I Love My Healed Heart: 4 Book Box Set/Omnibus (Erotic Romance)

by Sabrina Lacey

  “You’re really beautiful, do you know that?”

  My stomach jumps into my chest.

  “Um, Thank you… that’s very sweet to hear.” I look down out of habit. I’m not so great at accepting compliments from men that turn my knees to jelly. Plus, I know he’s lying. No one ever says I’m beautiful.

  “It’s true. You are. You’re not aware of it though. There’s something about you that I really dig.”

  “Yeah?” I bite my bottom lip, and peek at him from beneath my eyelashes. Dig? Did he just say Dig? It’s taking all I have to not get attached. My heart can’t take another beating. It just can’t. As quickly as the idea, the wish of him enters my mind, it leaves. San Francisco is a long way away. I unknowingly let out a sigh as I pick at my plate.

  “What?” he asks me, leaning in. He cocks his head to the side and looks at me, obviously concerned.

  “Nothing. I just, I think I’m done. Are you done? I should probably go. I have work in the morning and I’m supposed to send out some emails and… you know. Just stuff.” I’m rambling. Stop it, Jessica. Stop it and just look at him. What are you doing?

  When I do, he looks detached and confused. I should tell him I’m having a great time and don’t go. Stay another night, Mark. I can’t do that. No! I will do no such thing. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just coming off of a breakup, rebounding, and Mr. Gorgeous Amazing-Sex Guy is just here to help me through it. I know this. There’s no way anything could come of this.

  Right?

  Mark calls over our waiter and hands him a credit card to take care of the bill. While we wait, we talk about casual topics, avoiding the tension that weighs heavily between us. We talk about how the weather is so nice here in the fall. It’s going to get cold soon. How’s the weather on the west coast? Foggy. Huh… that’s cool. Better to keep it light and simple, I convince myself, feeling my chest tighten, regardless. He pays the bill, thanks the smiling waiter who nods his head and asks us to please come back soon. I smile and walk out the door that Mark holds for me.

  When we get back to my place, even though he’s held my hand the whole walk home, I feel separate from him. I can’t get it out of my head that he’s leaving and I don’t need my heart broken again. My lips are raw from my chewing on them.

  “Here we are,” he says, smiling in the most disarming way. He’s got a casual ruggedness to him and all of a sudden I can easily imagine Mark building a fire at a campsite, catching fish in the stream, sleeping in a tent underneath a blanket of stars. Holding children, but they don’t look like me…That’s weird. I shake my head. I’m losing my head.

  “Yep. Here we are. I had a really great time, and I would love to ask you up, but I’m really tired so…” I sound very unsure of myself, even to my own ears.

  “And you have those emails to get back to,” he offers. I can see he knows I’m protecting myself.

  I’m a bit defensive about it, because hey, don’t call me out like that with those eyes of yours, buddy. “I do!”

  “You do. I know.” He smiles, leans in and touches his lips to mine. The tingles warm up all of me, and I lean into the kiss. His lips caress mine, telling me that he had a great time, too.

  He pulls back and breaks our connection with distance… three thousand miles of it. He looks into my eyes one last time. “Goodnight, Jessica.”

  “Goodbye Mark.” I nod. I pull out the key and turn to the door.

  “It’s broken,” he offers. I look back over my shoulder and he’s not smiling this time. He looks sad.

  “Right. I forgot.”

  And without another word, I turn and walk away into my building. I don’t look back. I don’t let myself.

  The Next Morning

  I wake up irritable and cranky. And alone. Coffee will help, I tell myself, forcing my feet onto the floor to make myself get up and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth, take a shower to wash away this feeling, too. This curry taste, day two, is always really bad, but oh man do I love it on day one. I shower, get out, dry myself off numbly. I get dressed, come back and do my hair, which surprisingly looks pretty awesome when I’m finished. At least I have that, I shrug. The humidity of summer helps it, so much easier to maintain. We’ve got a couple more blessed weeks, although I do like Fall. Rambling thoughts like these spin as I look into the mirror. Then I remember. Mark called me beautiful. Am I beautiful? I search my own face, tilt my head to this side and shrug. I don’t feel beautiful today.

  Hang on to the sweet memory of the elevator, Jess. And the flowers. I walk over to the vase where it sits on a little table by my door. I touch one of the orange flowers. Hold onto the good stuff. Let go of the rest. But it is really hard not to beat myself up over how the night ended. I keep telling myself I was protecting myself. I’m only human. We women have to protect ourselves.

  Right?

  When I go down the elevator, I block out the image of yesterday. I have to close my eyes and I barely succeed to think of other things. When the doors open, I hurry off and walk the long hallway to the front door with its broken lock. Outside, on the busy New York street, I avoid a street performer, and then have to jump out of the way as two men in suits on their cellphones almost bowl me over. Coffee will help me feel better, so I ignore the subway entrance and opt for getting a cup for the ride, to help me feel a little more like…me.

  Starbucks is closest, so it will have to do. I walk in and see they are out of the only thing I really love there – Pumpkin Bread. Damn. Just coffee then.

  I tell the girl working the counter - an early twenties hipster with braids and ear-plugs for earrings of a more permanent nature - that I would love a Grande Chai Latte and I would love it now. Please and thank you. She smiles like she knows how I feel – more or a smirk, really, but instantly I feel we are soul sisters and my day is getting better. I’ll take what I can get.

  When my coffee finally arrives, I see the time and realize I have got to hurry. No time to take a sip. I’ll have it on the train.

  But wouldn’t you know it, who do I run into the second I leave Starbucks?

  David. Oh joy.

  “Jessica!”

  “Don’t talk to me.”

  “Oh come on – don’t be like that!” he says, as if he didn’t drag broken glass over my heart by first cheating on me, and THEN telling me he wanted to see other people. I walk past him, but the dickhead turns on his heels to follow me. I cannot believe the nerve of this guy.

  “David, I don’t have time to tell you what an asshole you are. But let me just say it anyway since we have about two seconds before I make it to the subway – you’re an asshole.” People don’t look at us, even though I am not being quiet. It’s New York. This is mild shit right here.

  “Jess, I told you I was sorry. Why haven’t you returned my call? And I texted you, too.”

  He’s having to jump around people who are walking against us. A train must have just arrived because there are a lot of people walking out of the subway all of a sudden. Damn, I hope that wasn’t my train.

  “I haven’t returned your call because I have no idea why you would be calling me!” I start to ditch him, really annoyed.

  He grabs my arm to stop me. “I hate that you won’t talk to me! I miss you. I think I made a mistake.”

  Shocked, I spin on him, jaw to the floor, my eyes the shape of saucers. “You think you made a mistake?” I demand, incredulous.

  “Yes! Jess, I miss you. I can’t stop thinking about you. Let me take you out to dinner. We can go to The Red Bamboo. Just give me a chance to talk things over with you and tell you what I realized.” He looks so proud of himself for remembering that I love The Red Bamboo, I can’t help but be a little amused. He is cute.

  But I am not having it.

  “David, the only reason you want me back is so that you can prove to yourself that you are not a monster.” I watch his face closely for a reaction.

  “No. That’s not why…” he defends, lamely.

  But I can see in
his eyes that it is exactly why he’s doing this. The fact that I see this, combined with my already crappy morning, gives me courage.

  “If I go out with you, and forgive you, then that means you are not a monster. And then when we break up – again - it would be just because it ‘didn’t work out’ and you’d be off the hook. I’m not giving you that chance, David. Uh-uh. You are going to have to live with the fact that you fucking cheated on me – when we both know I was your best friend. I loved you. I would never have cheated on you. And you betrayed me – and probably more than once! So you…are a monster. Live with it.”

  I hold his stunned sheepish stare for just long enough to really nail my point home - then coffee in hand, bag over my shoulder, I turn with dramatic flare and practically dance down the stairs to catch my train.

  This day just got great.

  End of Part 1

  I Love My…

  Office Fling

  By Sabrina Lacey

  Contents

  1 Two Weeks Later

  2 The Next Morning

  3 Minutes Later

  4 After Work

  5 Twenty-Two

  Minutes Later

  Two Weeks Later

  “He deserved it. I wish I’d been there to see his face.” Amber says as she thumbs through the rack at H&M.

  I’ve just told her - for the millionth time - about my faceoff with David, my ex. It’s been a couple weeks since it happened but because she’s one of my best friends, she’s still excited for me. I love girlfriends. Would not be able to exist without them. Not happily, at least.

  I follow her through the store. “You know how you have those times where you’re faced with someone, and you don’t say the right thing and then later you keep playing it in your head –”

  “—over and over and over. Yes. I do that aaaaaall the time,” Amber confesses, holding up a neon pink 80’s style dress, which I immediately veto.

  “Me, too! Well this time, I said exactly what I would have wished to say. It was like my guardian angel was helping me talk, like she was super happy that we had the chance to tell the cheater off, and gave me the perfect words to do it with,” I hold up a yellow dress that is so Amber.

  “Oh, I love it.” She snatches it, excitedly.

  “Exactly.” I don’t see anything for myself on these racks. Do I have a fever or something? I feel my head - half to amuse myself, half to really check - because I always find something. I don’t have a ton of cash to shop… but c’mon. H&M is ridonkulous. So cheap. But hey, maybe they’re having an off day.

  “You know what Josh did last night? I’m gonna go try this on. Come with,” she says over her shoulder.

  “No, what’d he do?” I follow her quickly to take advantage of the way she, like a blond Moses, parts the waters of messy racks and bargain-obsessed tourists.

  It’s our lunch hour and we’re at the store on 5th Ave. It is always nutty-busy with tourists here. We don’t mind though because there are two upsides to that. One is this: because it’s packed with active buyers, the store’s turnover is extreme and that means new clothes/styles/colors/patterns are stocked daily. And the other is this: You get to hear accents from all over the world. I don’t know if Amber loves this aspect of it, but I do. That’s one of the best things about New York, in my opinion. Anywhere you go, you hear people talking in languages from all over the world - French, Swedish, Russian, Japanese, Finnish, British, Italian, Spanish, Czech - you name it, we hear it. And here, next to the Empire State Building, where everybody visits, chances are that you will hear at least four different languages as you shop, maybe more. So cool.

  “Nothing. He did nothing! Aaaaagain.” She goes into the fitting room as soon as she sees the sympathetic look on my face. Through the door she tells me, “I don’t know what to do. He used to be fun, Jess. But now all he does is watch TV, or YouTube on his stupid computer, and then goes to sleep. I’m so bored and I’m wondering if I made a huge mistake by moving in with him.”

  I see my hair could look better and start to fix it in the mirror outside of the rooms. I know exactly what she’s talking about. Don’t we all? “You know, we women are always looking for ways to make our relationships better. How do we keep things exciting, so men don’t leave? How ‘bout this piece of lingerie, this perfume, this sports team. What are they doing? Watching TV and having sex with us in the same way they did the last fifty times. Does he even want to go out to dinner, ever?”

  “No,” she answers flatly.

  I look to the H&M fitting room attendant, a girl in her early twenties with her long hair swept into a cute bun above stud earrings, a salmon-colored sleeveless blouse, bright blue ankle-high skinny jeans and flat, sparkly sandals that I immediately want. She is nodding to herself, but when she sees me looking at her, she says, “It’s such bullshit.”

  Amber pops her head out of the fitting room and in unison she and I exclaim, “Right?!” Then she pops back inside. Hilarious.

  “Totally,” says the attendant, over her shoulder as she leaves to put away a huge stack of clothing discards.

  Amber comes out in the yellow dress. I love it - it’s sexy without making the women who see her, hate her.

  “I love it!” she says, turning in the mirror I was just using to fix my hair.

  “It’s perfect. So what are you going to do about it?” I am of course referring to the whole Josh situation, which of course she knows.

  “I’m going to do what he’s been doing.”

  And in unison we say, “Nothing,” and shrug.

  A bit later, when I decide my lunch break should probably be over, I hug Amber goodbye and head back to hell. I found a dress after all, and love it so much that I’m wearing it back to work. It’s above the knee, v-necked and sleeveless. The green goes really great with my red hair. Amber and I are such great shopping buddies. Some people you go with make you want to buy stuff you would never wear. That is never the case with us. We get each other, and we know what attributes to bring out in each other to make the other shine.

  Back at work, when I’m riding up the elevator, a vision of Mark flashes into my mind. He’s changed elevators for me, forever. I’m beginning to forget what he looks like. I think that’s a defense mechanism of my mind, and one I am grateful for. It was really hard, those first few days. I missed him… or the idea of him Which one? I don’t know. I do know that I regretted not having him stay the night so that I could enjoy him for as long as was humanly possible. But see, that’s just the point. I’m human. And I’m a woman, which means I’m romantic and sensitive. I know this now. My emotions are not to be taken lightly, especially in my own consideration, a fact I’ve overlooked for way too fucking long. This is what I have to remind myself, over and over and over, so I don’t beat myself up. Finally the thoughts about him came fewer and farther between.

  I’ve let it go, now. Except when I get on elevators… big sigh.

  When the doors open, I walk past the receptionist and we nod to each other like two captive prisoners who are planning a breakout. Conspirators. That’s what most of us little people feel like. At our level, you have to stick together. Or stab each other in the back, which, let’s be honest, happens. But you can’t really blame someone for trying to get to the top in a world where people work very hard to keep you at the bottom. So much easier to look down, than look up. Me? I’m somewhere in the middle. But I identify with the people below me more than the ones above, because the only one above me – on this floor – is The Bitch. And I do NOT want to identify with her. As I walk to my desk I am wondering what the hell I am doing in a place that makes me imagine myself as wearing prison orange.

  The Bitch takes longer lunches than me sometimes, and I’m hoping that this is one of those days. My desk is in a cubicle. I have made it my own with some funny quotes on the wall to amuse me, an emblem of The Michigan Wolverines, plus some fun pictures of me, Amber and our other best friend, Nicole. There’s also an orchid plant, which thankfully needs li
ttle light. What arrests my attention, the second I plop into my swivel chair, is the empty space where the picture of David and I used to hang. There’s still a shard of tape and disappointment lingering there. Why haven’t I filled that space, yet? I could put another pic of me and my girlfriends, up. The least I could do is tear down the tape fragment. I’m staring at it for maybe three - maybe thirty - minutes when I hear her. The Bitch. I didn’t even hear her footsteps.

  “Where have you been?” she screeches like a pterodactyl, flying in to capture me and carry me to her hungry babies. I jump two feet in my chair. Since she scared the hell out of me, I am speechless. “Well?!” she demands, hands on her too-skinny hips.

  “I… I was in the bathroom because I had some bad shrimp last night,” I lie.

  “I looked for you in the bathroom. Try again.” The look on her face is so gross. I want to tell her. But I don’t.

  “No, I used the handicap/family bathroom downstairs. It’s got one room and a lock. I needed…privacy. It ain’t pretty.”

  She purses her lips, not sure whether to believe me or not. “Weren’t you wearing a different dress earlier?”

  Oh no. What a dufus I am. Think fast! “Yes! I got vomit on it. It was awful, green… yellow… some brown –”

  “Stop!” She is holding up her perfectly manicured hand, palm out.

  I can see I’ve got her, so I bring out the big guns. “I’m sorry. I was going to call in sick, but I knew how much you needed me and I didn’t want to let you down.”

  Tada!

  The hands drop from the hips. The pursed lips relax. She leans back on her heels and her face almost looks happy. Almost. She doesn’t have a pleasant face in general. I think she did when she was younger, but the years of hard work, control issues, romantic disappointments, etc…hardened her. She is no longer soft. The severe, perpetual too-tight ponytail doesn’t help her case, either. She believes me, though. I still have a job, so that’s nice. I think.