Can't Hardly Breathe (The Original Heartbreakers #4)

“Did something happen between you and Brock?” Dorothea asked her.

“What? No! Never. He’s a man-whore, and besides, he scares me. He has a temper, and one strike from those meaty fists would kill me.”

“He wouldn’t—”

But Lyndie wasn’t done. “Even if he was the calmest person ever born, I’d say no if he asked me out. Because, do you want to know the benefits of dating me? No, because there aren’t any!”

Low self-esteem could strike anyone, Dorothea realized, even beautiful strawberry blondes. “The benefit of dating you is that he will be dating you. I could go on, but I’m pretty sure I’ve already made my point.”

Lyndie gave her a small smile. “You know a man like Brock doesn’t just enjoy sex, he needs it.” She peered into her drink, the smile long gone. “I probably shouldn’t admit this aloud, but I hate sex with the passion of a thousand suns.”

Dorothea patted her hand. What the heck had her husband done to her? “You haven’t liked it in the past, honey. Every man is different. The right one will be gentle and caring, or whatever you happen to need. He could change your mind.”

Ryanne wiped the bar with more force. “I love you guys and only want the best for you. Whatever I can do to help, let me know and it’s done.”

“Love you, too,” Dorothea and Lyndie said in unison.

“And right back at you,” Dorothea added. “You know what? We’re going to drink tonight. Maybe exorcise our demons.”

“Good idea.” Ryanne poured the three shots.

They clinked their glasses and drained the contents. The amber liquid burned going down but settled sweetly in Dorothea’s stomach.

“I loved him,” she said, “but he didn’t love me back and didn’t even like me enough to fight for me. I have to let him go.” She held out her empty glass, and Ryanne refilled it. Then she nudged Lyndie’s shoulder. “Your turn to tell us what demon you’re exorcising.”

“Well. I...I stayed with a man who... He hurt me.” Lyndie chewed on her bottom lip. “I was afraid of what he’d do to me if I left again. I was afraid of everything. Am afraid.”

Dorothea hugged her close, aching for her.

Ryanne took Lyndie’s fragile hand and flattened it above her heart before refilling their glasses. “My mom slept with not one but two of my boyfriends, so I learned early on never to trust anyone enough to actually have sex,” she admitted, and her cheeks darkened. “Then I met the dirtbags here—” she gestured around the bar “—and that was that. Total body lockdown.”

What! The roughest, toughest girl in town was a virgin?

Dorothea smiled at her. Her first smile since her breakup. “I’m in shock.”

“I know,” Ryanne grumbled. “I’ve worked so much I haven’t even dated, all to save up for my ’round the world travels.”

Ever since they were little girls, the beautiful brunette had wanted to travel to other countries. “Are you hoping to change your virgin status before your first trip? With anyone in particular...like, say, Jude Laurent?”

“No! Of course not.” A soft sigh. “Maybe. He’s rude, but he’s hot. He’s quiet, but protective. And he never looks at any other woman but me... I admit I get weak in the knees every time our eyes meet.”

“If you decide to go for it, let us be your wingwomen,” Lyndie said. “We’ll help you nail him good. Or very, very bad.”

Ryanne laughed. “To nailing our men, either in bed or to an anthill!”

They held up their drinks and clinked the rims, then drained the contents. Again Dorothea experienced a burn and a sweet settling. Her inhibitions began to melt away, her head hazing.

“So what do we do now?” Lyndie asked.

“Yeah,” Ryanne said. “What do we do?”

“Now,” Dorothea told them, “we dance and sing and live stream it on my webpage. We deserve to be happy, dang it, and we’re going to show the world!”





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

DANIEL SAT AT the desk in his bedroom, sober for the first time since his breakup with Thea. The dogs were asleep on his bed, and his dad was out on a date with Carol Mathis, of all people. He doubted the date had anything to do with romance, though. The two were probably plotting ways to get Daniel and Thea back together.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. He wouldn’t be second place in her life while she was first in his.

Is she really first?

Yes!

Since their breakup, he hadn’t slept and he’d barely eaten. Fatigue and hunger had hounded him. He’d drunk, and then he’d drunk some more, trying to keep his mind off his girl.

Not my girl. Not anymore.

His PTSD was back in full force, his mind a wealth of land mines, always ready to blow.

Earlier Thea had texted him about wanting to see the dogs, but he had yet to respond. Every time he’d tried, he’d started writing in all caps. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO—

He rubbed at the ache above his heart, hating her, hating himself. His life had gone to hell in a handbasket.

Jessie Kay wasn’t speaking to him. His dad only ever sighed at him, and Daniel had begun to worry about his health. Virgil often rubbed at his chest, as if pained. The only people who’d remained normal around him were Jude and Brock. Jude was as grumpy as ever, and Brock was drinking too much. As evidenced by the call Daniel had received half an hour ago.

“You by a computer?” the guy had asked, anger crackling in his tone, even as he slurred his words. Music played in the background.

“I am.” His laptop had been only an arm’s length away.

“Check out Dorothea’s webpage.”

Just hearing her name made his internal pain worse, and he’d cursed. But he’d also hung up and obeyed. And then he’d watched as Thea had the time of her life with her friends. He was still watching.

She laughed. She drank. She danced. Then she laughed, drank and danced some more.

Fury brewed. He didn’t like his life without her, while she clearly loved hers without him. She’d already moved on. Her nails were purple; she was determined.

Why hadn’t she started her new job in the city?

Why hadn’t she hired a new employee?

Again and again, Daniel almost swiped up his keys and drove to the Scratching Post. He craved her. His eyes wanted to see her live and in person. His mouth wanted to taste her. His hands wanted to touch her. His ears wanted to hear her voice.

But he stayed where he was. There was a hollow sensation in his chest. One he’d battled many times before, after his mom died and every time he’d lost a friend in battle.

Deep down, he understood why he had to deal with it now. Thea hadn’t died, but their relationship sure had. She’d chosen the fucking weather over him. The weather! Daniel Porter couldn’t compete with a tornado.

So this is what true rejection feels like. This was what she’d endured most of her life.

The contents of his stomach—what felt like barbed wire, buckshot and broken glass—churned together.