“Thank you, Kady,” I smile, hugging my best friend.
Kady and I have known each other since high school, and had an instant connection. She’s as loud and sassy as me, and there are times it feels as though we were separated at birth. We even look similar, with our long raven hair and piercing green eyes. The only real difference is Kady is taller and leaner, and I was struck with the curves.
“I really have to pee,” she says suddenly, and then her grin appears once more.
“Me too,” I admit.
Hooking arms, we leave the bar after shooting the last order of alcohol. We weave through the dancing, grinding bodies until we hit the long halls that lead to the toilet. There are women standing in line, waiting for the bathroom. Kady groans and tugs my arm, yelling in my ear, “Let’s go out back. I used to work here.”
She pulls me down the hall, past the people and through a large metal door at the end. It opens onto a parking lot and sure enough, there are bathrooms nestled in the large brick building running alongside the club. Kady pulls me over and we use the facilities and fix up our make up before stepping back out.
We’re about to enter the club again, when I hear a soft whimper. Narrowing my eyes, I turn and scan the car park. I can’t see anyone, but there’s a distinct sobbing sound coming from somewhere. “Do you hear that?” I ask Kady.
“I do.”
We investigate, and find a girl crouched around the side of the building. She hears our approach and pulls her knees closer to her chest. She’s gorgeous, blonde and looks up at us with mascara-stained cheeks.
“Are you okay?” I ask, kneeling down in front of her.
“I’m fine,” she sobs, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
“Are you sure?” I push. “You look upset.”
Way to point out the obvious, Grace.
She stares at the both of us, and then begins sobbing again. “My boyfriend dumped me!”
“This calls for alcohol,” Kady announces. “I’ll be back.”
She turns and rushes off, and I keep kneeling in front of the girl. “Did this just happen?”
She shakes her head. “Not exactly. We, well, we were sleeping together and he told me to meet him tonight. He never showed up, said he had something pressing to take care of and that maybe I should go and enjoy myself. When I replied, saying I’d wait, he very clearly told me that wasn’t a good idea and he didn’t think it would work between us.”
I curl my lip in disgust. “Pig!”
She nods. “Right?”
“It sounds to me,” I say, placing a hand on her shoulder, “like he isn’t worth it.”
“But he was so…” she trails off on another sob. “Wonderful!”
Wonderful? Yeah, so great he left her sitting in a dark alley because he was too lazy to break it off to her face.
“Men like that aren’t wonderful, honey,” I say firmly. “Men like that are weak, pathetic and not worth five seconds of your time.”
“You don’t understand, he was so amazing … you know…” she leans in close, “in bed. The best I’ve ever had. I thought … I thought it was because we had something special.”
I shake my head, sad for her. “So the man knows how to use his bits. It doesn’t make him prince charming.”
She giggles softly and looks up at me. I smile down at her, and continue. “You know, men like him are cruel, heartless players because they don’t know how to connect with another human being, except physically. It’s somewhat of a disorder. Perhaps he was dropped on his head as a young child, or perhaps his penis is severely undersized and he was forced to get a penis enhancement due to many sexual let downs…”
I stop rambling, because the girl has stopped talking and her face has turned red. She’s looking over my shoulder and I grit my teeth.
“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?”
She nods slowly, and I turn, standing.
I actually lose my footing when I set my sights on the man who broke her heart. Holy mother of God! He’s breathtaking. I make a little squeaking sound, steadying my footing as I take in Hercules in front of me. I don’t say this lightly, the man is massive. He’s six foot of solid, thick muscle. His face is that of a dark devil and he’s got these eyes, these amber eyes that are absolutely mind-blowing.
His dark hair looks as though he’s done no more than run his fingers through it. It curls down around the base of his neck in waves, and parts of it flop over his forehead. He’s extremely masculine, the beautiful kind. He’s got a jagged scar on his left cheek, but it only seems to add to his edge. His lips are full, his nose just slightly bent as if he’s been in one too many fights. He’s also got this dangerous five o’clock shadow lining his perfectly sculpted jaw and cheeks.
Once again, none of this takes away from his perfection.
I’d be crying if this man dumped me, too.
“Ah,” I say, smiling sheepishly.