She smiles as we come to a stop in front of a townhouse. Her hands are buried in the pockets of my hoodie, and I have to say, she looks incredible, wearing my clothes, even though it’s three times too big for her. Seeing her wrapped in something of mine sends a shot of lightning straight to my heart.
“This is me.”
I step closer, needing to feel her near me, smell the citrus smell that’s been radiating from her all night. We’re silent for a few beats as we simply watch each other. Then, Kaelyn lets out a shuddering breath, her huge brown eyes expressive.
“You make me so nervous,” she confesses.
“Why?” I ask, genuinely confused.
My eyes are drawn to her lips as her tongue licks against the bottom lip, and it takes me a full second to tear my gaze from her mouth when she speaks, “Honestly, I don’t know. Even on New Year’s Eve, you made me nervous, like butterflies-in-my-stomach kind of nervous, and I’ve never felt that before. It’s quite unnerving.”
I edge even closer until my chest is pressed up against hers, and I gaze down at her, suddenly feeling like I’ve gained the powers of Superman with the influence her words make me feel and with the way she’s looking at me right now.
I make her nervous?
Fucking ditto, baby.
“Can I let you in on a secret?” I take ahold of her hand and press it against my chest where my heart is currently beating a million miles per hour at having her this close.
“You feel that? That’s because of you. You make me feel nervous, exhilarated, excited, and invincible.”
Her chest begins to rise and fall at an unsteady pace, her lips parted, her breathing choppy, as she stares up at me with surprise. It takes everything within me not to kiss those swollen rosy-pink lips.
“I honestly never thought I’d see you again. New Year’s Eve, you rocked my world, and we didn’t so much as kiss. Now, you stand here before me, looking handsome as hell, and all I want to do is kiss you, but something tells me you’re not as available as your empty ring finger suggests.”
I grimace because she’s right, and I hate that she’s right. I hate myself, my life, and the universe for fucking me over. There’s a beautiful woman who wants me, mine for the taking, but I have to walk away. I have no choice. “I’m sorry.”
Her touch on my chest lingers for another second longer before she steps away, and I despise the distance she puts between us but know it’s for the best.
“It’s okay. I have no business wanting to get started with another guy after the disaster that was my last relationship. I’m just asking for trouble, right?”
She takes a few more steps back, smiling, although I hear the bitterness enveloped around every word she says.
“Don’t put this on you, please. Without this sounding cliché, it’s not you; it’s me. My life is complicated. A complicated, fucked up mess with more baggage than you can ever understand.”
“Try me.”
I let out a long sigh, smoothing over the scruff on my face, not even knowing where I could possibly start. “I won’t because it’s my problem, not yours, and if it’s fucked up in my own head, I don’t even want to know what it would sound like in somebody else’s.”
She’s quiet for a moment as she mulls over what I just said. “I understand. I’m sorry your life is a fucked up mess.”
“Me, too.”
She closes the distance, and rising on her toes, she presses a soft kiss to my cheek before pulling away, leaving a tingle along the spot where she kissed me. “I hope, one day, you can be happy. Good night, Chase.”
She takes a final step away from me, turns, and walks up the steps to her front door. I stay rooted to the spot as I watch her go inside and close the front door but not before glancing at me one more time, a sad smile etched on her pretty face. Then, I’m left, just staring at her door, feeling emptier than I did before I walked into that sports bar.
Fuck you, Olivia.
Yang to your Grey
Kaelyn
The shrill of an alert tone from my phone wakes me from my sleep. I groggily reach over to my side table and retrieve my phone from its charger. It takes me a while to adjust my sleepy eyes, but when I do, I let out a frustrated groan when I see I have a text message from my douche bag ex, Teddy. I don’t even bother reading it, knowing it’ll just be another groveling text message to take him back. I haven’t had enough coffee to deal with his shit just now.
Instead, I fall back on my bed with a dramatic flop, drop my phone face-first into my comforter, and stare up at my ceiling as I scream at the top of my lungs, “Fuck you, Teddy! You don’t get to keep texting me, especially since you’re a cheating scumbag who ruined the best thing that ever happened to you! Ugh, asshole!”
Once I get that anger out of my system, my eyes glance to the navy-blue hoodie hanging from my vanity stool. Memories from last night appear in the forefront of my mind, and my heart sinks at the very thought.
Why is it, I find the perfect guy, but he’s as unavailable to me as a gay guy in a female strip joint?
I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw him last night. After that night on New Year’s Eve, I hadn’t thought I’d ever see him again. I mean, what were the chances that we’d be in the same sports bar, on a Sunday night, at the exact same time? I mean, I know he lives in Dallas, and I live in Dallas, and he obviously loves sports, but damn, Dallas is a big place. I never anticipated running into him at my favorite watering hole.
Then, he was there, without his wedding ring, looking as gorgeous and sexy as ever, smiling at me as if I were the Blake Lively to his Ryan Reynolds, and after a single glance in my direction, I felt it again—the electrifying connection between us. At first, I thought maybe it was fate that had brought us back together, but after the way things ended last night, I’m thinking it was more Karma who just wanted to dangle a carrot in front of me before snatching it from my grasp at the very last second. They always say Karma is a bitch, and after getting to know her firsthand yesterday, I wholeheartedly agree with the genius who had come up with that saying. She really is a bitch.
I wish I knew what was haunting him. From afar, he seemed fine, but when I got closer, I could see the pain. He tried to disguise it, but more often than not, his eyes would glaze over, and sadness would replace any semblance of happiness. He was different than the first time I’d met him; he seemed empty somehow. I think I helped him forget about whatever had him in so much turmoil, and being the one to make him smile made me feel like fucking Wonder Woman.
As the night came to a close, I wanted to kiss him, but regardless of what his empty ring finger said, he was just as unavailable as he had been when he was married.
Is it his wife, their divorce, or something else? Something worse? I wish I knew what it was, so I could help him, but he’d made it abundantly clear last night that he wasn’t going to let me in. He point-blank said he wouldn’t. My heart died a little inside at that, but what could I do?
It’s stupid to feel this torn about a guy I barely know. Like he said, his life is a fucked up mess, and who needs that kind of drama, right? But he’s buried himself inside my head and my heart, and honestly, I’m afraid he’ll never leave.
I’ve never felt this kind of chemistry before. Yes, I’ve always had sexual chemistry with guys who gave me toe-curling sex, but I’ve never experienced it on an emotional level, never on a level that had my heart almost bursting out of my chest at the thought of never seeing them again.
Jesus, maybe I’m just reading too much into this.
It’s way too early to be tearing my heart out like this, especially without an ounce of coffee in my system. I get up and do my usual morning routine. Pee, brush my teeth, and wash my face before trudging to the kitchen, turning on my Keurig single-serve coffee machine, and inserting a coffee pod. At the press of a button, I watch the steaming hot liquid slowly drip inside the mug. I swear, it’s the best hundred sixty-nine bucks I’ve ever spent. I’m able to keep to my one cof
fee a day, and I don’t waste a full pot.
I sit myself in front of the TV, watching some random cooking show as I slowly turn into something that resembles a human with every sip I take. I try not to think about Chase, but it’s difficult when that’s all I can do, especially with his stupid hoodie tormenting me each time I walk past it while I’m getting ready for my day.
It was so sweet for him to offer me his hoodie, so I wouldn’t get cold since I’d left mine at the studio last night, too eager to get to the bar in hopes of catching the back end of the game. When I told Chase good night, I actually forgot I was wearing it until I was inside my house. I found it odd that I could smell his rugged aroma on me and then realized I still had his hoodie hugged around me like a quilt.
I have no way to return it to him, especially since I didn’t get his number. I suppose I could find out where his charity is and drop it off there. I mean, I don’t even have to see him, just drop it off with reception, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I bumped into him, right?
I shake my head.
I sound ridiculous right now.
Seeing him again is definitely not a good idea.
I will just drop the hoodie off, get that perfect scent of him out of my house, and forget he ever existed. If it was meant to be, last night would have ended with more than a good-bye. I can’t get hung up on a guy who has no interest in me.
In fact, it’s probably for the best, especially since I just got out of a serious relationship. If I learned anything by being with Teddy, it’s that I don’t need a man. All I need is me, and I am enough. I am independent, I earn enough money to make myself comfortable, and I have the best family and the greatest friends.
I don’t need a fucking man.
And, as for sex, well, I have several toys that can get me off, and I’m more than happy to use them for the foreseeable future. Hell, I have a vibrator massager that can make me come faster than any guy could, so I’m hardly missing out on anything.
It’s the guys who are missing out, missing out on my awesomeness because they’re just a bunch of stubborn assholes who don’t know a good thing, even when it smacks them in the face.
Fuck guys. Fuck them all.
“Fuck them,” I say to my reflection in the mirror as I pile my hair into a messy bun before giving my boobs a good squeeze in my new cute sports bra that I just purchased.
God, I love my boobs.
I breathe through my nostrils and let out a deep breath as I sit cross-legged.
“Inhaling, reach your arms up into the air and then slowly bring your hands down together, settling over your heart,” I say in a soothing voice as I demonstrate the exact moves, reaching my arms up to the ceiling before bringing my hands together down my chest in a prayer position. “Bow your head and let out a long exhale.” I deeply exhale before my eyes meet my class in front of me and smile relaxingly.
“That’s the end of the session. Thank you for being such a wonderful class.”
I love yoga. Most of the women who entered my studio earlier had their own anxieties and stresses, and I could see it in their eyes. And, now, after forty-five minutes of intense meditation and stretches, all the tension of real life has seemingly melted away from them. Seeing it happen, watching their health and strength improve with every single breath they take, is the most rewarding thing about being a yoga instructor. When they leave my studio, it’s like a weight has been lifted off their shoulders, and they’re able to tackle whatever comes their way.
It’s not just meditation, or exercise—it’s therapy. It not only heals the body, but the mind, too.
“Thanks for an awesome session, Kaelyn,” I hear from several of the women as they head out with their mats rolled under their arms.
“It’s my pleasure,” I reply, smiling as I stand before glancing down at my Apple watch. It’s just after five p.m., and that was my final session of the day. I do a quick tidy-up, making sure it’s good to go for the Zumba class at six, which is taught by Brooke, one of the girls I rent the studio space with. Brooke, Victoria—who teaches dance on the weekends—and I each bring our own expertise to the studio. We schedule our classes around each other, so it’s very rare that we bump into each other.
I grab my stuff and leave, ensuring the studio is securely locked before making my way to the car. Instead of going straight home, I decide to drop Chase’s hoodie off at The Chase Foundation. After Googling it earlier, I learned it was only a few blocks from the studio.
I pull up outside to what looks like a converted warehouse. Since it’s a charity foundation, I wasn’t expecting something so big, but it’s almost the size of a football field. I exit my car, and with my car keys in one hand and Chase’s hoodie tucked under my arm, I make my way to the entrance.
When I push the door open, my eyes widen as I take in my surroundings. For a not-for-profit organization, this place is definitely on the high-end scale.
It’s like IKEA meets Google.
Multicolored shipping containers make up what look to be meeting spaces, rec rooms, and even a few counselor rooms. Hockey memorabilia hangs on the walls along with a wall of fame that’s covered with pictures of children dressed in hockey gear with various awards. Beyond the office are high open windows that look onto the state-of-the-art hockey rink. My feet instinctively move toward the windows, and I take in the impressive view of the rink. I swear, it’s just like a legit NHL hockey rink.
Stepping up to the glass, I notice a tall figure skating over to a kid and repositioning his stick. With the way my heart does a flip, I immediately know it’s Chase. I find myself transfixed as I watch him for a moment, skating along the ice as if it’s as natural as breathing for him, moving from one child to the next.
I’m not sure how long I stand there, simply watching him moving over the rink like some kind of hockey god, but after a while of blatantly eye-fucking Chase, I just about jump out of my skin when I hear a woman’s voice from behind ask, “Can I help you?”
I spin around, my hand to my chest and breathing heavily, like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. My eyes fall on a woman who’s in her early forties, dressed smartly in a pantsuit, hair pinned tightly in a bun. She’s pretty in a Michelle Pfeiffer kind of way before she had all of the plastic surgery. I see she’s wearing a lanyard around her neck, and I discreetly glance down at the ID card and see she’s one of the counselors.
“Um, hi!” I say, my voice a little squeaky, the shock of this woman appearing out of nowhere still running through my veins. “Yes, actually, you can. I’m a friend of Chase Henderson’s.” I know friend isn’t exactly how I would describe who Chase is to me after only seeing him twice. At this point, I don’t think I’m even an acquaintance, but I’m not about to tell a stranger about how the gorgeous retired hockey star all but rejected me because he’s as fucked up as Fifty Shades.
“To cut a long story short, I have his hoodie, and I just came to drop it off. Would you be able to give it to him?”
She briefly looks me over, no doubt assessing me and ensuring I’m not some wack job with stalker written on my forehead. After a few seconds, happy with her assessment, she smiles before looking down at her watch. “He’s actually finishing up shortly. You’re more than welcome to stick around until he’s finished with his session.” She points to the direction of the ice rink.
I immediately begin to shake my head, knowing that seeing him again after last night would be a bad idea, the worst.
“I would,” I lie, “but I have to shoot off. If you could just give him his hoodie, that would be great.” I hand her the hoodie—or more accurately, fling it at her as if the hoodie were on fire.
“Yes, of course.”
“Thank you.” I resist the urge to take a final glance at Chase as I walk toward the exit.
“Um, miss? Who shall I say dropped it off?”
I turn at the sound of her question, and I smile, but it’s not the happy kind. I point to the hoodie in her hand. “
Something tells me he will know exactly who dropped it off.” With that, I hightail it out of there.
Leaning against the door, I let out a breath of relief once the cool evening air hits my lungs. After a few seconds pass, I make the mistake of looking back through the glass door. Time seems to stand still when I find Chase looking straight at me through the window, still with his skates and helmet on, and all the yoga and breathing exercises I’ve done today goes to shit. I find it hard to catch my breath, my body is strung out. He starts in my direction, but not wanting a repeat of last night, I turn and hurry to my car.
The first thing I do when I get home is take a long, hot bath in my Victorian free-standing tub. I masturbate with thoughts of the one guy I’m finding more and more difficult to get out of my head since I saw him earlier, and I come harder than I have since I was a virgin teen and all I had were my fingers to get me off. Usually, an orgasm is a good way to relax me, but I’m even more high-strung than I was earlier. I’m just glad I have another day of yoga classes tomorrow because, where my thoughts are currently, yoga will have to be part of an hourly routine.
Once I get out of the bath, I jump into a pair of PJs, put a pre-prepared protein meal in the microwave, and pour myself a glass of water from the fridge dispenser. I’d much rather be drowning my sorrows with a glass of wine, but I have a rule where I don’t drink during the week, and after last night’s tequila shots and beer, I need to give my liver a much-needed rest anyway.
As I dig into my food while sitting on the sofa, my phone begins to ring, and I’m relieved when I see it’s my best friend, Jo, FaceTiming me. That’s when I realize she never replied to my text last night when I texted her with, You’ll never guess who I’m with RIGHT NOW!
I answer with a click of a button, and her pretty face comes into view. I swallow a mouthful of my food before I speak, “Wow, took you long enough to get back to me.”
“Hi to you, too,” she says with a smile. “And what are you talking about?” She frowns.
My Forever (Our Forever Book 3) Page 5
