by Kristi Rose
I sink in the spot next to Daanya, which removes any chance Stacy could sit by me, and forces him to sit in the awkward corner of the sectional style bench or move further away. He picks the further seat. Unfortunately, with his long legs and my lengthy sticks, our knees brush each other every time one of us moves.
I glance at his profile as he talks to Will. His nose is straight, his chin strong. He doesn’t look like a father tonight. He looks dapper in the tux I fit him with, the bow tie hanging loose around his neck. When he catches me staring (again, gads), a rush of heat warms my face.
“Did you do all the tuxes?” He leans back against the bench and rests his arm along the top of the empty seat next to him.
“I did.”
“You’re really good at what you do. This custom dressing of people.”
“Thank you.”
The band switches to a slow song and from the corner of my eye I see someone approach.
“Want to dance, Stacy?” It’s Heather, who happens to already be swaying, and I’m not so sure it’s because of the music.
“Actually, ah...these shoes are killing me. Why don’t you join us? I can get you a drink. Some coffee, maybe?”
Her shoulders slump and she swings watery eyes in my direction.
Bless her and her broken heart that she’s currently wearing on the outside for everyone to see.
“I was thinking about getting some more dessert. Want some?” She’s a sucker for sweets like me and I’m hoping I can ease her pain through food.
She shakes her head and looks back toward the dance floor. “Nah, I’ll just go join Pippa.”
We watch her shuffle away. Will pulls Daanya up and leads her to the floor and I wait until they’re out of hearing range before I face Stacy.
“You might have danced with her.” It’s hard keeping the irritation out of my voice.
He levels me with a stare. “Come on, Jayne. What kinda guy would I be if I danced with her knowing she’s looking for something else from me and I have no intention of providing it? A shit bag, that’s the kind.”
“I should try to get her back to her room,” I say.
“As long as we keep an eye on her she’ll be okay. She probably needs to be around people anyway.”
We both turn to watch the dancers and when he shifts his leg brushes mine, which creates a soft buzzing in my head. Must be all those horniness chemicals exploding in my brain, having been overcharged from his mere touch. They were already humming from being so close. I blink slowly and try to gather my wits.
“Your cousin’s really bendy,” Stacy says.
I scan across the crowd until I find Pippa doing her mating dance. Looking for someone who’s willing to practice downward dog with her. She’s transitioning between standing split pose and tree with some awkwardly placed hand gestures in between. Much like a gymnast does before the run across the mat to tumble. Only all it would take Pippa to yoga her way across the floor is one well-placed and purposeful look from any interested guy. Pippa embraces free love.
Heather on the other hand. Yikes, I’ve never seen such angry and lonely slow dancing with oneself. Her movements are jagged but quick as if she’s punching ghosts surrounding her. She stops to toss back another shot then goes back to her boxing.
“Er, Doug, is there something I can do for Heather?” I ask her brother, who only moments ago came off the dance floor.
“Jesus,” he says after spotting her. “Ready to call it a night, babe?” he asks Kenley.
“I’m ready to take this elsewhere.” She backs up her words with a salacious wink.
That we all witness.
Doug tugs her into a brief but powerful kiss. “Get the key ready, babe. I’ll get my hot mess of a sister.” He swivels on his heel and stalks across the room. Kenley plops down next to me and squeezes my knee. Heather, oblivious to his arrival, continues with her angry dance until, in one swift move, he tosses her over his shoulder, fireman style, and holds her legs tightly so she can’t kick.
He ambles back toward us, I presume, to collect his wife. “You all have a nice night.” He offers Kenley a hand up.
“I hate you, Doug. You’re the worst brother in the world,” Heather says and pummels his back.
“You can thank me tomorrow. I haven’t seen you like this since college when that Dex dumped you. And look where that got you.”
At the mention of this Dex person, Heather gasps and pinches his side but he reciprocates by pinching her calf.
I lean forward, curious about Heather’s reaction. Has love trampled on my friend more than once? Poor Heather. She gets so few nights away from her son and the stress of her life and this is how she spends it.
“I told you to never say his name.” Heather pinches her brother again.
“You do that one more time and I’m gonna drop you on your head.” Doug turns to the side and says to us, “Night, Stacy, it was nice to meet you. Jayne, stay cool.”
“Stacy?” Heather arches her back so she can lift up. She sees us and smiles widely. Her eyes are glassy, a clear sign she’s past the limit. Not that the dancing wasn’t clear enough.
“I hope you had a nice time, Stacy,” she says. “It’s too bad we didn’t get a chance to dance.”
I watch Stacy form his mouth to make words but nothing comes out. Doug walks away, Heather still looking at Stacy.
“Maybe next time.” She does a finger wave as they move away. “Night, Stacy.”
“Night,” I call but she ignores me. I fall back against the cushions and cover my mouth with my hand. I can’t wait to tell Josie this. This behavior is opposite from the Heather we know; I can’t help but laugh.
One day when Heather’s come out the other side of this divorce, she’ll laugh too. Maybe then I’ll ask her about this Dex.
Stacy leans back and our shoulders brush. He looks between me and the dance floor. “What was that out on the dance floor?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe she’s exorcising a demon?” It’s my best guess and all I’m going to share about Heather and her rocky road of late.
“I feel for that Dex guy. That got a rise out of her. Is that her ex?” He faces me and I turn to him as well. We’re closer than I expected. So close I can see the ring of silver around his blue eyes.
His fingers brush my shoulder. “No. Justin is her ex. I’ve no idea who Dex is and honestly I’m afraid to ask.”
He travels his fingers up the column of my neck, lightly stroking skin along the way. His hand slides around to cup the base of my head. “Please don’t. I need a neighbor who can come to my rescue.” He smiles.
I stare into his eyes and smile back, shifting closer to him. A warm fuzziness comes over me and dulls out everything but him.
The next moment his lips are pressed to mine. When I close my eyes all I see are flashes of light and sparks and then he’s gone as quickly as he came.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist,” he says after he pulls away. But no sooner are the words spoken are his lips on mine again, his tongue gently probing, waiting for an invitation from me.
I know I should push him away.
I can’t.
Because I don’t want to.
One more taste and then I’ll do the right thing.
With his arms around me, I experience the sensation of weightlessness. As if I’m floating on a cloud and there’s nothing more significant than this moment. I grip both of his shoulders, hold on tight, and go for broke.
Funny thing, intentions. I absolutely, one hundred percent mean to thank him for the kiss and make my escape. I’ll comfort myself with another bottle of wine and a hot bath in the garden tub in my room.
I stay because I want this moment, this memory. One day in the future, I want to hear the song the band is playing on the radio and remember this. I’ll recall how our chemistry was exceedingly strong and how unquenchable our desire was for one another.
When we part, his stare is intense and loade
d with one question, waiting for an answer.
I scan the room. Pippa is talking to one of the musicians. The others have all slipped away to places unknown. No one is watching.
“I can only give you tonight,” I whisper. “No strings. Tomorrow we go back to being neighbors and new friends.”
“Like we’re in Vegas.” His lips twitch. “We leave it here.”
“Precisely.” I run my hands down his lapels. “I need you to understand that this can’t happen again once we leave.”
“And that reason is?”
“It’s several reasons. Mainly, I’m insanely busy trying to expand my business, what little time I have I give to my friends. Also, I don’t have affairs with men who have children, ever, and anything after tonight would only make everything else more complicated. You see that, right?”
“You have something against children?” His thumb caresses my cheek, his hand on the back of my neck. Can he feel my racing pulse?
I shake my head. “No, but the last things they need is a person to come into their life who already has an exit plan.”
He searches my face, and I keep my gaze level and sure. He nods, pulls me in for another kiss, and I know we’ve sealed the deal.
“My room is right around the corner. Yours?” he asks, between traveling his lips to my ear.
“Upstairs.” I turn my head to give him greater access. My face is cradled in his palm and I nibble on the fleshy area of his thumb.
“C’mon. Mine’s closer.” He stands and pulls me up against him and runs his hand down my arm before circling my waist and pulling me close.
We walk out of the bar that way, me tucked into Stacy’s side, his thumb caressing my hipbone and my girly parts tingling with need and anticipation.
I want him to love me the night long. I need to explore every bit of him and let this moment be what it is, two people desperate for each other’s company. We’ll burn through this attraction and be able to peacefully coexist.
When he pushes his room door open, I rush in ahead of him. Stacy no sooner locks the door then I’m in his arms. We fit together even better than I imagined. My dress is sliding off my body, his tux is a black heap on the ground. We touch, eager to take our fill. We caress, grip one another, and taste. I let myself go, hold nothing back. Tomorrow and everything that awaits me is forgotten. I only have space for him.
Chapter 11
Five long days have passed since my tryst with Stacy. Not that I’m avoiding him or anything like that. Which is hard to do when someone lives directly across the street. Circumstances just made it so. First, because I promised Mum not to limit my options, I went to Atlanta, where I half-heartedly looked at property that came up lacking. Nothing there captured my love like the building in Miami. Though I have a high percentage of clientele that come from the Atlanta, it’s not my first pick.
Following a brief stop at home to change out clothes and repack my travel bag, I was off to Miami with hopes to cement the deal I’d been dreaming about since I first imagined it with the real estate agent those few weeks back. First the loan and then the building. I try to harness this crazy panicky emotion that’s churning inside me. Part desire to make more money and increase my presence in the fashion world and part desire to reach that monetary goal Mum set for me. I’d love to see the expression on her face when I show her I’ve reached it.
Now, sitting in my car in my garage I can’t muster the energy to leave. But staying is not an option. At least for much longer. I can’t avoid the insurmountable paperwork waiting for me.
That, and I need to pee.
I trace the stitching that binds the leather cushioning my steering wheel. My nail polish is chipped and in desperate need of attention, as is everything else in my life. The red I painted a few weeks ago long gone, replaced with the Midnight Fog I favor. The color as black and murky as my mood.
“According to these documents, it’s unlikely you’re a candidate for a loan of this size,” the impeccably dressed woman with Botox lips told me today. Bursting my dreams of expanding into the Miami area with a swift poke of her professionally polished talon.
I rest my head against the top of the steering wheel.
Location. Location. Location. Unfortunately for me the location that would be best for my shop has nothing for lease, only buildings to own, and my hopes of being an owner hang by the thinnest thread.
I should be happy that I still have Atlanta. Or even Dallas. I can lease there. But a new state will be more expensive for me to start up the new shop. New state laws and forms and taxes. Miami would have been so easy.
In the meantime, I’m to get my books together for an audit if I want to continue pursuing Miami. Silly me, thinking my business plan, taxes, and statements would have sufficed. It’s a last ditch effort but I’m not ready to let the dream go.
When I step from the car, I hear the softest mewing. So soft that for a second I think I’ve imagine it.
I tiptoe as quietly as my two-inch heels will allow and peek around the side of the garage. There, sitting against my house, is the tabby, licking his front paw. I’ve tried an assortment of names—Chester, Felix, Linus—all to no avail. Then I tried more butch names such as Bruce and Jack.
“Hallo, kitty, kitty.” I do a mental perusal of my fridge and cupboard looking for people food, as that’s his preference. “I’ve nothing to eat but just the little bag of cat food I picked up at the grocer.” I squat slowly down and remove the bowl (yes, I keep one in the front and back) from under the shrub. I step quickly back into the garage, fill it, and then go back to where he waits, still fastidiously grooming.
“Looky.” I slowly lower the bowl back to its spot under the shrub. I don’t dare reach out to pet him.
The tabby stops licking, paw still up, and looks across his body to the bowl before looking back at me. He meows a great loud sound of what I interpret to be disgust. He puts down his paw and meows again.
“That’s all I’ve got.” I nudge the bowl in his direction.
The arsehole swipes at me and would have landed another blow had I not been anticipating it.
“Hey!”
But he just turns, tail high, sphincter puckered tight like the arse he is, and saunters off.
Giving him the two-finger up-yours makes me feel better.
Once inside I call for Pippa but she’s nowhere to be found.
Before the back door closes behind me, Paisley sticks in her head.
“Knock, knock,” she says.
“Come in. I just got here myself.” I’d forgotten she texted and asked if she could come by for clothing help this evening. Naturally that was before my bank appointment when I lost the will to move forward in this day and hoped to come home, eat a box of Hostess cupcakes, and fall into bed, ready for a do over.
“Is it a bad time?” She closes the door behind her, a garment bag of clothes flipped over her arm.
“Truthfully, I might not be at my best so there’s my disclaimer. Want one?” I hold up a cupcake.
She shakes her head. “No, thanks. After Hank, you know, left, I finished off two gallons of ice cream. If I slow down enough to eat I might fall apart again. So, I’m keeping busy.”
After Paisley had sprinted from Josie’s wedding to Hank’s house with the single goal to declare her love, she came back even more broken than when she left.
“You ready to talk about it?” It’s not the first time I’ve offered. A few nights back we stayed up late, chatting on the phone and talking about everything but men, specifically Hank.
She turns watery eyes to me and I have my answer.
“I’m here when you are.” I squeeze her shoulder.
She crosses my kitchen where she hangs the garment bag from my cupboard door. “Sarah Grace and Dan are celebrating their anniversary. I need a cocktail dress and I can’t seem to decide.” She leans against my counter and starts gnawing on her thumbnail.
“Paisley.” It a
ches to see her hurting so.
“Can we talk about something else please? I just need to focus on other stuff.”
“Okay.”
“So what went wrong today?” She nods to the nearly finished-off cupcake.
I toss the remains of the treat in the sink. “I was told—not outright, mind you, just hinted—that there is no way I’ll qualify for the loan I need if I want to purchase the shop in Miami.”
“What about leasing a place?” She pours herself a small glass of wine and takes it into my living room where she sinks into my couch.
“I’ve looked. Nothing in the area I want. I could wait, I suppose. But it’s still a gamble whether anything will come up. I found this building. It’s ideal for my shop and I could make extra money on renting out the other two spaces.” I poke my head into the fridge to try to figure out dinner. A quick sweep tells me what I already know. Nothing in there but leafy greens and wine. And an old orange that is composting in the lower bin.
“I’m ordering take out. You want any?” By heart, I dial the number for the nearby Thai restaurant and, because I need a pick me up, I reach into the cupboard and pull out a fortune cookie from my secret stash.
“No.” She shakes her head and, following an exasperated sigh, continues. “Wait, get me a spring roll. No, better not. Jeez. Nothing for me. I’ll just watch you eat and drool.”
“You need to eat.” I open the cellophane wrapper and break open the cookie, shoving the smallest piece in my mouth. As usual I’m put on hold without waiting for a response regarding whether I’ll wait or not. I point to the phone and mimic food.
“I already ate. I can’t afford two dinners.” Following an eye roll, she chugs her wine.
When the man comes back on the line, I mention who I am and that I’d like my standard order of Pad Thai. We exchange brief pleasantries before I end the call then toss my phone on the table. After collecting the wine bottle from the fridge, I take it into the living room, refill her glass, and raise mine in a toast.
“Here’s to tomorrow. It’s a new day with new opportunity. May it go our way, and if it looks like it might not, may we take control and make it our day anyway!”
