by Nikki Ash
“I hope I don’t have to walk up any stairs because it will be a struggle.”
“Worth it. You look hot. Has Datson seen this?”
“No. We haven’t talked much this week.”
“Ry.”
“It’s okay. He’s here for Indie and that’s what counts.”
“But you guys are crazy about each other.”
“It’s too much right now, Linds. I have to focus on Indie and school.” I turn toward them and hold out my arms. “It’s okay? Really?”
Indie claps. “Da-da.”
Yeah, sweet girl, I miss him too.
“You look great. I promise,” Lindsey says with a reassuring nod.
“I will not be gone long. I just need to make an appearance and talk with Dr. Matthews.”
“You’re still going to turn it down?”
“Yeah. It isn’t the right time.” I’ve come to terms with my disappointment. There will be other opportunities. My time is coming. I just have to be patient a few more years.
I ignore my best friend’s sad face. “Okay, I’m off. Call or text if you need me.” I give my daughter a kiss and thank Lindsey again.
The party is being held in a banquet room in University Hall. Monster Mash plays over the speakers. Students and professors are dressed up. There are more literary characters than I can count. Inspirations ranging from Harry Potter to Shakespeare.
I spot Dr. Matthews on the other side of the room and start toward her. I get punch and slow my steps. Now that I’m here, it’s much harder to walk up and turn down her mentoring than it was when I rehearsed it in my head.
As I approach, she looks up from the circle of students and professors around her and smiles at me. She steps out and I meet her halfway.
“I haven’t heard from you all week,” Dr. Matthews says. “Can I assume no news is good news?”
“I really appreciate the offer. I do.” I swallow and glance around. My gaze snags on a tall, dark head entering the room. All around, people are turning to stare. The gorgeous man dressed as a prince, crown and all, holds onto the hand of a little girl – a mermaid. My mermaid. I made us matching outfits, never dreaming we’d get to wear them together here. “I’m sorry. Can you give me a minute?” I ask, but don’t wait for her response.
John glances around the room, leading Indie through the crowd. When I step into his line of vision, a grin pulls at his lips.
It feels like a dream as I walk toward them.
“What are you doing here?”
“We came to cheer on mommy, didn’t we?”
“Mama!”
I squat down and hug Indie. “You said it! You said mom.”
“Da-da.”
I chuckle and stand with her in my arms. “Did your game end early?”
‘Nah.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t go with the team to Colorado. I quit.”
“I don’t understand.” I search his face. “Why?”
“I’ve been living out all my college dreams for the past three years. It’s your turn to live yours. You didn’t turn down Dr. Matthews yet, did you?”
“No, but–”
“No buts. I’ve got you. Let me do this. It’s one small thing.”
“Small? This is huge, John. You’ve played your last college basketball game? Couldn’t you wait until the end of the semester or something?”
“Nah, not really.” He shrugs. “I’m not worrying about lasts anymore. This is just the beginning.”
The head of the department speaks into the microphone. “If I can get everyone’s attention, we are going to announce the winners from pitch fest.”
“You don’t need to do this. What if you regret it and resent me later?”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“But I do. I’ve been living my college dreams. It’s your turn.” He takes my hand and steps closer. “Nothing is more important to me than you two. And I’m not expecting anything. You want to focus on Indie and school, and I respect that. I’ll be whatever you need. Friend and co-parent. Maybe more?” He grins. “I know you want to take it slow, but I’m here. I’m following your lead.”
“You make a good prince charming.” I rest my hand on his chest and tug him by the gold sash. I kiss him just as they call my name.
I feel his lips pull into a smile and he steps back. Reaching down, he picks up Indie and together, they clap for me as I clumsily make my way to the stage.
A month later, the three of us head to Ray Fieldhouse to watch the basketball team play. Indie’s in the smallest, most adorable Valley University shirt and matching blue headband. She sits on John’s lap and the two of them clap and cheer. They are far more entertaining than the game.
He catches me watching and winks. We’ve continued taking things slow. We still split time with Indie so that I can study, and I’ve gotten better about drawing limits for myself. It isn’t easy, though. Not with the two of them always being so dang sweet.
“Do you miss being out there?”
“No way. I’ve got the best seat in the house.” He leans over and kisses me. “Plus, they’re getting their asses handed to them. Coach is going to be pissed at halftime. Tomorrow they’ll be running suicides and I’ll be snuggled up with my girls.”
“I love you.” The words I’ve held in tumble out at a time I hadn’t planned.
He doesn’t immediately speak, and I think maybe he hasn’t heard me. Then ever so slowly, an easy grin spreads across his face. “I love you too, Rylee.”
Indie looks between us and claps.
Hideaway by CoraLee June
Chapter One
“They forgot the angostura bitters, and the lime juice wasn’t fresh. If a club is going to pride themselves on having a Drunken Elephant as their signature drink in every single one of their press releases, the least they can do it get the recipe right,” I complained.
My cousin, Dax, laughed on the other end of the line. “You are such a cocktail snob.”
My scuffed, designer thrift store heels walked down the dimly lit sidewalk toward my apartment. It was late, the flickering streetlamps illuminating the walkway and casting a glow over my bright red hair. A chill made me shiver and wrap my Max Mara puffer jacket tighter around my body. My breath was visible in the winter night air. “It’s kind of my job to be picky,” I replied. This was a conversation Dax and I had numerous times.
“It’s seriously not fair that you have such a dream job. I’m bartending five nights a week and barely getting by. Meanwhile, you have a waitlist of like five gazillion bars and mixologists waiting for you to visit them.” I knew for a fact that my cousin wasn’t barely getting by as he so eloquently claimed. The women who frequented his bar tipped him very generously. He just poured all his money into his classic truck. Typical.
I was a blogger and influencer. My job was to visit different clubs and write up reviews of their signature drink. I knew Dax was being playful, but I still worried about him. My mom raised us both, and when she died, he was all I had left. “Do you need me to send you some money?” I asked quietly.
“No. Don’t you dare. I’m fine. I’m just saving up for a new transmission, so I’m living that ramen noodle life for the next few months.” We both chuckled and he continued. “Aunt Deb would be so proud of you, you know.”
I smiled to myself before turning the corner toward my apartment building. “She would have ripped my bartender a new one tonight. She used to make the best Drunken Elephant,” I said softly. Mom passed away from cancer just last year. It was a loss I still felt daily. She was a famous mixologist in the city and worked with bars all over the country, helping them create unique and delicious drink menus for their clientele. She taught me everything I knew, and now, I used that knowledge to review local hot spots on my viral Instagram and YouTube accounts. I inherited her ability to analyze flavors and associate them to brands, emotions, and feelings. I could pick a signature drink for any person, club, or event. Dax got her mixo
logy genes and loved concocting new beverages. Pretty soon one of these bars was going to swoop him up. He just hadn’t had his big break yet.
“Are you almost home? I hate when you walk this late,” Dax said, changing the subject.
“Just a couple more blocks. I could have taken a cab, but you know how I like stretching my legs.”
“Why don’t you stretch your legs during the day? When it’s bright outside and when the creeps are asleep?”
I rolled my eyes. I was born and raised in Chicago. I knew every street corner like the back of my hand. The city could be dangerous, but I was more than capable of taking care of myself. “I’m fine. I’ll be home soon.”
“You better. Listen, my break is almost over and there’s a cute girl here I’m trying to impress with my cocktail skills.”
“Oh?” I asked with a smile. “Well, you better get going, Romeo.”
“What drink should I make a girl who’s cute, flirty, fun, but has this mystery about her? She’s got deep chocolate eyes you just get lost in and a vibe that’s both dark and playful. When she’s with her friends, she’s bubbly. When she talks to me, she’s got this depth. She comes in every Friday and I’m trying to get the courage to ask her on a date.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek for a moment, thinking over this mystery woman and assigning her a drink. “Make her a Basilica.”
“Ahh. Haven’t made one of those in a while.”
“Vodka, limoncello, simple syrup, lemon juice, and sweet basil leaves. Oh, and add a strawberry for garnish. It’s a refreshing cocktail that showcases the basil. Although it seems to be sweet and playful, it’s impressively balanced and has a depth about it you can’t quite put your finger on. Just like your mystery girl.”
“You’re the best, Lydia. Seriously,” Dax replied.
“Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I replied playfully before hanging up the phone.
I kept walking, feeling a slight buzz from the drinks at the club and a happiness in my chest from talking to Dax. He moved to LA a few years ago and I loved getting to chat with him. I really needed to go visit him soon. I put my cell phone in my purse and kept marching on.
The Chicago night air was crisp and cold, biting at my cheeks as I walked. The wind was like a slap to the face, but I was used to it. I noticed a shadow walking behind me but didn’t think anything of it. It wasn’t until I turned down an alley—a shortcut to my apartment building—that the shadow approached.
“Lydia Love,” a masculine voice called out. I spun around on my heels to face the man. He had greasy hair down to his shoulders and wore a thin jacket, despite the freezing weather. “It’s really you!”
I took a step backward. “And you are?”
“Well, I’m your soul mate. I’ve been following your Instagram since your twenty-first birthday. I knew we were meant to be together when you wore a red dress. Red’s my favorite color. You were speaking to me, weren’t you? Trying to tell me that you love me, too.”
My heart started to race at his words. What was wrong with this guy? “I’m sorry. I don’t know you. Please leave me alone,” I stammered.
“But you do know me. I message you every day. I comment on all your photos. I tried sending you flowers, but I couldn’t find your address until now. When I saw that you were at the Broken Bulb for drinks tonight, I knew I had to take my chance. I drove all the way from Oklahoma to see you. Now we can be together. Now we can get married.”
I had a few creeps on my Instagram over the years. Most of the time their messages were harmless. I typically avoided my DMs because it was a mess of weirdos or influencers wanting to collaborate. If this guy had been sending me messages, I didn’t see them. And it was obvious that something was wrong with this dude. I needed to get away from him. Now.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“You don’t know my name?” he asked, his tone angry.
“I’m so sorry. I’m just not feeling well,” I lied. I didn’t think such a question would make him so furious.
“It’s Bradley, Lydia. My name is Bradley, and I am your future husband. I brought you a wedding ring. I want you to wear it.”
I wondered if I screamed if anyone would come out and save me. In big cities like Chicago, everyone liked to mind their business. “Bradley. You’re scaring me.”
“I’m not scaring you!” he roared. “Just come here and let me love you.”
A limousine drove past, and I quickly waved them down, praying they would see me. What was I going to do? How was I going to survive this? Bradly grabbed my upper arm and I tried jerking out of his grip, but he was surprisingly strong for being so scrawny. “I love you, Lydia. I’ve always loved you. I just want you to love me back.”
I lifted my leg and kicked him in the shin, making him double over in pain. “Go away, you freak!” I screamed, not caring if it hurt his feelings. Bradley was delusional and I needed to get away from here. I quickly kicked off my heels and made a break to run for it, but Bradly grabbed me by the neck and pulled me close. His breath was rancid. His eyes wide and wild.
“You’re lucky I love you so much. I don’t normally let people talk to me that way.”
I whimpered. What was I going to do?
“Back off.” A low growl echoed around me. It was a demanding, protective sound. Bradley let go of me to see who was intruding and I, too, looked at my savior. Thank fuck. The limousine had stopped, and a man wearing a suit and black leather gloves stood in front of me. The shadow of night hid some of his features from me, but I saw the strong line of his jaw and the harsh angle of his sharp nose. “Are you all right?” he asked me with a slight nod, his tone gravely and clipped with an accent I couldn’t place. He nodded at me, and for a moment, terror and confusion had my response stunted in my throat.
“Please get him away from me,” I finally croaked out.
From the limo, two large men who looked well over six feet tall approached. They grabbed Bradley by the arms and dragged him toward their car.
“I’ll be with you one day, Lydia. I’ll have you!” he screamed while trying to jerk out of their hold. It felt surreal, watching him being carried away like a rag doll. One of the men got annoyed with his screeching and hit him on his temple with a closed fist. Bradley slumped over, knocked out from the hit.
It was almost humorous how easily they grabbed him—how easily they picked him up and placed him in the trunk of their car. “Thank you so much. I thought he was going to get me. I’ll call the police—”
“That won’t be necessary.”
I balked at the man just as his goons slammed the trunk shut. “What?” I asked. “What are you going to do to him?”
My mystery savior walked up, and a soft glow from an apartment above us hit his face just right. He was beautiful. His face perfectly symmetrical yet rugged all the same. A light scar was on his cheek, and his eyes were fanned with thick, dark lashes. He had eyes black as night and plush lips I wanted to run my fingers over. Something about him screamed danger.
He was like Glenfiddich Grand Cru, twenty-three-year-old luxury scotch. Elegant. Only the finest international flavors. Smooth with a sandalwood finish and slight afternote of pear sorbet. Heavy. Burned when it went down. A celebratory drink, something decadent you think about with fondness. It was the sort of drink men with money running through their veins indulged in.
“What do you want me to do with him? He was attacking you when I pulled up.”
“I want you to call the cops. It’s their job,” I scoffed. “He’s been stalking me. He said all sorts of crazy things. Said we’re going to get married and even had a motherfucking ring. I just met him, and he was following me home. I just think he needs to talk to a doctor. The guy needs mental help.”
The nameless man observed me, cocking his head to the side as he looked me up and down. Smooth. He was smooth. Calculative. “The police won’t do a damn thing. You want to help a man who might have hurt you? Raped you? Murdered you
? If I take him to jail, he’ll just get right back out. Can’t punish a man for what he plans to do, only for what he’s already done. You’ll live the rest of your life wondering when he’ll come for you again. That’s how the system works. I can make the problem go away if you’d like.”
What was he suggesting? “What are you, the mafia?” I joked. “Don’t hurt him. He’s just…confused. Maybe we should take him to the hospital?”
He didn’t respond. I watched him as the horror I felt grew tenfold. I itched to reach for my phone. “Don’t worry about him. Do not call the police, or you will regret it. I’ll make sure to take him somewhere he won’t hurt anyone else. Remove it from your mind.”
“That’s easier said than done. Am I an accomplice to a crime?” My fingers twitched, aching to grab my phone and dial 911. It was like I left one monster and found another.
“You were about to be a victim of a crime. What’s your name, beautiful?”
I swallowed. “Lydia. Lydia Love.” My tone was rough.
“You live nearby, Lydia Love?” he asked.
I should have said no. I shouldn’t have told this strange man where I lived. Maybe I had a bit of a hero complex because he saved me from Bradley. “Just around the corner.”
“I’ll walk you,” he replied dangerously. “Make sure you get there safely, hmm?”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Walk with me.”
I bent down to pick up my shoes and put them back on my feet. The strange man walked up to me and grabbed my arm, steading me as I slipped the heels back on. “What’s your name?” I asked.
“You don’t need my name,” he whispered.
Okay. This man was definitely dangerous. “And you don’t need to walk me home.”
His hand remained wrapped around my arm and he nodded at the driver of his limo. “Come. Let’s go.”
Chapter Two
“Why are you out this late?” he asked me as we turned the corner. He still hadn’t let go of my arm, and the pressure of his grip was sending a thrill throughout me I couldn’t explain. Up close, he smelled like green woods and citrus. I breathed him.
