by S. M. Soto
I don’t remember hearing the door open, but the sound of the voice has me jolting upright. I hastily wipe at the tears on my face, trying to get rid of the evidence.
“Sam?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah?”
“Are you okay?” Aliza asks. “I saw you run in here. You’ve been locked in the stall for a while.”
I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath. Pinching the apples of my cheeks, I plaster a smile on my face as I yank the door open.
“Yup, everything is good, Ohio. Just stomach issues. You know, the bubble guts.”
I brush past her toward the sink and wash my hands. I stare down as I lather the soap, creating an abundance of suds. Anything to avoid her probing stare. I peek up at her through my lashes. The mirror reflects her watching me intently, with her thin arms crossed over her chest and a worried look plastered across her face. Quickly, I dart my eyes away and turn toward the paper towel dispenser.
“You’ve been crying,” she says quietly.
With a sigh, I tear off the paper and dry my hands. Squaring my shoulders, I turn back to her and shrug.
“So what if I have?” Surprisingly, Aliza closes the space between us and pulls me into her arms. She squeezes me tightly and the comfort of her arms has me tearing up all over again.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Do you want me to get Natalia?” Her aquamarine eyes swirl with worry as she searches my face. I grip her hands and squeeze reassuringly.
“No. Please. I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.”
She nods her head slowly and nibbles on her bottom lip. “It’s because of Alex, isn’t it?”
Her question hits me square in the chest. It’s a painful blow to my heart. Hot tears sting my eyes. I frantically blink them away.
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
“He still loves you, Samantha. You know he does.”
I choke on a half-laugh, half-sob. “That doesn’t change things, Aliza. I’m a mess. He has Masie. You and I both know he’s better off with her.”
Aliza’s brows furrow and suddenly, her expression turns to one of frustration. “He’s not better off with her. You guys are the best people when you’re together. Masie will never be able to fill your place in his heart. You are perfect for him, Samantha. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
I fight a smile and raise a single brow. “I thought you and Masie were besties? You know, with all the double-dating you guys do.”
Aliza’s lips quirk. “Never. You are my best friend, not her, Sammy. No amount of double-dates will change that.”
“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”
She grins widely. “Not nearly enough. You owe me, Paisley.”
“I know I do,” I say, pulling her into a hug that restricts both of our breathing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
As I pull into the parking lot of the high-rise condo, dread settles in the pit of my stomach. It’s been happening every time I meet James for our arrangement.
I’m tired. So fucking tired.
I don’t want to do this anymore. Every time I’m with him, I see Alex. I feel Alex. And I pretend he’s Alex. By then end of the night, when everything is said and done, I feel dirty—filthy even—for sleeping with a man I don’t care about. It never bothered me much before. Sleeping with people and having no attachments. Those were what one-night stands were all about. But this…it felt different. It felt wrong. Because I knew, deep down on some sad level, James didn’t respect me or even like me, either. I was just a good fuck. Nothing more, nothing less. And to be honest, I was tired of just being the girl that was a good fuck. I wanted to be more.
I blame my childhood for creating and producing this damaged, soulless person I am. Every person reacts differently to the circumstances in their lives. Some rape victims fall into a deep depression, unable to handle the touch of another person, whether it be male or female. Other victims, such as myself, bury ourselves under a warm body to try to forget the horrors inflicted upon us from our pasts. Sleeping around with different men has always been a coping mechanism for me. When I’m having sex, I forget about Cyrus, I forget about my foster father hovering over me at night. I crave the control. I need it more than my next breath. I know if I’m the one offering sex, willing to put out—I get to say when, I get to say where, and how. It keeps me from falling back into the memories of my past where I was just that hopeless little girl with no control over anything or anyone.
I refuse to be that little girl anymore.
Once I walked through the door of his condo, James was there waiting, with a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. I refrained from rolling my eyes. With all the alcohol he consumes, one would think he’s a fucking alcoholic. I sure do.
I didn’t bother with formalities. No greetings were necessary between us. Just a minor glance in each other’s eyes was enough to have us methodologically taking our clothes off. Our bodies collided together, becoming one, but I felt no passion. I felt no spark. There was no excitement—I just felt numb. My mind wandered to places it shouldn’t during sex with another man.
Where was Alex? What was he doing? Was he sharing a quiet evening in with Masie? The last thought left a bitter taste of bile in my mouth.
James rolled off me with ease, tossing the condom in the trash. He didn’t bother with praises or words, just slipped out of the unmade bed and redressed in his impeccable suit. My heart felt heavy in my chest. Each beat was a dull thump that caused an ache to form. Propping myself up against the headboard, I pull the sheet up to cover myself, and stare at James with a crease between my brows as he drains the contents of his tumbler.
James is an exceptionally good-looking guy. If he wasn’t such an asshole, he’d be a catch. He’s like a clone of Matt Bomer, only James lacked what all other gorgeous Hollywood heartthrobs had—a heart. He was always so serious. So demanding. So dark. Such a fucking prick.
“Have you ever been in love, James?” I ask, cocking my head to the side as I watch him. He freezes at my words. His body goes stiff as a board, the muscles in his back flexing uncomfortably.
Slowly, he places the crystal decanter down and shoots me a look that says I’ve lost my mind. Cocking his head to the side, he studies me for a beat before his mouth tips into a smirk.
“With my wife, yes.”
I purse my lips in thought. “Why do you sleep with other women, then?”
He laughs and shakes his head at me like I’m child asking why the sky is blue. “I love my wife, Samantha, but I’m not in love with her. I sleep with women like you because that’s what you’re good for.”
His words are like a slap in the face. I shift my gaze elsewhere, staring out the floor to ceiling windows.
“…because that’s all you’re good for.”
His words echo on a never-ending loop, reminding me that I’ll never be a Masie, I’ll always be hot hole to fill. I’ll always be just Samantha Paisley.
James narrows his eyes at me, closing the distance between us. His athletic frame hovers over me as his stare burns holes through my skull.
“You’re not falling in love with me, are you?” There’s an iciness in his tone that has every hair on my body standing at attention. I swallow thickly and meet his glare head on.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
He smiles. It’s not a warm smile; it’s a sinister smile I’m all too familiar with. It’s the same smile I’ve dealt with all my childhood.
“Spread your legs. We’re not done yet, and I think we need to make a few things clear.”
Not waiting for me to oblige, James grips my thighs with brutal force, yanking them open. And suddenly, I’m back where I was years ago. The little girl with no control. A little girl who is afraid.
I drive home in a quiet daze, not bothering to turn on the radio. When I walk through the door to the apartment, I ignore Natalia and Aliza’s greetings, heading straight for the shower to wash off James and his scent.
A billow of steam hangs around me, blocking my sight. The scalding hot water burns my skin as I stand under the spray of the shower head. With a washcloth, I rub my skin raw in all the places James has touched. In all the places Cyrus, and my stepfather, have touched. I scrub myself clean with tears clouding my hazy vision in the shower. Leaning back against the tiled walls, I slide down, cradling my head in my hands, and sob against the roar of the shower.
With a towel wrapped securely around my body, I push through my bedroom door, stopping short when I see Natalia and Aliza both sitting on the edge of my bed wearing worried looks. Natalia steps forward, wringing her hands together.
“Everything okay, Sammy? You seemed off at work and then when you came home…” She lets her voice trail off, darting her gaze to Aliza for help.
I shift my blank stare to Aliza, wondering if she told Natalia about my breakdown at the Bar and Grille a few days ago. Tucking her golden blond strands behind her ears, Aliza offers a small smile and shakes her head ever so slowly, silently telling me she hasn’t said a word.
“We’re just checking in, Sam. If you need to vent about whatever, we’re here.”
Forcing a smile that must look more like a grimace, I nod my head. “I’m fine, guys. I’m just really tired so I’m heading to bed.”
Understanding dawns on their features as they read between the lines. They both rise from the bed, realizing I want to be alone.
With quiet goodnights, they leave my room. I blow out a relieved breath, my body sagging in defeat. Dressing quickly in my most comfortable pair of pajamas, I lie in bed, staring up blankly at the darkened ceiling. With my hands resting on my chest, like I’m lying in a coffin, I feel the melancholy staccato of my heart thumping beneath my palms. My phone rings on the nightstand, and without looking at the screen I pick it up, my voice sounding monotone and detached.
“Sam?”
When I hear his voice, my chest tightens in a familiar pain that’s crippling. Alex says my name like he isn’t sure it’s me he’s talking to. I’m not even sure who I am anymore.
“Is everything all right?”
Clenching my eyes shut, I bite my bottom lip, fighting against the sob dying to tear through my chest. “Yeah. Everything’s fine,” I reply in a hoarse voice, so unlike my own.
“Bullshit. Tell me what’s going on, Samantha. I can always tell when you’re not okay.”
Expelling a ragged breath, I tell him the truth. “I’m so angry,” I whisper. My hands fist tightly around the comforter.
“Why?”
“Why else?” I scoff. “I’m so fucked up. I can’t stop wishing that things were different, that maybe I was different.”
“Sam, you are not fucked up. You are you. I wouldn’t ever want you to be anyone else,” he says vehemently.
I brush away the stray tear trailing down my cheek.
“It’s just…why couldn’t I have had a different life, Alex? With parents that cared. With a mom that loved me and did everything she could to protect me. Instead, I got stuck with them.”
“I don’t know, beautiful. But what I do know is, you’re strong, stronger than anyone I’ve ever met, and an even better person for growing up the way you did. You are not damaged, Samantha, you’re just fractured. With a little care, that fracture will mend, but you have to let someone help you, or that fracture will only get worse.”
His words hit me hard, like a blow to the gut. The pressure behind my eyes becomes too much, and soon, tears trail down my cheeks in rapid-fire streaks.
“I gotta go,” I choke out, trying to tamp down my emotions until we hang up.
“Sam, wait—”
I don’t wait. I hang up on him before he can finish his sentence. Tossing my phone onto the floor, I curl onto my side and let the tears fall until they soak into my pillow and finally dry.
The next day at work, I do my best to ignore Alex’s lingering stares. Worry lines his features, making me angry at myself for losing my composure last night. I hate when everyone looks at me like this. The pity in their eyes fucking disgusts me. It makes me feel weak, and I, Samantha Paisley, am not weak.
“How are you?” he asks quietly as we work on delivering a round of shots to a group of rowdy college partiers. The Bar and Grille has been jam-packed with college kids and tourists. It always gets like this right before we hit spring break.
“I’m fine,” I mumble, sounding anything but. A thick, heavy hand wraps around my arm, sending a jolt of awareness through my body, prompting me to look up at Alex through my lashes.
“The truth, Samantha.”
I purse my lips ruefully. “It doesn’t matter how I feel. It’s in the past. I need to get over it and move on.” I step out of his hold and turn on the blenders to make strawberry daiquiris for the group of bottle blondes with watermelon tits on the other side of the bar.
“When was the last time you spoke to her?” he asks quietly, staring down at me with so much intensity I start fidgeting.
I lift my shoulder in a noncommittal shrug.
“It’s been years.”
Alex blows out a harsh breath. “Have you ever tried to get back in touch? It may be easier to get closure and finally put it all behind you.”
I laugh humorlessly and pin him with a black look. “Absolutely not. Margaret is probably still living in my childhood home, doing every drug known to mankind. No fucking thanks. I have no inclination to see that woman ever again.”
“Sam, just think about it for a second. You’ve been gone for a long time. How do you know in that time she never tried to look for you?”
“She stopped making an effort to contact me a long time ago, Alex, and so did I. I’m not going back down that road. I won’t,” I say vehemently. Placing his hand on my stiff shoulder, Alex squeezes and pulls me closer to him.
“Look, I’m selling some furniture in Cambridge in a few weeks, why don’t you tag along—”
“Not happening,” I growl, knowing where he’s going with his thoughts. Alex raises his hands and takes a step back.
I am not going with him to Massachusetts to see my mother. Hell fucking no.
“Okay. Fair enough,” he relents on a sigh. “It was just something to consider.”
“Well, consider it not fucking happening,” I shoot back. “Can we get back to work now?”
“Since when do you choose work over conversing with me, huh?”
“Since now,” I deadpan. “Would you drop these orders off to the breast augmentation club over there?” I jerk my head toward the blondes, making Alex laugh. He turns to me with a mischievous glint in his eyes and waggles his brows. He plies me with a smirk.
“You got it, boss.”
I shake my head and chortle under my breath. God, this man is too much for me sometimes.
I push the uncomfortable conversation about my mother away and try to enjoy myself for the rest of my shift. When tonight’s live act starts setting up on stage, my cheeks spread into a genuine grin. The band up first is one of my favorites. They’ve played at the Bar and Grille more times than I can count, and Jared, their lead singer, is a regular here who tips like a motherfucker. Got to love him and the service he brings. My favorite part about manning the bar is my view of the makeshift stage. I love watching the live bands while they’re here. It makes the place feel so alive. Everything around us thrums with intensity as soon as music notes drift through the air.
Shaking my hips to the drum and the bass of the song thumping from the stage, I lose myself in the music while I simultaneously take orders and prepare drinks. I blend our signature cocktail together while working on a special request for an older couple at the bar. They came out for a date night, wanting to try something new.
“Keep shaking those hips like that and I’ll be dragging you into the truck soon,” Alex says jokingly, with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
A laugh bubbles up my throat and I shoot him a mock glare. “Is that all I’m good for, Mister Clark?”
It was meant to be a joke, but suddenly, Alex gets very serious. Whiskey eyes bore into mine, freezing me in place. He slowly closes the distance between us and stares down at me with heat brewing in eyes and something else that I’m unfamiliar with. The air between us cackles fiercely at our chemistry. Like a rope tied around our waists, the magnetism between us tugs us closer together. We’re both helpless against the pull.
Tucking a rebel strand of hair behind my ear, Alex caresses my cheek ever so gently. The feather-light touch makes me tremble.
“Not at all. You are so much more than that, firecracker. So. Much. More,” he emphasizes fiercely.
I swallow thickly, wanting to tear my gaze away from his to get a reprieve, but for some reason, I can’t. I’m enthralled—completely under his spell. And for the first time ever, I feel my body swelter with heat and my neck flushes, spreading to my cheeks, tinging them a pale pink. Fuck, I’m actually blushing.
Who would have thought?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Warm lips caress my skin, eliciting a deep, guttural moan from my throat. I close my eyes, savoring the feel of Alex’s mouth along my breasts. My back bows into the soft sheets of his comforter. My hands find purchase on his firm backside, and squeeze.
Alex has always been a skilled lover. He works my body to perfection, knowing the exact places to touch me to set me off. He knows me better than I do, better than anyone else ever would, and I secretly love that.
His warm, calloused hands trail across my skin, and I can’t suppress the shudder that rips down my spine.
“God, Alex.” I whimper. The things he does to my body fascinate me yet infuriate me, all at once. I shouldn’t feel this way about him. I don’t even want to feel this way about him, but fuck if I do. I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.
