Should I let him buy me breakfast? Darn him though, just being near him again is stirring up a maelstrom of mixed feelings. Then he smiles, my heart rate spikes, and the red flags drop to half-mast.
“So you’d be a perfect gentleman then?”
“Yes ma-am.” He dips his baseball cap to me, smiling disarmingly and my heart stutters.
The sex appeal this man possesses is lethal.
The red flags drop completely.
I will fight this attraction I’m feeling towards him. I have to. I shouldn’t be feeling it. Not now. Not ever. But in order to overcome a fear, a weakness, one has to face it. I’ll prove to myself that I can’t possibly be drawn to another man. Brunch it is.
I accept his invitation.
“Okay. Thanks. Sounds good, Dom. But no need to give me a lift home, or pick me up. I’d like to run back and complete my circuit. I’ll meet you back here at eleven.”
“Sure, if you say so, darlin’. I’ll see you a little later then.” He winks while walking backwards, still grinning at me. My stomach dips and I take off again in a fast sprint, my head all over the place, emotions tugging against one another in opposing directions.
Arriving home, I fling open the front door, and press up against it, leaning over to catch my breath as Sarah stumbles bleary-eyed from her bedroom, her hair looking like a bird’s nest after a tropical cyclone. She squints in my direction with only one eye partially open.
“It’s the middle of winter, the sparrows aren’t even up farting yet and you’re out running. You seriously need help. You do know that?” she mumbles on her way over the espresso machine.
I smile. She doesn’t offend me. The honesty, humour and the poorly timed jokes, often at the expense of one other, is the glue that cements our quirky friendship together.
“You should try it sometime you lazy bitch, you may even enjoy it.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. As I say: I’m allergic to exercise, it makes me sweat.”
“Har har, Sarah.”
I follow her into the kitchen, thinking how best to deliver my latest news to her in a way that will spare me the theatrics which are sure to follow.
Sarah flips on the espresso machine.
“Your usual?” she asks as she reaches up onto the shelf above her for the coffee beans. I take a deep breath. Okay, here goes. Just like ripping off a Band-Aid, best to get it out in the open with one hit.
“Um, I think I’ll pass. I’ll grab a cup later when I’m out to brunch with Dominic.”
At my words, Sarah spins around so fast the coffee beans from the bag she’s just opened, pepper out onto the kitchen floor like toy missiles.
I avoid her eyes as I watch two beans roll towards me.
“Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot Kate?
Okay, she’s using her alternative to What The Fudge and is calling me Kate, so this should be epic.
“Did I hear you correctly? You’re going out with Chase’s soldier friend, Dominic? The rip-my-clothes-off-and-do-me-six-ways-to-Sunday, good-looking Dominic?” she asks, the pitch of her voice rising with each word.
I roll my eyes at her before nodding slowly.
“Um, not how I described him, Sarah. But yeah, one and the same.”
She squeals and launches herself over to me, spilling more coffee beans in her exuberance.
I raise my hands up, stopping her in her tracks.
“Sarah, back up with that coffee and calm the hell down. This isn’t a date, okay? It’s just a meal. With a guy.”
She was close enough for me to see the spark of hope flare in her eyes.
“Katy. I haven’t met Dominic yet, so I’ll reserve judgement on him until I do, but I can read you pretty darn well, and you’re worked up about this, I can tell.” Guilt washes over me.
What would Danny think of me agreeing to a meal with another man so readily?
“Sarah, you have no idea how I’m feeling right now. I’m so confused. Yes, the man is extremely good looking, but I know nothing about him other than the little Chase has told me. I’m certainly not in the head space, nor the market to even consider another guy in a romantic light, you know that better than anyone.”
“Okay, Katy. I’m not going to make a big deal of this. You’re right, you know yourself better than I do. What I am going to insist on is helping you pretty yourself up for your non-date though.” She winks.
I make a face at her.
“Let’s clean up this mess first, Sarah.”
~ 11:00 a.m. ~
I’m seated across from Dominic at a small table at Vinnies wondering how, at 11:00 a.m., I could flippantly pass off a request for a shot of whiskey to be added to the coffee I’m about to order. My emotions are a mixed bag of contradictions and I’m in need of a dose of liquid courage. The sixty percent proof variety.
Vinnies looks like a classic American diner as it’s fitted out with numerous stainless steel fixtures from the ceiling to floor, extra large menus providing the finishing touch, but the interior decor still managed to retain a distinctly Kiwi flair to it with wall paintings a collage of Koru leaves and native flora. I’m admiring a painting on the wall when our waitress makes her appearance.
“Uh, are you both ready to order?”
She takes one look at Dominic, blushes and immediately becomes flustered, fiddling with her order pad and then dropping her pen. It is pathetic to watch. After grovelling under the table to retrieve it, she eventually composes herself sufficiently to take our order.
After placing our orders, I shake my head as she turns back towards the kitchen and ask, “Do you have this affect on all the lady folk in this town?”
Dominic fires a loaded grin at me, shrugging.
“You tell me, sweetheart?”
The intensity of his stare heats my skin, and the humiliating flush of my cheeks give him his answer. My erratic heartbeat indicating by just how much he affects me.
Dominic is a real charmer who I’m sure has the ability to glamour the panties off any woman of his choosing with his hypnotic charm and inherent seductiveness, no effort required on his part. It’s just who he is, oozing potent sensuality through every pore. In the time span of a few minutes, he had two women virtually melting in his presence.
“You’re a beautiful looking man, Dominic. I doubt any hot-blooded woman wouldn’t find you attractive.”
God, where was my filter?
“Beautiful? Been called a couple of things before, but ‘beautiful’ ain’t one of them. You tryin’ to emasculate me, sweetheart? ‘Cos if you have any doubts about my masculinity, I’d be only too happy to spend a few private minutes with you, convincin’ you otherwise.”
The bastard is now chuckling. A consummate flirt.
He leans across the table and moves the hair out of my face to touch my cheek. I inwardly cringe; my ugly scar now fully exposed.
“So easy to coax a blush outta this gorgeous face, ain’t it?” he murmurs.
My cheek tingles where his fingers brushed across it and butterflies take flight in my stomach. Oddly, I have the urge to cry though, as his touch stirs memories of a forgotten longing: The yearning to be touched intimately. Held. Comforted. That must be it. I’m lonely. It’s the only logical explanation for the confusing feelings I’m experiencing around this man.
“My face is scarred, Dominic. It’s an ugly reminder I have to look at every day.”
Dominic takes my hand in his, and my breath hitches. He pins me with his eyes.
“It’s not somethin’ I even notice, sweetheart. It’s invisible to me. What I do see is an exquisitely beautiful woman who has experienced unimaginable loss and hurt, but she survived. Don’t allow this to define you. Every time you look in the mirror, let that scar be a reminder that you’ve been given another chance at life.”
“I can’t, Dominic. Every time I look at it, it reminds me of what I’ve lost.”
“That scar is just a surface wound, darlin’ that will heal. The ones that cause the most damage ain't on
the outside.”
As he speaks, the expression on his face changes imperceptibly, but isn’t lost on me.
We were clearly no longer only talking about me here. He’s been through something big, something life changing. Now that I’ve experienced this kind of loss, I can intuitively sense it in others. I fight the urge to ask him about the jagged ridge running through his eyebrow and the multitude of scars on his body. I hold back, perceiving his underlying unease.
I steer the conversation back into safer waters.
“So, where are you staying, Dominic?”
“Jimmy offered me the one-bedroom unit at the bottom of his property. His tenant vacated last month after that big shake up, took off for the North Island without any notice. He just left a note apparently.”
“I can understand somebody making a rash decision like that,” I say, as our waitress re-appears with our food.
Dominic has ordered enough food to comfortably feed me for a week: the breakfast special which consists of colossal sized servings of hash browns, sausages, eggs, and a cheddar melt. I ordered pancakes with bacon and banana, maple syrup, and fresh cream. We continue to eat while our conversation ebbs and flows around safer topics. I love the sound of his heavily accented voice, the self assured, yet unassuming way in which he speaks draws more conversation out of me than is usual of late.
Inwardly, I am anything but calm though. The fact that I feel this at ease with Dominic unsettles me as it feels wrong to be this comfortable around a man I barely know while my heart still grieves for the only one I’ve ever loved.
~ Friday 23 September 2011. One week later. 10:20 p.m. ~
It’s the weekly girls’ night that Sarah drags me along to. She rotates venues each week, and takes great delight in dressing me up. Sarah has a fairly large circle of friends, which she used to socialise with on a regular basis; she is single after all. She’s neglected these girls for the past few months when I became the sole focus of her attentions. I’ve insisted on more than one occasion that she meet up with her other girlfriends. She has stubbornly, yet lovingly refused. Until this morning, when we reached a compromise.
I agreed to come out with her tonight for a few hours, as long as she agreed to hit the town with the girls afterwards.
Tonight I’m wearing a tight-fitting pair of black pants, a sexy off the shoulder red top, and a pair of very stylish black platform shoes. My silver hoop earrings are simple, yet classy. Sarah took her time in doing my make-up though. She has the whole “smokey eye” look down pat, and worked her magic on my eyes, finishing off the look with a pale pink lipstick and some gloss. She left my hair to fall loosely over my shoulders and also expertly managed to conceal the scar on my face with a clever application of concealer and shadow bronzer. The scar is healing slowly, and for the first time in months it wasn’t the first thing I noticed when I looked in the mirror before we left home earlier tonight.
Glancing at my watch, I note the time. It’s almost 10:30 p.m., Sarah should be heading out to meet up with her posse of ladies soon. We’ve been here since just after eight. Our ladies night is on home turf tonight. My current place of employment—Jimmy’s. I only work my next shift tomorrow night, so I’m not holding back on my alcohol consumption tonight.
With the exception of Travis, Chase and the band guys are still here, kicking back with a few drinks after finishing up their gig just before nine. As usual, women from all sides are flanking the boys. Sarah leans in to me, shouting above the music, “Going to touch up this beautiful face, I’ll be back in five.”
I nod.
I need to forget. Just for a while, to feel the music resonate deep inside me, temporarily blocking the relentless intrusion of painful memories. Taking another gulp of my drink, I feel each mouthful dilute that knot of pain just a little more. That tight fist that’s lodged in my stomach permanently has released its grip, the pain still there, but the more I drink, the less it hurts. Now well on my way, I grab my Bourbon and Coke, and head for the dance floor.
Soon feeling blissfully inebriated, warmth floods my body as I give myself over to the hypnotic thrum of the music. The strobe lights reign down, bathing me in an ethereal glow. The kick of bass reverberates right to my very core as I float into another dimension. Screw therapy, dancing in any form is an effective form of releasing tension, a healing balm. I used to belong to a pole-dancing club. As a group, we would meet together once a week at a private studio. We never danced in public. Since the quake, I’ve never been back. I miss it.
Closing my eyes, conscious thought is lost as my body instinctively moves.
Hot breath in my ear interrupts the trance I’m in with the crude words, “Way that little body of yours moves upright, love to see what it can do horizontal.”
Mood broken, I snap my head to the side. Cocky grin, oozing self-confidence. I stretch up on my toes and yell above the music, “Get lost, asshole, I bat for Team Skirt.”
His self-assured grin spreads wider. “H-A-W-T baby, a man’s ultimate dream...two women; a double dipper. The name’s Brett.” He smirks.
Complete ass. Total player.
I knock my drink back in one gulp.
“You’re a pig,” I snap at him, placing my empty glass in his hand before sashaying off the dance floor. Approaching the bar, I order another.
“Sweetheart, I think you’ve had more than you can handle tonight. Not a good idea, a young slip like yourself, drinking alone, with no back up. It’s asking for trouble.” Even in my inebriated state, this irks me.
“I need a drink, Jim, not a lecture, please,” I plead, while attempting to pull myself upright to my full five-foot-five frame, staring up at a man whom I know only has my best interests at heart.
I feel someone to my left and glance over, expecting to see Brett. It’s worse. A freak. Typical. I must be fly paper for them tonight. Full mullet, beer gut, and a blotchy red face. Probably drunker than I am. Even through the distorting lenses of beer goggles, he’s gross. Leering across at me, whilst sliding his hand up my thigh, he addresses Jimmy, “Lady spoke, you gonna listen? Her glass is still empty, mate.”
I start to push his hand away, Jimmy stiffens and is about to intervene when I feel a presence in the room and turn around, swaying slightly to right myself. A hand grips me round the waist gently and I find myself staring at two well-defined pectorals peeping out from a button-down black thermal, my eyes drifting over the valley between the two tanned and sculpted muscles. A tattoo of a dog tag, which appears to be nailed to his skin, rests in the indention. Then the beautiful chest rumbles, “You’ll wanna drop your hand right now or face me breakin’ every one of your fingers, mate.”
I look up, up some more, as my eyes battle to focus. When they do, the air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. My drunken heart still manages a somersault as a familiar gorgeous face with a scar across the left eyebrow cuts glacial blue eyes from the creep down to me. Dominic. He’s so friggin’ beautiful up this close. His black hair is mussed up into irregular spikes.
The timbre of his voice ignites the blood in my veins as I drink him in with my eyes.
I must be really hammered because I have the urge to run my hands over the ridges and valleys of his finely honed chest and trace the indentations with my tongue.
As wasted as I am, I sense Dominic is extremely ticked off. Jaw tense, his eyes bore into mine. Creep decides now would be a good time to wade in. Attempting to slip his arm around my waist, he challenges, “You’ll wanna go find your own piece of ass, mate, this one has my name written all over her.”
This guy must have a death wish tonight. Dominic is not a man I would imagine many guys would challenge more than once, if at all.
Dominic moves faster than lightning, and suddenly, Creep is no longer standing next to me but plastered up against the wall, Dominic right up in his face, fisting his shirt. “Not in the habit of repeatin’ myself, asshole, so you’ve got five seconds to hightail it outta here.”
Dominic gives him a hard sho
ve forward, and unsurprisingly he scampers off. Dominic looks across at Jimmy, his mouth a hard line. “I’ve got it man, all good.” He then turns back to me. “Let’s get you out of here,” he says gruffly, taking my hand.
I glance at Jimmy who has started walking down to the other side of the bar to serve two new patrons. Starting to sober up, my happy drunken state is rapidly dissolving and being replaced by blinding anger. What is it with these guys? Testosterone overload, treating me like a plaything, all wanting a piece of me.
I stand my ground and refuse to budge as Dominic attempts to walk us out. His brows snap together as he steps right into my space, lowering his voice to a rough whisper, “Could ask you what game you’re playing here, sweetheart. Do you wanna get yourself into a dangerous situation? ‘Cos you’re fuckin’ playin’ with fire dressed like this,” he gestures to my outfit, “drinkin’ like you clearly have been. Alone.”
His words sting and I go solid, ripping my hand from his grip.
I look up into eyes that stare determinedly back at mine. Expression unreadable. Yet what he says hits a nerve. I am on a self-destructive course. I know this. One that could land me in a seriously scary predicament. I don’t need some guy who thinks he’s Alpha One to point this out to me though.
“Barely back in town and throwing attitude already. I’m going nowhere with you or any other man tonight, Dominic. You do realise I’m a grown woman who’s more than capable of taking care of herself, right?”
“You’re drunk, Kate. This could get you in all sorts of trouble. Want me to throw you over my shoulder darlin’ and haul your ass outta here, ‘cos I’ll be only too happy to oblige?”
I didn’t doubt for a minute that he’d carry out his threat.
“A regular caveman, aren’t you, Dominic? Oh, and for the record, I. Am. Not. Alone. I’m here with Sarah trying to enjoy a ladies’ night free of men.” I spit the last word out petulantly, the alcohol in my system making me more snippy than I’d usually be.
Leaving Dominic staring after me, I give myself an internal high five and strut back to Sarah who has returned to her spot at the counter, and has been watching our exchange with rapt interest.
Fractured Page 8
