Omega Artist: A Hero Club Novel

by Hope Irving

  Against all odds, I traveled hours to meet Boy on his turf. There, I intended to seduce the heartless playboy for the sole purpose of demonstrating my point: same action, different perception when conducted by Boy vs. Girl. Power. Control. Equity.

  Weeks after meeting in person, I ended up at his place and, trust me, this part wasn’t planned! It involved a late-night karaoke session near his place. An urgent need to pee. A passed-out drunk Alie G on his couch.

  Anyway, I appreciated that he didn’t push it when I explained that my upper body was a hard limit, and we tested our compatibility between the sheets. OMG! I wrote countless posts about how important a healthy sex life is… Well, Boy made me update my definition of good sex! Off. The. Charts… And I couldn’t get enough of him. I should have ended things after the first time we fucked, but I caved when he asked to see me again. I would have proven my point. I would have proven my point without considering whether we were equipped for something casual. I would have proven my point then without losing my focus. This is my only regret.

  And so, I chose to put my self-appointed mission on hold. I embraced the interlude and basked in this alternate reality. A reality where a hot forlorn bad boy became my daily fix. And God, was he addictive! The sex was too mind-blowing to be overlooked. I somehow lost myself in sensations that I had never felt before. But I never lost track of why we were together. It should have been so easy. Casual. Emotionless.

  I resent you for straying from your online pledge. No dating games. No potential commitment. No foreseeable marriage. I agreed to these terms. I resent you for not staying true to your real-life actions. Anonymous hookups. Unstoppable manwhore. Bigmouth jerk. I resent you for being nothing like the Boy I was told you were. Cocky. Alpha. Player.

  Still, you would never qualify as my own prince. It was never about that with you. No matter our improbable affinity, similar tastes, and undeniable chemistry. You can’t deny that we are polar opposites in so many ways, and orgasms aren’t among the lofty criteria of my perfect man checklist.

  Sorry, not sorry.

  I used you as you used Girl. I used you as you did so many women. I used you as you used me… whether consciously or not. Months after we first met in person, you whispered three forbidden words for a commitment-phobe. Three words that broke our unspoken deal. That jumpstarted my awakening. That precipitated my departure.

  All good things must come to an end, right?

  You did call me the perfect woman for being as commitment-phobic as you, remember? I guess neither of us is perfect after all, but two wrongs don’t make a right, do they?

  After reading this, some of you guys will still cast me as the bitch in the story. Stereotypes die hard, huh? I guess it was pointless after all, but at least, I stayed true to my word and my mission.

  Sue me!

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I’ve Never Been in Love Before

  Aliénor

  With a bittersweet grin on my face, I trudge towards the exit of the cancer ward. The results from my latest tests came in. All clear. I’d been worried lately due to recurring major headaches. A checkup was long overdue. I lived my carefree life in the U.S. to the fullest, so engrossed with the sexiest man alive that I put my potentially worrisome health condition on hold, just like I did my futile self-appointed mission. Not that I neglected my health—I may be blonde, but I’m not that stupid—I simply opted for a more relaxed approach. Coming back to France jumpstarted my numb consciousness. Regarding my current remission from breast cancer. Regarding my relationship with my online man of mystery. Regarding my suitor situation that Father insisted on settling once and for all.

  “Thank you so much, Paul.” I hug him warmly.

  The hearty nurse who’s been by my side since I set foot in this hospital isn’t much of a talker, though, and he certainly isn’t prone to PDA. He stiffens for a split second until he returns my unexpected embrace in the middle of the hospital entrance, and he doesn’t even blink. It’s so unlike him, as is his goodbye greeting. “By the way, Aliénor,” Yes, we’re finally on a first-name basis! “Your phoenix rocks.” My heart swells with pride. “This magical creature, this long-lived bird has the ability to cyclically regenerate or is otherwise reborn.”

  Somehow, his words touch my heart, and my sharp intake of air doesn’t go unnoticed. “Thanks, Paul.” I loved the tattoo, but after returning to my normal routine, I’m having doubts. I think that my vacation scrambled my brain, unless my mission did. I shiver in an attempt to shake away my confusion.

  Oblivious to my inner conflict, he releases me from his comforting arms. “If you ask me nicely, I’ll send you a picture of my back, where my gorgeous dragon reigns. Even though he’s fierce on the outside, the phoenix is almighty.” He winks playfully, and I gawk at his revelation. Then he shoots me a concerned look. “Anyway… do me a favor and bring back that spark I noticed that time before you fled the country, would you?”

  I frown, then remember what he’s referring to. The first time that the tattooed artist texted me. The first time that I successfully got Tig’s attention. The first time that we played cat and mouse.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but…” He hesitates. “You mentioned someone once. I said something about him helping you relax, remember?” I nod. “Not sure what happened there… That someone isn’t Raphaël. Am I wrong?”

  A flush of embarrassment travels from my head down to my toes before settling in my cheeks. I run my hand through my hair and realize that it’s growing back. “You’re very… perceptive,” is all I can come up with before my older sister barges in on us, apologizing for being late when I wasn’t expecting her at all; Sophie was supposed to pick me up. Paul and I say our hurried goodbyes. As much as I appreciate the guy, I hope that I won’t be seeing him anytime soon—aside from checking out his dragon, that is.

  Bewildered by Sybil’s presence, I kiss her on the cheeks—very French!—and silently follow her to the parking lot like a well-trained puppy. I wait until she starts the car and we exit the premises to satisfy my curiosity.

  I reach for my iPhone that’s stashed in my black purse and shuffle through my playlist. Billie Holiday’s melancholic voice matches my mood. “To what do I owe the honor, Sybil? I thought you said that you were crazy busy and I wasn’t going to see you ahead of your engagement party next week!”

  Focused on the jam-packed Parisian périphérique, she nods in approval at my choice of music. “As a matter of fact, I am rather occupied, little sister…” She switches lanes, and her spanking new blue Mini Cooper Countryman is rudely cut off by a motorcycle. She heaves out an exasperated breath that I hope is directed towards the aforementioned rider. “What was I saying?” She bites the bottom left corner of her lower lip, ruining her formerly perfect deep red lipstick. “Right… Well, I had to do something.”

  “Do something?” I readjust the overly tight seatbelt, in desperate need to look anywhere but at her. “Why isn’t Sophie here anyway?”

  “If you must know, Sophie contacted me after reading your latest blog.” I had no idea my BFF had my sister’s number, but let’s not get into that just yet… The glare that she sends my way has me sliding closer to the car door. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Aliénor?” my emotional sister screams and slams her fist on the wheel.

  “Okay, calm down, will you? First, you curse. Next, you ask for justification… and then you use violence… Actually, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Don’t play this game with me, sis. I love you with all my heart, but I can read you like an open book. Redirecting this conversation is useless. I’m the one asking the questions here. Seriously, what were you thinking? I didn’t need my own Avenger to soothe my broken heart!” She worries her lip some more, her eyes trained on the road. I regret that I can’t ignore her altogether and peacefully listen to Billie Holiday. “I’ll give you a heads up, since you don’t seem to remember how the story ended: it didn’t take me long to recover, thank you very mu
ch, and I met the wonderful man that I’m about to get engaged to.”

  “I remember everything, Sybil, trust me.” I shoot her a sideways glance. Thank God she doesn’t return it. She can be worse than Father at times! “I beg to differ because, clearly, either Sophie’s feedback is wrong or you misread my post.” I swallow the lump that instantly formed with my last words and pause realizing what they imply.

  Either way, she’s well aware of my mission involving her ex, Tig de Luca. Unfortunately, she wrongly believes that it’s about her. The consequences of my actions hit me. “Fuck… You must hate me.”

  She makes a tsk noise with her tongue to shush me. “You were saying that I misinterpreted your so-called mission. Please, explain.”

  I lower the volume of the music. “It’s never been about revenge. I don’t hate men either, but I had to prove my point: the world applauds men for their sexual exploits when women are shamed for the same thing.”

  “Yeah, I got that. But why Tig? What did he have to do with anything? You didn’t even know him!”

  “It made perfect sense at the time. The feedback that society kept sending me compared to what you told me about how his friends acted with him triggered something inside me. I felt compelled to do whatever was in my power to make him my own personal scapegoat.” My lungs seize and I bite the inside of my cheeks to suppress the smile that began to form at the word “goat” and the fond memory it brings back. Damn, that weekend was fun and emotional… “The way things happened between the two of you confirmed that it’s okay for him to brag about how many women he fucks. Meanwhile, I’m called a slut for test driving men that I find attractive. Men that are always on the same page. Men that I don’t even brag about!”

  “So let me get this straight: you were more pissed at his friends’ reactions than by his behavior.” I grumble in acceptance. “You were more pissed at our friends’ reactions than by his behavior.” I grumble again. “You were more pissed at the man’s world we live in than by his behavior.”

  “Maybe, but he led you on, too. He pretended to be commitment-phobic and kept seeing you.”

  “Oh, come on! Don’t be so naïve; it takes two to tango! By portraying me as a victim, you’re no better than the people who misjudge you. Granted, he hurt my self-esteem for a brief moment. However, without him, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I can’t resent him. We weren’t meant for each other, and I’m right where I should be… unlike you!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Why the hell did you come running home when Father found your supposed knight in shining armor?”

  “Supposed?” Her assumption slices through me. My entire body alternates between overheated and freezing. I quiver.

  True to my word, once Father informed me that he had, indeed, found the right suitor for me, he gave me an ultimatum to come back to France. Oddly enough, his text arrived while I was throwing up in a stranger’s bathroom in the Hamptons. Right after a gloriously naked, sleepy Tig uttered the words that freaked me out and turned my stomach inside out. Both my father’s text and Tig’s misstep gave me the perfect excuse to leave the U.S. I had to trust that Father knew what was good for me, and I ran for my own mental health. I knew better. I didn’t need a man to be complete. I didn’t need a man like Tig in my life. I needed my own life back, not to be lured into something surreal.

  The words of my hastily scribbled note that I left on the pillow in the middle of the night, before I hopped into an Uber kept running through my head. “I should have ended this much sooner. Weren’t we both after casual? Forget about me.” In all honesty, I left reluctantly, not completely prepared to ditch Tig until I remembered the band-aid trick. If it’s going to hurt, it’s better to do it quickly. I blocked him… because, well, better safe than sorry!

  Dreams are overrated anyway, right? Consequently, I was paired with Raphaël whose last name is as aristocratic as his facial features.

  “I mean, Raphaël’s nice and all, but… he’s… I don’t know… he’s blah!”

  “Raphaël isn’t blah. I wouldn’t have kept seeing him otherwise. I really like him.” I mean it. He’s only a few years my senior and the proud owner of a start-up that launched a portable device that monitors vital signs. Right up my alley. Although he’s not a Turner fan. Although his tanned skin is too smooth. Although his touch under my tee-shirt—that I always leave on—doesn’t ignite my breasts. Yet he’s a good guy. Yet he’s a safe guy. Yet he’s an alpha guy.

  “The fact that Tig told you he loved you wasn’t a fabrication to embellish your story and captivate your followers, was it?” Sybil’s question shakes me from my reverie.

  I look through my window, mindlessly staring at people who don’t care about how lost I am right now. She doesn’t need to witness how much I’m blinking to suppress the tears that are threatening to break loose. Eventually, I manage to reply, in a strangled voice, that surely betrays my state, “The whole point of this post is the confession.”

  “Oh, my God! How can you be so blind? So stubborn? So impulsive?” Her voice is cool. Calm. Collected. I feel the weight of her protective stare on me for a split second. It’s enough to cause the first tear to roll down my cheek. Again, I’m reminded of the silent tear that escaped from Tig’s sad eyes, back when he confided in me in upstate New York. “Don’t you realize that you’re so in love with him that you ran from him the second it all became real.” I make a point to not make eye contact. “You were so worried of getting hurt again that you hurt him first and then ran like a coward that you claim not to be.”

  “I wouldn’t know anyway. I’ve never been in love before… and FYI, I fled because I made the mistake of not breaking it off sooner, and I’m thankful that Father brought me to my senses. Remember when he told you that it’s easier to date within your own circle? Isn’t that what happened with you and your soon-to-be fiancé?”

  “Oh, Aliénor! I apologize on behalf of every member of this family: we all messed with your head. I shouldn’t have told my Tig story the way I did. I mean, without me, you wouldn’t have hunted him…” She pauses and reaches for the remote that controls the door to the parking garage underneath the apartment that she currently shares with her beau. “I guess I shouldn’t apologize after all. Father and Mother didn’t run in the same circles and they were happily married until…” she abruptly stops. The deafening silence of the parking garage contrasts with the busy streets. In a flash, the words that she’ll soon pronounce become real: “Until death do us part.” “Father’s right in a way. It can make things easier to have some obvious common ground… most of the time: same background, same education, same values… like I said, most of the time. There’s undoubtedly more to it than that. Without a genuine spark, it can’t last.” Spark. There’s that word again. Come on, let’s be honest, it was all a lie. Tig can’t love me, right?

  I fling the door open the moment she parks. I don’t inquire as to why she decided to take me to her new place. I’d rather discuss something other than my unexpected feelings for my unlikely Prince Charming. Overwhelming. All-consuming. Impossible to tame. I couldn’t let our infuriating attraction, ridiculous chemistry, and astonishing compatibility overrule common sense, could I?

  Bouncing from one foot to the other, I mull over our next controversial topic when we step into the elevator. “I asked him to cover my scars, you know.”

  Her eyes widen so much that I wonder whether they’re going to pop out of their sockets, like I’ve seen in cartoons. Shock is written all over her face. Good, it’s about time I regain the upper hand in this discussion and get her full attention.

  “Ah, the irony of the situation! Weren’t you the one to claim that tattoos are disgusting?”

  I nod and explain, “I think I regret them anyway. For a long time, I wanted to own my scars rather than hide them. I tried; I really did… I’m a fighter. I shouldn’t be embarrassed about them. And yet, when he mentioned that he worked on such cases for survivors, I saw a solution. I s
houldn’t have let him convince me. It hurt like hell, and it’s never going away.”

  “Who are you trying to fool, sis? No one could ever force you into anything, especially not this. I don’t believe a word you just said.”

  I stare at my Tod’s, incapable of answering. She’s right, and the way she can easily read me is infuriating.

  A sigh of relief leaves my constricted ribcage when she opens her front door and there’s nobody home.

  She fumbles with her phone and hands it to me. “Here.” She points at the last comment on my post. For a second, my heart somersaults at my sudden worry, mixed with hope, that Tig found it and decided not to forget about me. The comment reads:

  ‘I love the person who wrote this post with all my heart. Your mission is noble but could have been accomplished with a happy ending. I assure you that chivalry isn’t dead. I’m at fault if you grew up believing otherwise. I taught you to be your own person, a strong, independent, and determined woman who cares for her tribe. I’m at fault for failing to show you that you deserve to be happy, no matter your choices. In our last disagreement, I shouldn’t have held these qualities against you based on gender. I’m at fault for pressuring you to find your alpha male when you are an alpha in your own way. You’re too young to be cynical about happily ever afters. What I meant to say, even if my favorite cowboy would berate me for it, is I’m…’

  My eyes are so filled with tears that the last word is a blur.

  ‘Sorry.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Without You

  Tig

  I thought I’d never recover and would revisit my old habits to cope with the loss. The bottles of wine that Aliénor left behind in the Hamptons were damn tempting, and I contemplated giving in on several occasions. Every single time, I sprinted to the bathroom to indulge in a freezing shower while jacking off to the memories of our sexual encounters.