If This Is Our Last Night

by Alexandra Page

  If This Is

  Our Last Night

  By Alexandra Page

  If This Is Our Last Night - Copyright © 2017 Alexandra Page

  Cover Art by Alexandra Page

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the storyteller’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblances to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions or locales is completely coincidental.

  Contact me at

  alexandrapagewrites.com

  For all of you that believed I could.

  If This Is Our Last Night

  I look out over the large, buzzing crowd of suits, satin, and sequins—every one of them with their noses in the air—and groan. “Why in the hell did I let you drag me to this? It’s a proctologist’s dream in here. Wall-to-wall assholes.”

  “Doug Coughlin from Cocktail,” Lizbeth chirps beside me, like some happy little bird. “You’ve used that one a hundred times.”

  “It fits lots of situations.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t forget you’re one of these assholes now, and you owe me. It’s New Year’s Eve, Jen. You have no business being home alone in your old pj’s with messy hair,” she says, fretting like an old hen.

  “Don’t forget the cold pizza and wine.”

  “Ha ha. There are three hundred people here and you know half of them. Surely you can find someone to talk to.” She grins at me, wiggling her waxed-to-perfection eyebrows. “Maybe even someone to go home with.”

  My eyes roll so far back in my head it’s a wonder they don’t get stuck. “Not happening, Lizzy. There’s not a man here that could please me better than Mr. H anyway.” One certain man flashes into my mind. The one who had definitely pleased me better than any damn vibrator ever could. I clear the lump out of my throat and hope against hope that Liz doesn’t notice the blush heating my cheeks.

  “Don’t be such a party pooper prude. You’re gonna have to give Mr. Hitachi a break one of these days you know?” She starts fluffing my hair, which she did for hours before we left. It can’t possibly need more. “You look gorgeous, thanks to me, so there’s no way you won’t have at least a dozen of them on the hook before ten. You need a real man.”

  I brush her away and start walking. “I look like a slut, thanks to you, and leave Mr. H outta this. He’s loyal and committed. And for the record, I never said I wouldn’t hook any of them. I said I wouldn’t be taking anyone home.”

  She skips up beside me on her sky-high heels, her big brown eyes glowing. “Oooooh, you got a room here, didn’t you?”

  “Nope. You know I don’t do strangers.”

  She wilts like a flower. “But it’s been years. You have to move on one day, sweetie.”

  “Please give it a fucking rest. We’ve been over this a thousand times. I have moved on, you just don’t like where I moved to. Get over it already.”

  From the look on her face you’d think I just kicked her puppy, but those big watery doe eyes and pouty lip don’t do much to persuade me. I lean over and give her a peck on the cheek. “I love ya, Lizzy, but I’m fine. I’ve been a big girl for a long time. Now go do your thing, I’m going to get a drink.” I turn around and head towards the bar across the room.

  “Jennnnna.”

  I wave her off and keep walking. She knows I’ve never been the life of the party. That’s her job. I do work with a lot of these people but this is her and her daddy’s crowd, not mine. I’ll have a few drinks, dance with a few suits, and then I’m heading home to my pj’s and cold pizza. It’s nine now. I’ll stay until eleven.

  I weave my way through the crowd of snotties—that’s what I call rich people—and eventually make it to the bar. Thankfully the line isn’t terribly long and I only have to wait a few minutes before I can order.

  “What can I get you, gorgeous?” the bartender asks as soon as I step up, a big smile on his scruffy face. I’m surprised Raymond didn’t make him shave.

  “White Russian, please,” I say politely, keeping my face neutral so I don’t encourage him or any of the other men around me. I’m pretty sure a few of them followed me up here from the main floor. Lizzy did too good of a job on me tonight, the bitch. Even I have to admit, I look damn good in this dress. Having a back that plunges down to my ass might be a bit much though. Most of the men at functions like these only see women as playthings brought in for their entertainment. Apparently, the ones around me are no exception. They’re like wolves circling in for the kill, causing my skin to prickle with their hungry stares. None of them will be making a meal out of me though. I’m in ice-queen mode, just like every other day that ends in ‘y’. Scruffy places my drink on the bar and takes the tip I place beside it. I walk away without a word, ignoring the catcalls and whistles.

  Maybe one day I’ll succeed in getting Liz to quit trying to get me hitched and leave me to the single life. I’ll probably be fifty before that happens. I don’t know why she’s so determined anyway. She swears she’s never getting married despite Raymond’s looming deadline. I actually feel sorry for her being the rich kid. She only has a few more years before the money pipeline flowing into her accounts shuts down for good. If she doesn’t bow to daddy’s wishes she’ll be out on her spoiled ass. Makes me very thankful for my humble upbringing. The poor thing has no clue how to take care of herself and I know exactly who she’s going to come crawling to when he cuts her off. Teaching one rich kid the ways of the real world was enough. I’m not looking forward to doing it again.

  I find an empty table in a dark corner on the second-floor balcony and sit down, slipping my heels off. Time to people watch. That’s my thing when I go to parties. I watch people and make stories up for them to pass the time. I can be a bit introverted, so it helps me cope with the crowds. I wasn’t always like this. I used to be fun. That was a long time ago though, way back in my early twenties. Before he left.

  Nope, we’re not going there Jen.

  Don’t we always go there?

  Not the point.

  Yeah, it kinda is.

  Yes, this is something else I do. Fight with my internal bitch. I hate her. She always fucking wins.

  Yes, I do.

  Please give it a rest, for one night. Please.

  Whatever you say, dear.

  God, I need help.

  You’re perfectly sane. Now people watching, we were people watching. Let’s find our first victim.

  I spot Lizzy flitting from bigwig to bigwig on my first sweep. How she doesn’t see it, I don’t know, but she is her father’s daughter. She eats this shit up with a spoon and could party for nights on end if necessary. I don’t know how she stands it. I’m so glad I’m ‘the help’ and too lowly to rub elbows with the richies. Or worse, stuck down there on some wealthy asshole’s arm with the fakest of smiles plastered on my face. Thank the good Lord I dodged that bullet.

  I keep scanning the crowd of black penguin suits and flashy dresses until I find the ever-present pigeon among all the peacocks. There she is! And look, her husband makes them a matching pair. The poor things are just like me, they have no business being with these stuffed shirts in this ritzy club. They’re too poor and too old. His tux is two sizes too big and bless her, her dress is two sizes too small. Looks like a bunch of fat puppies fighting in
a sack. And damn, Matilda’s dress of many colors would be an understatement.

  I’m an awful person. When did I become so mean?

  When he left.

  You were giving it a rest, remember?

  Sorry, I forgot.

  Yeah, right.

  Just get it over with and I’ll leave you alone.

  You never leave me alone! You make me see him everywhere. Sometimes I can even smell him or hear his voice. You’re a cruel bitch and you know it. See! Case in point, right down there. Tall, blonde, and sexy. Everywhere I go you make me see at least one. That one’s almost a carbon copy except his shoulders are a little wider than Brad’s were.

  Oh, my sweet! You said his name! I’m so proud of you!

  Go suck a fucking lemon.

  Language! Did you notice his hair is the same golden shade as yours?

  No, it’s not. That guy’s is too dark.

  Look closer when he moves into the light.

  Shit. He’s not tall enough though.

  Open your eyes! He’s a head taller than everyone else around him.

  It can’t be him. He’s in Norway and has been since he left. He wouldn’t be here.

  He sure can command a room like Brad did. Look at how they’re all watching him move, hanging on his every word. The women are gonna start dropping like flies in a minute, probably some of the men too. You know what his voice can do. And remember your senior formal? No one could wear a tux better than him, except maybe this guy. You two looked like you were in a movie that night.

  No, that was just Brad.

  I used to dream of him standing at the end of an aisle, dressed in a crisp white shirt and a sharp black tux. He was always smiling, his blue-green eyes twinkling and his cheeks flushed with happiness as he watched me walk towards him in my white dress.

  My phone buzzes like mad in my clutch while my heels click rapidly down the stairs. I have to see if it’s really him. Knowing I’ll never spot him once I get swallowed by the crowd, I head straight for the raised bar.

  “Ready for round two, gorgeous?” scruffy face asks.

  “Yes, thank you.” I climb onto a stool and spin it around to get a better view.

  Where is he?

  I register ice tinkling, splashes of liquid, then a heavy glass sliding over wood. “How is it a pretty lady like you is all alone?”

  “I like it that way.” Not taking my eyes off the crowd I grab my drink and take a rather large swallow. I still can’t find the guy who set my heart into panic mode. Maybe he left?

  Liz materializes out of the crowd like Scotty just beamed her up. “Jen! There you are! I was here a few minutes ago and you weren’t here. How’d I miss you? Were you in the bathroom?”

  “No, upstairs,” I say, swatting at her and her annoying chatter. I stretch up to see better. He has to be out there somewhere. Surely, I wasn’t seeing things. I’m not that drunk yet.

  “Oh good, then come with me. I need some peace and quiet already,” she says, tugging on my arm.

  Peace and quiet? Lizbeth doesn’t even know what those words mean. I sink back in my chair and really look at her.

  Son of a bitch.

  My heart in my throat, I pull my arm out of her hand. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  Her nervous smile evaporates, her eyes swelling into liquid pools. “Oh God! You saw him? I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he’d be here. I swear I didn’t. I’m gonna kill daddy for not telling me. We can leave, okay? I’ll sneak you out the back.” She has my other arm caught in her grasp now, trying to pull me off the stool.

  I jerk away from her, spilling what’s left of my White Russian. “No.”

  “No? What do you mean, no? You want to go out the front instead?”

  “I mean, no. I’m staying.”

  “Honey, I’m not sure seeing him after all this time is a good idea.” The pity written all over her face makes me want to slap her.

  I set my glass down on the bar hard enough that the ice dances. “Not seeing him hasn’t worked so well for me now has it?”

  “No, I guess not, but…”

  “Have you talked to him?” She shakes her head. “Then go find out why he’s here. Do some recon. I need to know if he’s just visiting or back for good.”

  “You want me to talk to him? Jenna, the last time I saw him he was furious with me. I’ll go ask daddy instead.” She scurries away before I can stop her.

  Shit, shit, shit. I knew I should’ve stayed home. It’s a damn good thing I’ve only had a drink and a half tonight or I sure as shit would be puking right now.

  I look up and scan the crowd again and there he is. The man I thought I’d never see again. He’s as beautiful as he ever was, even more so actually. He’s still tall and trim, carrying himself like a perfect gentleman, yet relaxed and at ease. When he was younger he almost didn’t know what to do with his long limbs. By twenty-two or so he began to move with the grace of a lion, oozing power and pure male sexuality with every move he made. It’s practically radiating off him now. Just like every other person that's watching him, I’m awestruck, unable to pull my eyes away from his gorgeous presence. His golden hair is still worn longer than most men’s, but it’s brushed back from his forehead, putting his perfect profile on display. He’s not as tan as he used to be, but there’s a healthy glow to him now. I nearly burst into tears as I watch his soft lips pull back into a slow smile and his eyes crinkle at the corners, his response to someone else’s joke.

  He used to smile at you like that all the time.

  Do you think for one second I forgot?

  No, of course not.

  Six years. I haven’t seen Brad Foster—the love of my life, the man I was going to marry—in six years.

  It feels like he just left yesterday.

  I knew when he did I would never love another. Hell, I knew it the moment I first laid eyes on him in tenth grade in Mr. Estes’ homeroom when we were both the tender age of sixteen.

  Brad was the new kid coming in halfway through the semester. We didn’t get many of those, so he stood out among all of us other kids. We’d all been together since kindergarten.

  He would have stood out regardless though with his long, lanky limbs pushing him to at least a head taller than most of the other boys. His sun-kissed blonde hair reached his chin, a stark contrast to the crew cuts that were popular at the time. With skin so bronzed and golden it was easy to see he spent most of his days outside, shirtless. None of the redneck tan lines were present. He was wearing a white sleeveless t-shirt with an ocean sunset printed on it, cargo shorts down past his knees, and a pair of leather flip flops. He had a shark’s tooth hanging from a leather cord around his neck too. But it was his eyes that really caught my attention, and my heart.

  They were the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. Clear and bright, they held every shade of blue, gray, and green I could imagine. I was lost the second they stared back at me, nervous and lonely, full of pain.

  I knew those feelings well. They were my constant companions five days a week, one hundred and eighty days a year. School wasn’t kind to awkward, shy girls who developed early. All the boys wanted to do was get me in their back seats, and their rotation of girlfriends hated my guts for it.

  So when his sad eyes met mine, I smiled back softly. He ignored everyone else’s judgmental stares, grinned slightly, and then headed straight for the empty seat behind mine.

  “Hi, I’m Brad,” he whispered as he sat down.

  I twisted around in my seat and gave him my crazy smile. I couldn’t help it, he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Up close like he was, he took my breath away. I had to grip the back of my seat hard to keep from reaching up and touching his shiny hair. I just knew it would slip through my fingers like silk if I did.

  My cheeks were on fire when I found my voice. “Umm, hi. My name’s Jenna. Nice to meet you.”

  “Cool name, I like it,” he beamed, his whole face lighting up with his bright smile.

  W
ith those five little words and his beautiful smile, the sweet taste of love rushed through me and I was hopelessly spellbound.

  Fourteen years later and the sight of him still makes my heart pound and my insides turn to jelly.

  I helped get him acquainted with where all his classes were and told him who was who for the rest of the day. At lunch I learned he was from California, born and raised. That easily explained his surfer boy look. His parents had been killed by a drunk driver over the summer and he was forced to choose between boarding school or moving to Texas to live with an uncle. He was the only relative still willing to take in a moody, troubled teenager, and even though Brad barely knew him, he figured he’d be better than the alternative.

  When I told him that my parents were gone too—they weren’t dead, just deadbeats who dumped us on our grandmother—we couldn’t help but connect. We became good buddies before the end of the week.

  Turned out his Uncle Rob was a total asshole who had no business raising a kid. He gave less of a shit what Brad did as long as he was able to pull money from his hefty trust fund. It was the only reason he agreed to take him. Brad rarely ever saw a dime of that money. Rob used it for himself, mostly on liquor. He never bought groceries, so Brad ate like a ravenous wolf at school every day, breakfast and lunch. When he had money to pay for it anyway. The poor kid was like the Little Princess, suddenly living like the poorest of the poor after growing up in the lap of luxury.

  It only took me about a week to figure out what was going on. I couldn’t keep watching him struggle, so I started bringing leftovers from home or extra lunch money from my meager allowance to give him. I made it out like my grandmother packed me too much or gave me extra money just in case I needed it, so he wouldn’t feel like a charity case. I knew that feeling all too well and hated it, so I didn’t want to make him feel the same. After all he had lost, he didn’t need that too.

  Gran, Michael, and I didn’t have much, but when I told her about Brad’s situation she made sure he got fed. She had me invite him to eat supper with us that Saturday. I nearly cried watching him eat. He cleaned three plates, thanking Gran after nearly every bite he took. After that, she insisted he come every Saturday and Sunday to spend the day with us and she always sent him home with leftovers or some of whatever cake or cookies she had baked that week.