in seeing him this way. I may be a bitch, but I’m not a fucking bitch.
“Here.” He breaks the silence when he offers me his cell from his back pocket. My brain short-circuits. Not only is he tending to my wounds, but he’s now giving me a lifeline to get the hell out of here. But now that it’s within reach, I don’t want it as desperately as I thought I did.
Regardless, I accept the offering. The screen lights up with a picture of an adorable black Labrador. I don’t know why, but it throws me.
This is a part of London’s life, and I begin to wonder what else he holds close to his heart.
Over the past ten years, I exorcised London from every crevice of my mind and body, never allowing myself to slip back into the past. But being here now, I can’t help but be curious, especially because he looks different…he looks happy.
Is that happiness due to the bouncing Lab on his phone? Or could it be he has someone special back home? A girlfriend? Maybe a wife? I don’t realize I’m curling my fingers into claws until the screen lights up once again under the force.
Shaking my head, I unlock his cell, ready to call Lincoln, but stop mid dial. What am I supposed to tell him? There is no acceptable explanation for my actions today. If Lincoln knew what I did, I’m sure he wouldn’t be in such a hurry to come to my rescue.
“So you didn’t answer my question,” I say, placing the phone beside me on the bar.
London peers up, glancing at the unused cell, but returns his attention to my sprain. “Which one?”
“Do you work here?” I repeat, a glutton for punishment it appears.
He moves the makeshift ice pack to the other side of my ankle before replying. “You could say that.”
I think he’s going to elaborate, but of course, I’m left waiting. “What sort of answer is that?”
“An honest one.” Tact has never been my strong suit, but even I surprise myself when I scoff with sheer contempt. He pauses, while I regret nothing.
I’m certain a fight is about to erupt but am surprised when he ignores my insolence. “This is my bar. I own it,” he adds when I cock my head to the side in disbelief.
I have no idea why his admission shocks me. It could be due to the fact I never really gave much thought to the adult London Sinclair, the one nursing me back to health, even though I’m insulting him every chance I get. All I focused on was how the seventeen-year-old Sin broke my heart and forever changed me. Maybe I should move on? Get over it and accept it as character building.
But when I look into those blue eyes, I know I’l
l never forget. I’ll never be able to get over it because the betrayal is just as raw as it was ten years ago.
Sniffing back my tears, I reach for the cell. “I have to go.”
London doesn’t hide his surprise, but he nods casually, before standing. He was never one for small talk, and I’m glad that hasn’t changed.
Lincoln answers on the third ring. “Hello?”
I hate calling him on this number, but I have no intention of telling him just whose cell this is. “Hey, it’s me. Can you come pick me up?”
“Holland? What happened to your phone?”
I can feel London’s eyes dissecting my every move, watching for my nerves to betray me. But they don’t. “I’ll explain when you come get me.” I rattle off an address about two blocks from here. London tongues his cheek, shaking his head with an incredulous smirk. I don’t wait for Lincoln to reply.
London rounds the bar, his fist clenched tight around the dishcloth in his left hand. Turning slightly, I flinch when he pitches the soaked rag into the sink behind him. “And you think I’m dishonest,” he has the gall to say, referring to when I questioned his honor.
But me evading my fiancé is the far lesser evil than what London did. I’m done playing nice.
Even though my ankle is still throbbing, I jump down from the bar, masking my pain as I hobble toward the door.
“So that’s it?” His words stop me dead in my tracks.
Closing my eyes for the briefest of moments, I steady my galloping heart. “What were you expecting? For us to grab a beer? Catch up on old times?” My comment is nothing short of sarcastic, but I have no idea what he thought would happen.
“Run away then…just like you always do.”
Spinning so quickly I almost fall flat on my ass, I rush forward, running on nothing but pure adrenaline. “How dare you.” His back is still turned, but the curve of his rising shoulders alerts me to the fact he’s heard me loud and clear.
I limp around the bar, latching onto his bicep, demanding he look at me. It’s akin to turning a boulder, but he finally budges when I make clear I’m not letting go. He resembles an angry bull—nostrils flared and wide-eyed—and I’m pretty certain I’m the red flag because he charges forward, pinning me to the far wall.
