Janelle chuckled, taking a sip from her own bottle. “Hey, what else do you need?”
The apartment was small and the walls were bare, but it was hers. A space all her own. Her own kitchen. Her own wonderfully functional oven. Her own living room. No deadbeat brothers loitering on her (at the moment nonexistent) couch, or generally stinking up the place. So she’d be living solely in the bedroom for a little while until she could furnish the rest of it, but that shouldn’t take much longer. The rent wasn’t going to break her, especially with the higher commission Brian had given her. She’d been working in the newly opened shop for two weeks now, and every night she wanted to weep from sheer happiness. They were starting small with two other artists for now, but they were already busy, and a few of her South clients actually lived here in her new town, so they’d been happy not to have to make the thirty-mile trip over to Dermamania to see her.
It was Sunday night, and Janelle had driven over to see the new apartment and have a beer, though Starla hadn’t been able to resist whipping up a batch of cookies for her first official guest. They were standing at the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen, devouring the entire plate.
“You look happier than I’ve ever seen you,” Janelle observed.
Starla sighed, breaking a warm cookie in half and watching the chocolate string decadently between the two pieces. “Stands to reason that when one area of life falls into place, another one falls spectacularly to pieces, doesn’t it?”
“Jared?”
She didn’t really want to think about it, so she popped the cookie into her mouth. She didn’t want to cast a shadow on how fortunate she’d been with this new gig. But she’d had to pause while mixing the batter earlier so that a teardrop didn’t fall into it. Fuck. Would she never be able to make cookies again without thinking of two little girls and their gorgeous dad? “Oh, just the latest in my never-ending stream of fuckups. I’m used to them by now.”
“I think this one has hit you harder than most. You fled town, babe.”
“I would have done that anyway. This move has been awesome for me. I love it here. I would’ve been stupid not to take this chance, right? Just once, though…” She trailed off, startled by the warmth gathering behind her eyes, remembering Brian’s words. “I’ve seen you chase after some sorry motherfuckers since I’ve known you.” She held her next words captive until she was quite sure they wouldn’t erupt with blubbering sobs. “Just once I want someone to chase after me. And not in the psychotic-stalker sense of the word.”
Janelle clinked her bottle with Starla’s and took a swig. “I hear that.”
“So I’ll take my time and be alone for a while. It’ll be good for me, I think. I find I kind of enjoy it.” The words rang hollow even to her.
“After Julie and Doug, I’m sure you do.”
“I do miss Jared, though.” So much. Sometimes it was hard to breathe. She didn’t understand. She’d cared much less about men she’d spent much, much more time with—and spent much more time chasing. None of them had ever made her feel this empty when they weren’t with her. Hell, she had to face it: she’d mostly been after a piece of ass back then. Not that she didn’t miss fucking Jared; she’d already burned the motor out of one vibrator thinking about that last night she had with him.
But those orgasms were empty, pathetic shadows, and somehow she knew letting any other man help her out with her nocturnal cravings would produce the same result.
Two nights ago, she’d had a shot at proving it to herself. A smooth-talking, well-muscled, smoky-eyed client of hers had made advances when they ran into each other at a liquor store. She’d been wearing her shortest shorts and carrying wine and a six-pack of the bottles she and Jan were drinking from right now. He’d asked if she needed any help putting those away. Promise had practically oozed from the words, but the “No, I got it” had sprung from her lips before she even considered. The temptation hadn’t been there, not for a second. A few months ago, that dude might have become her latest mistake.
“Well, I’m proud of you,” Jan said. “Everyone is. We miss you, but we’re proud. Especially Brian. You’ve taken a load off his shoulders, you know.”
Starla smiled, her heart warming. She, along with countless others, had told Brian to keep his ass at home and heal with his loving wife and baby and, for once, he was listening to them. But she knew he couldn’t wait to get back to work. Candace had spent some time at the new shop with her going over the accounting software. Sometimes she brought Lyric, whom Starla had taken to calling Lyr-Jet. She’d even become rather adept at diaper changes herself. More amazingly, Lyric seemed to like her. He would flash his daddy’s dimples at her and sometimes fall asleep in her arms after his bottle, his tufts of black hair spiked in a tiny Mohawk.