When I graduated from dental school, I knew I wanted my own practice. Slowly, but ever so surely, I opened my business with one chair and no receptionist. My mother came in and set up the office and helped put ads everywhere. The hours were long, and they were tough, but bit by bit, I grew by word of mouth, and I now had such a successful practice with five other dentists working for me.
“You haven’t been on a date since Trevor broke up with you, and that was over two years ago,” she says softly, and I think back to the day he broke up with me, or better yet, the day I walked out on him, and he didn’t chase me. I guess surprising him at work wasn’t a surprise for just him.
The office was so quiet, but it was normal since it was after hours. He sent me a text, telling me that he had to stay late to finish his latest merger deal. That was happening a lot lately, so being the best girlfriend in the world, I picked up his favorite Thai food and made my way over, but what I got was something I couldn’t ever erase, no matter how much bleach I use.
I cracked the door open slowly, trying not to drop the food and the drinks I was carrying. To say we were both surprised was an understatement because he was balls deep, as they say, in his assistant, Fredrick.
My shriek startled us both, and the Thai food I was holding fell out of my hands, exploding on my favorite pair of Tory Burch flip-flops followed by the two drinks I was holding in my other hand. My hand flew to my face where I covered my eyes. When I heard the rustling of clothes being put on and the sound of zippers, I opened my eyes again. The tears pooled in my eyes as my heart was slowly shattering to little shards.
“Laney.” I heard him say and then finally focused on them. They were both dressed from the waist down, but the picture of Fredrick bent over his desk replayed in my head. This answered all my questions—why sex was always so blah, why he never really went down on me, why he was more interested in his skin care products than the fact I was sitting naked in front of him.
“You’re gay?” I asked the ridiculous question. “I mean, obviously.” I pointed at them, and he still said nothing.
I shrugged and raised both my hands, expecting him to answer, but all he did say was, “Um, um, um.”
“How long?” I asked the stupid question. “I mean, we’ve been dating for four years. Four.” I looked around to see if there was somewhere I could maybe sit. My heart was beating faster and faster, making it feel like I just ran in a marathon.
“We’ve been together for seven years,” Fredrick finally said, and I whipped my head to him.
“Seven years!” I yelled or shrieked. Either way, I was pretty sure that my head was like one of those cartoons on television where the steam was coming out of my ears as I shook it side to side before it exploded. “Why the fuck are you dating me then?” I yelled, throwing my hands up.
“My parents would never approve,” he finally said softly, “so I figured …”
“It’s two thousand eighteen.” My voice was still loud and still shrieking. “How could anyone not approve?” I shook my head, closing my eyes.
“You know how Mom is,” Trevor said. “She is all about appearances so ...”
“So, you dated me to shut her up?” I put my hand on my chest. “How far were you going to go with this? Would you have married me?” I shook my head, pushing the tears back. No fucking way would I shed a tear in front of him. I then asked him the question that held the little bit of what was left of my heart intact. “Were you going to have kids with me?”
“I figured we would get married and have kids, and everyone would be none the wiser,” he said, looking at me. He took a step forward, but the sound of Fredrick stopped him from coming to me.
“Marry her?” Fredrick looked over at him, putting his hands on his hips. “You were going to marry her?” He sounded upset as if he was the one who just walked in on his boyfriend plowing his assistant.
“Hey,” I said, pointing at him, “you don’t get a say in this. You’re the other woman, or man,” I said and looked back at Trevor. “So, you were okay with my whole life being a lie?” I shook my head. “I can’t,” I said, turning around when I started to feel the tingle of tears coming. The squish of the Thai noodles echoing in the room. I started to walk away, confused and in a daze.
“Laney, wait.” I heard Trevor call out and turned to look at him, not even sure I knew what I was waiting for. “Will you tell anyone?”
I shook my head and looked at the ceiling. “You’re an asshole.”
The last words I ever spoke to him. I got into my car and drove home to my condo. The drive back to my place was a blur. I tossed my shoes in the trash and walked up the cement stairs to my door. I undressed and took a hot shower, scalding almost, then when I came out, there was a text from Trevor’s sister. I don’t know why I was expecting maybe a couple of missed calls from him or a text message, anything, but instead, I got the shittiest text of my life.
I’m sorry it didn’t work out. We love you.
I tossed my phone on the bed and groaned.
I spent the night mourning my relationship, and then the next day, I swore off men. I mean, I wasn’t jumping ship, but I was just not going to rush it. Well, now, here I am two years later, and my mother is setting me up on a blind date. It got so bad that she had to set me up.
“You know he’s engaged, right?” My mother’s voice breaks me out of my daydream, or day nightmare.
“Who is?” I ask the question even though I’m afraid of the answer. My neck gets hot, and my hands get clammy. I open my Facebook, going straight to Trevor’s sister, Nikki, and right there in the middle of her Facebook profile is a picture of my douchebag closet gay ex-boyfriend Trevor and a blonde smiling at the camera, holding her finger out to show off the ring. “Oh my god,” I say, whispering out loud while I read the caption. “We couldn’t be happier. Congrats, Trevor and Cassy.” How is this happening? I ask myself. “I can’t believe this.”
“I know, honey,” my mother says softly. “It must be a shock.”
“You have no idea, Mom,” I tell her. I close my eyes, and shaking my head, I make a decision I might regret but what the hell. “Send me the information about the blind date,” I tell her as I hear her squeal and clap her hands.
“You won’t be sorry,” she says and hangs up.
“Oh, this can go both ways,” I say to myself. I inhale and exhale as my phone pings with a text.
Ivy Garden
6:00 p.m.
His name is Anthony, reservation is under his name also!
You won’t regret this and have fun.
“I’m already regretting this,” I say to myself as I turn and look out the window. “What’s the worst that can happen?” It’s a loaded question, I know, but I’m thinking it can’t get worse than it already is, right?
Chapter Three
Laney
“Can you believe he’s engaged?” I say to my best friend, Sandy, as I walk up the steps to my condo on the beach.
“What I can’t believe is that you never told anyone that he swings for the other team,” she says as I hear a horn honk in the distance. “You could have called his stuck-up mother and said ‘lady, my ’gina is missing a piece.’” I laugh. Sandy and I have been best friends since her family moved next door to mine when we were both eight years old.
I spotted the big moving truck while I was in the living room, running to the kitchen and telling my mom that people were next door. We both watched out the window as they unloaded the truck, and when I finally saw the pink bed, I knew there was a girl next door. I gathered up my Barbie dolls and packed them in their plastic bag and made the trek over. It was friendship at first sight. It also helped that we were the only girls on the block and the only children in our family.
When we were thirteen, we camped out in the backyard on our first night of summer break, and there, under the moonlight, we stabbed our index fingers and became blood sisters. We did everything together—we even lost our virginity at the same time but in dif
ferent rooms. We went to college together, we moved back home together, and now, we lived right next door to each other. We were also opposites. I’m blond with long hair, and she has a black pixie cut. I don’t have one tattoo on my body, and she’s covered from her neck down.
“Can you imagine? She would have probably shit herself,” I say and then hear another honk. “Where are you?”
“I’m on my way to my date,” she says, and I laugh. Another thing we are opposite about—I date, and she doesn’t.
“You don’t date, you Tinder,” I tell her, and she laughs.
“Don’t hate the player,” she sings, “hate the game.”
“They have a word for women like you; it’s called a man-eater.”
“Oh, please, I will have you know that this is the second date with the same guy,” she says, proud of herself. “The same guy back to back.”
“Really?” I ask, shocked. She doesn’t do repeats. Ever.
“Yup,” she says, and I picture her sitting in her car with a huge grin on her face.
“So, you’re bringing him home?” I ask, holding the phone with my shoulder as I put my key in the door. I open the door to my condo and walk in.
“Whoa,” she says, “relax there, butterfly. No, he got us a room at the Ritz.”
“Baller status,” I tell her, and she laughs. “He might even make it rain.”
“You are trying so hard to be cool.” I laugh, knowing it’s the truth.
“So why did you decide to go on a second date with him?” I ask, kicking my shoes off at the door, then bending to pick them up and carry them back to my room. My unmade king-size bed sits in the middle. I have about eight down-filled pillows all over my bed, and the sheets were the most expensive things I’ve bought, but it was one thing I didn’t bend on.
“One, he’s gorgeous; two, he is built like an ox; and three, it’s hands down the best sex I have ever had in my life. And I’ve had a lot of it,” she says. “Like a lot a lot.”
“Oh, he sounds like a keeper,” I tease her.
“Bite your tongue,” she says. “I gotta go. I just got here. If I end up dead, his nickname is Mohawk!” She disconnects before I can tell her to be careful. I walk out of my bedroom and open the door to the patio. Stepping outside, I allow the sound of the waves hitting the shore to get me back to my happy place.
I walk to the railing and look over at the beach where families are packing their stuff to head home. I turn to sit on the plush oversized couch underneath my awning. Curling my feet under me, I people watch for about thirty minutes, then get up and go inside to change from my scrubs.
Walking back into the house, I toss my scrubs into the laundry basket in the corner of my closet and then walk into the adjoining en suite bathroom. The gray tiles feel cool on my feet as I walk past my white two sink vanity and lean into the glass shower to turn on the water. I wish I had more time because I would have taken a nice bath in the deep tub that sits on the side of the shower. I shower quickly and then walk to my closet, heading straight to my summer dresses. After the dreary news, I need to wear something that makes me smile. Grabbing my blue short summer dress, I step into it, bringing it up, and then tying it behind my neck. The halter dress leaves my shoulders and arms bare. The elastic at the waist brings it in and makes it flow around my legs. I grab a white belt and also some pearl bracelets. Sliding on my tan wedges, I grab my small champagne Coach purse and pick up my keys and sunglasses on my way out. I arrive at the restaurant five minutes before six, the Uber dropping me off in the parking lot right to the side of the Ivy, so I walk around the brick corner to the front door. I pass the outdoor patio made to look as if you are sitting in a garden. Black cast iron tables with matching chairs sit on white cement blocks. Hanging from the awning are vines with white and orange roses on it. It looks magical.
Walking into the restaurant, the hostess stands there with a smile on her face while I look around and see if maybe there is a guy sitting alone. I notice a couple of guys at the bar, but they look like they are together. Most of the tables are taken but none of them with a single man. “Good evening. How many I help you?” she says.
“I’m supposed to be meeting someone, and I don’t see him, reservations under Anthony,” I say, still looking around. The clanking of plates and cutlery fill the room along with soft music coming out of the speaker. She looks down at the pad in front of her.
“Yes, Anthony, table for two?” she asks, and I look at her and nod. She grabs two menus and another one that I’m assuming is the wine list. “If you can follow me,” she says and walks to the right of the restaurant. Passing a couple of tables, she sits me at a table for two near the bar and in front of the outdoor patio. “Here you go. Your waiter will be right with you.” I take the seat facing the front door so I can see everyone coming in and out. I grab the linen napkin on the table under my utensils and place it on my lap. I grab the brown menu and open it, my eyes scanning to see what they serve here.
I’m not sitting here for more than a minute when the waiter comes to the table, pouring water into the two glasses on the table. “My name is Henry, and I’ll be your server for the evening. Can I start you off with a cocktail while you wait?”
“Oh, that sounds so good. I’ll have two.” I laugh, not really joking. “Give me two martinis, two olives with one ice cube.”
“Very well,” he says and nods at me. I giggle to myself, scanning the restaurant and people watching. I see a couple of men sitting at the bar facing me as they talk to each other. I look out at the street and watch as cars zoom through and around other cars. Henry comes over a couple of minutes later with two martinis on his tray. He places them both in front of me. I smile at him, raising a glass to him, then take a long gulp. Yup, no sipping here, not after the news I just got. “This is fantastic,” I say. “I’ll take another.” He just nods and walks away, no doubt judging me in his head. But it’s not every day you find out that your gay ex-boyfriend is engaged to another woman. I don’t even think there is a greeting card for that shit, but I could be wrong.
I finish off the first martini in record time. The heat of the alcohol slowly creeps up, making my cheeks flustered. I’m glad I took an Uber, I think as I grab the second martini and bring it to my lips. I’m one sip into drinking my second martini when I see a man walk in the door, and the glass stops midair. The only thing going through my mind is holy shit.
His black suit molds to his body with a crisp white button-down shirt underneath, and he left the top two buttons open, showing a hint of his tan skin. His black aviator glasses hide his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. His hair is cut short, his face is clean shaven, and his lips—oh my god, his lips are so full, which conjures an image of me sucking his bottom lip to run through my mind. I shake my head; it must be the vodka. “No more drinks for me,” I say under my breath, looking down at the drink in my hand. Then I make the mistake of looking up again, and I see the woman at the hostess stand turn and look around the room.
Her eyes stop on me as she points at me, smiling at the man who doesn’t even pay attention to her. He dips his head to her and makes his way over to me. I still can’t see his eyes, but there is no denying that I feel his stare right through me. “Oh, shit,” I whisper to myself, and as he comes closer, I see that his jaw is square, and his chest is wider than I thought. I don’t think I inhale or exhale a breath while he walks around the tables, finally stopping at mine. He takes off his glasses, and I finally see his smoky gray eyes. “Are you Laney?”
I don’t know what happens, but my throat closes. I try to talk, but no words come out of my mouth, so I don’t say anything. My mouth opens and then closes again, but not a sound is made. Instead, the waiter comes back, smiling. “Here are two more.” I look at who I think is my blind date as he glares at the man, and I laugh nervously.
“It isn’t what it looks like,” I tell the man standing beside the table.
“Really? I find it hard to believe. It looks like you’re sit
ting here waiting for something bad to happen.” He then looks around, eyeing everyone in the place, and it’s a good thing I’m not standing because my legs would give out.
Chapter Four
Hunter
I get into my Range Rover and grab my glasses, sliding them on as I wait for the air conditioning to start. Pulling out, I make my way over to the Ivy Garden. As soon as Anthony left, I got on Google and searched to see how long one should stay on a blind date. The answer was straightforward—it should be for a drink or coffee—so I’m thinking thirty minutes if I order something that is served right away like water. Not one to take any chances, I have my phone set to ring thirty minutes after I arrive for good measure.
I pull up to the front door, and the valet meets me at my door once I stop. “Good evening, sir,” he says once I open my door.
“Yeah, I won’t be here long,” I tell him as I get out, not bothering to take off my sunglasses when I hand him the keys.
“No worries, sir. It will be here when you are ready,” he says, handing me the ticket for later. I put it in the inside pocket of my suit jacket. I walk inside to the hostess table, where a woman who looks like she is eighteen stands smiling.
“How may I help you?” she asks sweetly. I stop and look around to see if I might recognize the woman I’m here to meet, even though I’ve never met her. I spot a couple of women at the bar, but I instinctively know they aren’t her. I also check for exits. It’s not my fault; it’s just instilled in me.
Mixed Up Love Page 2
