by Keri Lake
“Sera, this is Ty.” Mama D cut in from behind, as I tried to wrap my head around the possibility that the guy really was tailing me. “Comes in every Tuesday and Thursday to order an egg sandwich with extra ham, and house brew with a dab of cream and suga’.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “For a minute there, I thought you were stalking me.”
His jaw shifted as he stared down at me.
“Ty here is the best lookin’ ironworker in the D!” Mama’s laugh coupled with her comment, and the obvious discomfort on Ty’s face, left me stifling a smile.
“You said I was the best lookin’ in the D.” One of the men sitting at a table off in the corner threw up his hands and bent forward with an obnoxious laugh.
“You are, too, baby!” Mama hobbled back toward the stove, grabbing her spatula along the way. “One egg sandwich coming up!”
“Had I known you worked here, I’d have made a point to come in Tuesday.”
“To bond over our shared trauma?” I grabbed one of the paper coffee cups and poured the dark roast to just below the rim of it. “What’s your real interest? You’re the best lookin’ ironworker in the D. Surely, there are other pigeons in the city looking for a crumb.”
“What’s your deal? Why do you act so cold?”
“What makes you think it’s an act?” I poured in a shot of sugar cream from the cold canister sitting on ice. It was Mama’s special homemade concoction that I’d recently learned was made much like sugar cream pie.
“Your eye flinches every time.”
“Every time what?”
“See? You did it again.” His eyes narrowed on me, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the countertop. “If I had to guess,” he said just above a whisper. “You think I’m trying to get into those tight jeans of yours.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Truth? I’d love to. But I’m not the kind of asshole who takes it without asking.”
“What kind of asshole are you, then?” I pressed down the lid of the coffee, sealing the steam and reveling in the burn with a wicked grin on my face.
His lips curved with his own grin, and he shook his head. “You’re a piece of work, angel.”
“Egg sandwich, extra ham!” Mama shouted from behind, and I spun around for the bag she’d set on the counter.
Arm outstretched, I set it in front of Ty, pushing his coffee beside it.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked, yanking his wallet from his back pocket.
“Going out. With friends.”
“Vampire and braids?”
“Why are you asking?”
“Where are you going?”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “Why should I tell you?”
“Do you ever just answer a question?”
“You’re tripping my creepy switch. So tell me why you’re so interested in my whereabouts, and maybe I will.”
“I find you intriguing. And beautiful. And I want to see you again. What’s creepy?”
The jingle announced another customer coming through the door, and I peeked around Ty to see a heavyset man with an impatient looking frown approaching.
“Shockwave. It’s ladies’ night, so plenty of pigeons around. Will I see you there?”
His eye flickered before he shook his head. “Nah. Dance clubs aren’t my thing.”
“What is your thing?” I dared to ask, as the older man sidled up to the counter.
“Frank! How’s my favorite accountant?” Mama’s voice broke in.
Ty swiped up his sandwich and coffee, leaning toward me one more time. “Girls who love playing hard to get. See you Tuesday, angel.” He spun around and headed toward the door, and my eyes fell to the fifty-dollar bill he’d left on the counter.
“You forgot your change!” I shouted after him, just as he reached the door.
He didn’t say anything before exiting, and Mr Frown stepped into my view, blocking his exit.
“I’ll take a large house brew and tuna melt.”
Neveah appeared beside me and slipped her apron over her head, tying it in the back. “Did I miss Ty?”
“Yeah, he just left,” I answered, and whirled around to relay the man’s order to Mama.
“What? Frank, when did you decide to change things up?” Mama stood with her spatula propped at her hip.
“This morning. Just signed my divorce papers, so I’m feeling a little adventurous.”
“Honey, Mama’s gonna make you the best damn tuna melt you ever had.”
Mr Frown’s face curved into a smile, and he shook his head with a chuckle. “’S’why I love comin’ to see you, Mama.”
Minutes later, I finished gathering his order, while Neveah took payment. “How do you know him?” I asked, as the man walked off with his food in hand.
“Who? Frank?”
“No. Ty.”
“Oh.” Her lips slid into a half-cocked grin, the sight of which stoked up twice the curiosity. “He’s been coming here for the last couple of years. “Quiet guy. Doesn’t say much, but Lord, he is fine. Boy can kiss, too.”
The weight of her words sank to the pit of my stomach. Not that I’d had any intentions of going out with the guy, anyway, but I certainly wouldn’t be his flavor of the month.
“You … dated?”
“One date. It was a few months back. I finally worked up the nerve to ask him out.”
It made sense. Neveah was beautiful, with her deep caramel skin, tawny colored eyes, and tight curls that gave her a natural appeal. She smelled like vanilla and coffee beans, too, so really, how could Ty possibly resist her?
“You? Y’mean he asked you, right?”
“Ty isn’t like that. That boy is closed off like a well-sealed vault.”
Right. Well-sealed. If by well-sealed she meant hopelessly persistent and borderline asshole.
“Anyway, he took me to a bar, we had a drink, and we kissed.”
“Oh. He didn’t … try to make a move on you?”
“No, are you kidding me? I had to initiate everything. He was like this … lost little puppy, sitting all quiet and broody.”
Huh? Ty and lost puppy seemed to go together like a terrorist and the Dalai Lama. “Are we talking about the same guy? Brown hair, blue eyes?”
“Cheekbones that could slice you?” Bending forward over the counter, she rested her chin on her palm and sighed. “Yep. That’s Ty. You know him?”
“Yeah. I’ve … seen him around. Are you two a thing?”
“No. He doesn’t date.” She leaned into me, lowering her voice, “And I wasn’t about to have a one-night-stand, either, but I’ll tell you what. When he comes in here from work, all sweaty and dirty, I wish I had.” With a disappointed curl of her lips, she shook her head. “A woman’s pride can be a real cock block sometimes.”
Smirking, I grabbed a nearby rag and wiped down the counter, sopping up the dried spots of coffee. Yes, it could.
But I was convinced of one thing—Ty’s interest in me had to be bad news.
4
Sera
During the day, Shockwave Nightclub was like any other downtown building—quiet, unsuspecting, a sleeping monster that sat on the corner of Baubien and Monroe in Greektown. At night, the place came alive with neon blue and red lights, and since it was one of few clubs within ten miles open to eighteen and older, just about every freshman female on campus had come out for ladies’ night.
The first time I went to a bar, I was nine years old. My mom had gotten a pretty steady gig, singing Janis Joplin covers. As long as I stayed in the back, I was allowed to tag along, and God, did I love watching her sing. Blessed with the kind of sultry soulful voice that wound itself inside my ears, she’d always loved being onstage and in the spotlight. After her set, she’d convinced the bouncer to let me join the crowd and dance. We’d danced until I could hardly walk, and my chest hurt from laughing so hard.
Dancing would forever remind me of my mother.
Marshmel
lo pounded through the speakers as I made my way into the club behind Bea and Simone. Yeah, I’d given them another chance. Guessed I couldn’t really fault my roommate for leaving after having been punched in the face, and Bea promised not to ditch me again.
One thing I’d learned living in a city like Detroit for even a week—friends were a necessity, even if they could sometimes be the shitty variety. It was better than being alone, and after living with a man who hardly said two words to me in a week, I knew all about loneliness.
I’d never been a fan of club music in general, except when it came to dancing. The thump of the bass beat a rhythm of excitement through my body, and I couldn’t wait to get out on the dance floor. The first week of classes, along with the hours I needed to put in at the coffee house to make rent, told me a tough semester lay ahead of me, and I craved some release.
Laser lights sliced through the already-packed dance floor, while burlesque dancers stood at either side of the DJ booth as part of their annual carnival night. Down in front, fire performers and aerialists kept with the music’s beat. I absorbed myself into the energy, taking in the buzz of excitement, the heat of the lights, the movement of the crowd. Sticking to the edges kept me from feeling trapped, and on instinct, I searched for the exit. Finding it no more than a few feet behind me helped put me at ease, and with the darkness allowing me just enough freedom to release my inhibitions, I danced.
I danced as if no one else in the club existed. As if the music spoke only to me. It did, I was sure of it, and I closed my eyes, letting all the tension of the week pour out of me. I danced until the sweat beaded across my forehead and my throat begged for something to drink.
“I’ll be right back!” I shouted to Bea and gestured tipping back a glass.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so, chica. I made a promise, and I’m keeping it!”
More accurately, I’d made an ultimatum, and she had no choice. If she ditched me again, I’d be ditching our living arrangement, and she’d be stuck looking for another roommate.
The crowd jostled me, as we made our way to the bar, and when we finally reached an open space, I leaned forward to get the bartender’s attention.
Bea slid in beside me, resting her boobs on the bar. Both of us wore tank tops, but hers sat filled to capacity. “Girl, I know you didn’t learn how to dance like that in Bloomfield.”
I chuckled, nodding as the bartender finally approached. “I’ll take a Coke.”
“Same. Two of them.” Bea met my incredulous frown with a shit-eating grin. No way she’d only drink a Coke, particularly as we were within walking distance to our apartment. “With a shot of Captain.”
Thought so.
Within minutes, he’d filled two glasses and pushed them in front of us. Drink in hand, I spun away from the bar, nearly splashing Coke onto the guy beside me.
“Oh! Shit.” My eyes hit chest first, the broad, hard muscles punching through the black T-shirt he wore, which clung to his biceps, and up to the familiar piercing blue eyes that stared down at me. Without his hoodie, his hair lay tousled, as if he’d just rolled out of bed—though, a small voice inside told me not to dwell on that thought too much. Somehow, I couldn’t turn away from the intensity swirling in his irises. “Ty. You … decided to come out, after all.”
At tiny spasm of pain over my scalp, I realized I’d started twirling strands of my hair so tight they’d snapped free. I quit and lowered my hands.
“You good?” Bea spoke in my ear, and I nodded. “I’ll catch you later.” The wily tone to her voice was unmistakable, and I stifled the urge to explain that it wasn’t what she might’ve been thinking.
As she walked off, I turned back to Ty. “Thought you didn’t do the dance club scene.”
“I don’t.”
Biting my cheek, I fought to hide the nervous smile tugging at my lips. “You’re definitely following me, then.”
His eyes scanned down my outfit and back. “Would that be a bad thing?”
“It depends on what your intentions are.” I sucked some of the soda from the straw, keeping my stare locked in challenge.
His jaw shifted as though chewing on the thought for a moment, before his lips quirked, seeming to break his spell. “I’m grabbing a drink for someone. A pigeon.” He leaned toward me, resting his elbow on the bar, but the proximity of his body engulfed me, and his intoxicating scent hit like an aphrodisiac.
I scanned the throng of dancers, catching sight of Bea and Simone grinding on one another, and down from them, a young girl, standing on the fringes of the crowd, her eyes hawking me. Arms folded, she appeared to be waiting, and I turned back to Ty, who still leaned in around me, grabbing two drinks from the bar.
“See you around, angel.” Just like that, he walked off, toward the other girl.
So much for bonding over trauma.
As he approached, the girl smiled, accepting the proffered drink, and circled her finger around the rim of the glass, the way girls did when they flirted.
An unfounded twinge of jealousy struck me. Hard. The primitive side of my mind sought to search for flaws, like her skirt hiked too short, her thighs that were thicker than mine, her small breasts.
I shuttered my eyes, the words of my mother filtering over all the catty shit.
All women are beautiful. Instead of looking for the bad, admire the good.
Because of her, I’d learned to draw the best parts of a woman, enhancing their best assets, and I couldn’t deny the girl he danced with had a beautiful face. One that matched his. One without a long, ugly scar that reminded me every day how much I had no place judging other girls.
Besides, I was the one who’d given him the cold shoulder. Because I’d had enough run-ins with crazy men in the last few years to qualify as a walking mental institute.
“Sera?”
The familiar voice sliced down my spine like a blade, and I turned to find the blond-haired jock I hadn’t seen since the end of senior year standing behind me.
Speaking of crazy.
Dane and I had dated for a short time, but I’d quickly ended it when he became a little too pushy, and a little too friendly with my father.
The two of them had spoken more to each other in their first meeting than my father had said to me all that year, and I’d found it a little disconcerting when Dane had begun to take an interest in my father’s firm. I’d started to question whether his interest was in me, or working his way into the lustrous career my father had plotted out for me. His insistence that Karl Kutscher was the greatest man he’d ever met pretty much sealed the fate of our relationship, and I’d made a clean break.
He’d taken it hard. Too hard.
For weeks after, he’d stalked me. Threatening to kill himself. He’d even slipped once and said he’d kill me, if I dated another. I’d changed my number after that, and made sure he knew how quickly I could secure a restraining order through my father’s contacts. Not that Karl Kutscher had ever gone out of his way to protect me, but he certainly couldn’t afford not to, with his reputation on the line.
Without so much as a hello, I stepped toward the dance floor away from him.
Dane’s grip of my arm stopped me. “Sera.”
I swung around, a warning on my face, and he released me.
“Please, I’m not here to harass you. I’m dating someone right now.”
That didn’t ease the tension in my muscles, but it certainly had me feeling sympathetic. Poor girl.
“I just wanted to apologize. I’ve wanted to apologize to you for a while, but … you refused my calls.”
I frowned, opening my mouth to protest, but he raised his hands.
“Not that I blame you. I was in a very bad place when we broke up. I’m better now. Happy.” The smile on his face seemed to reach his eyes, but I still didn’t trust him. “I’m sorry for being such an asshole.”
“I …. It’s fine.”
Apologies had never been easy for me, for some reason. Maybe because I�
��d been bombarded with them after my mother died. People who knew her would tell me how sorry they’d felt for my loss, and I’d have no idea what to say in return. I didn’t find their sorrys comforting, at all. They were awkward and out of place.
Just like Dane’s.
“It’s not fine. I put you through hell your last year.” He really had.
Because Dane was on the football team and coveted by some of the more popular girls in our school—which only solidified my thoughts that he was only trying to get a leg up on his law career—it’d been virtually effortless for him to spread rumors about me. Things I’d confided in him secretly about, my worries, fears. He’d used them against me, turning my heartfelt confessions into weapons.
I’d found myself counting down the days until graduation and getting away from my classmates.
“You look … fantastic.” His gaze landed on my breasts before lifting again. He’d also made a point to tell everyone that he’d dated me because he felt sorry for me being all scarred and fucked up in the head. “Your hair, it’s so …” Reaching for my hair, he swiped up a lock and let it fall. “Blue. It’s, um … different. Almost didn’t recognize you.”
“What are you doing here? You don’t go to school here, do you?” I hoped that wasn’t the case, or I’d seriously have to think about my own enrollment. Didn’t seem likely though, considering Dane had been bred for Ivy League since the day he’d learned how to say Yale.
“No, no. Are you kidding me?” With a snobby chuckle, he tipped back his beer. Pretentious ass. “University of Michigan. Poli Sci. Decided to follow in my father’s footsteps.” A surprise, as his brother had shipped off to Yale two years before him to study Political Science. Though, one thing I had learned in our conversations: Dane hated his father. It was the typical rich boy story about how he wasn’t good enough, or as smart as his older brother, Derek. Sad, in a way, how badly he sought validation from not only his father, but mine, as well. “I’m just slumming it up with some buddies of mine. We were at the casino earlier. What about you? You, uh … here with anyone tonight?”
“Yes. My roommate and her girlfriend.”
