I sit staring across the room while she gives Killian a handful of lies to get rid of him. He doesn’t push as hard as Blake, and within minutes she’s back with her head in my lap. My fingers run through her hair, pulling loose all the curls we spent the afternoon perfecting. A perfect illustration of my life.
I’d worked so hard to come this far. Getting back the person I used to be, one piece at a time. I’ve been molding and shaping those pieces, strong-arming them into place. And finally, I started to see the shadow of who I was before Stewart fire-bombed my life at sixteen. All to have it destroyed in minutes.
Part of me wonders if I should’ve let Blake and Stewart fight. If I had, maybe now we’d be in the comfort of his arms. In the safety of his house, and far away from the memories of what we used to be.
Ruined. Broken. Beyond repair.
Blake will never forgive me.
It’s over.
Blake
The music throbs through my already aching body. The fall from the adrenaline rush is always a bitch. Luckily, a few shots of whiskey with beer chasers make the fall less excruciating.
A blonde named Trix swivels her hips on stage. She looks like a girl I know. Her hair the same shade of sunshine, and her body just as tiny and tempting. But her tits are a lot bigger, and I can tell she doesn’t have a jagged scar on her lower belly from a shitty C-section. But all that aside, she looks like that girl. Even her eyes seem as dark at this distance. I imagine for a second that she is that girl. It’s a fucked up game to play, but it feels good. Paying for a woman’s attention is a lot fucking easier than earning it.
Less messy. Less painful.
My standin fantasy girl dips down low, her breasts close to my face. “Do you like what you see?”
Her nipples are darker than that girl’s, but they look pretty good. I’m sure they don’t taste like vanilla. They’re probably bitter, like the smell of the perfume that wafts off my standin’s body in waves. But I can pretend.
“Yeah, I do.” I slip my fingers into her hair, running them down one long strand. Not as silky, but not bad.
“Fifty for a lap dance.” She leans in, and I feel her breath against my ear. I tilt my head and imagine she’s asking for what she wants. Begging for me to touch her. Just like that girl. “Two-fifty if you want to make it private.”
She pulls back and twirls around, allowing me a moment to check out what she’s offering.
“How private?” I down the rest of my beer and notice the waitress dropped another shot in front of me. I throw that back too.
“It’s Valentine’s Day. I’ll make it as private as you want, baby.”
Done. “Lead the way.”
She giggles. “Let me go clear a room. I’ll be right back.”
I watch her g-stringed ass walk away and then stare blindly in front of me. Not seeing, not feeling, just being. This is a much better way to live. I feel sorry for all the dumb fucks that put their feelings out there. Who share personal things with people who could and most likely will end up walking away. Leaving and taking a chunk of their soul upon departure. I laugh. No one will ever make me that weak again.
“Interesting place to spend V-Day, Blake.” The female voice comes from my side.
I jerk when I see who it is. “Look who’s talking? What the fuck’re you doing here?”
“I brought her.” Jonah’s voice rumbles from my other side.
My head swivels back and forth between Raven’s grin and Jonah’s scowl.
“Dude, you brought your pregnant wife to a strip club on Valentine’s Day?” I laugh, and think that just days ago I thought of bringing that girl here too. “Man, romance is well and truly dead.”
“So this is it, huh? I pictured it being, I don’t know, brighter?” Raven scans the bar and stage. “Also a little less…” She snaps her fingers. “You know… bow chickie bow wow.” She reaches into her pocket. “So how does this work?”
“Baby, don’t you dare pull out a dollar. We’re out of here in fifteen minutes. You promised.” Jonah’s growled words have Raven rolling her eyes.
“Wait, you asked him to bring you here? On Valentine’s Day?” I double over as laughter hits me hard. “That’s fucking funny.” Damn, it feels good to laugh. I’m still chuckling when Raven’s sympathetic expression dries the last of my humor. “What?”
She turns her body toward me. “Killer called. He told us about Stewart.”
I shrug. “So?”
She leans in. “He told us that Layla and Axelle cancelled on you guys.”
The sound of that girl’s name makes my stomach tip on end. I reach for my beer. Empty. Fuck.
So that’s why they’re here. “Wait, how did you know where to find me?” I ask Jonah.
“Lucky fucking guess.” The deadpan way he says it has me glaring.
“Killer said that Axelle was upset.” She isn’t giving up.
Yeah, she wasn’t the only one. I lock down my urge to start tossing tables and focus on a stripper with hot pink hair who’s ripping her top off to a Sex Pistol’s song.
“She slipped him a piece of paper, Blake.” Raven’s voice is louder than before.
I keep my stare to the stage, and try like hell not to listen.
“The paper said that she didn’t want to leave her mom.”