Lawrence has been hanging around the bar again. The messages about getting back together have stopped and I know he thinks he can get into my good graces again by physical proximity.
I am capable.
I am enough.
And I don’t need a man.
My mantra gives me strength. My system seems tired of this back and forth cycle of passion and abuse. And does he seem smaller? Not quite as manly as before? Maybe he should try to grow a beard? The guy can’t even cook.
I only give him a quick nod as I suddenly busy myself, rearranging liquor bottles. The feeling of being trapped closes in on me.
I know he will perch at my side of the bar for the rest of the night and try to engage me in conversation. He’ll find a way to talk about all the girls slipping into his DMs to see if he wants to hang out. As if it will make me jealous.
He leans in further, his voice dripping with faux concern. "You used to love chatting with me, remember? Has work been treating you well, Goldie?"
Inside, a pressurized distress builds, a part of me itching to retort, to assert my newfound boundaries. But the ever-present need to be liked, to avoid conflict, bubbles to the surface, urging a kinder, gentler response.
Forcing a smile, I find myself nodding, my voice betraying a hint of the old Goldie as I reply, "Work's fine, Lawrence. Just busy as usual." I feel a piece of my resolve crumble, a small victory for him.
“Goldie,” his voice softens. “I know you don’t believe me, but I’ve changed. I can’t live without you. I’m starving for the way you’ve supported me, the way you look at me like I matter.” He lowers his voice so no one else can hear. “The way you suck dick. It’s all I can think about, baby girl.”
My face flushes at the memory. How many second chances have I given Lawrence? Too many according to Cinder and Red. But I don’t expect someone to be perfect, I just need them to try.
An inner turmoil stirs within me, a maddening concoction of attraction and apprehension. I have always had this weakness, this inability to shut people out completely, always giving them a chance, one too many perhaps. It's Lawrence's relentless pursuit that chips away at my resolve, piece by piece.
My grip loosens as memories of our better days together flood back. The shared laughter, the private jokes, the chemistry that was undeniable. Most of the time I knew exactly how to make him feel good. . . as he said.
“Don’t worry baby girl, I’ll prove I’m not going anywhere,” Lawrence sets an arm on the bar. Then he leans in. “Can I get a Forbidden Fruit cocktail?” The name rolls off his tongue suggestively.
“Sure.” I keep my gaze downcast as I mix his drink.
The invisible weight of someone’s eyes pressing into me draws my attention across the room. Rap studies me intently, a question in her eyes.
Do we need to remove him?
My boss keeps close tabs on us and goes above and beyond when it comes to protecting us from patrons who mean to harass us.
Inwardly, I sigh. Lawrence is an unwelcome addition to the fan club that already is my section, but the truth is I need his extravagant tips. Without me around to pay his bills, Lawrence must have run back to daddy for money. And it’s going to fund the appliances in my kitchen.
That’s what I tell myself anyway.
It’s then that Lysander strolls in and sits at the other end of the bar, giving me a polite nod. A genuine smile breaks out on my face as I wave. Cinder deserves happiness and I’m happy to be here and part of the continuation of events.
Something wriggles in my tummy, telling me I should give Rap the go ahead to boot Lawrence too. I squash down my reaction to my ex, envisioning the dishwasher that is going to be life changing.
I shake my head at her. Not tonight.
Chapter13
Breaking Bear
GOLDIE
Though I’m bone tired, something tells me to wake up. I blink rapidly, until I focus on the black ceiling fan.
Except my room doesn’t have a ceiling fan, and this bed is too hard.
I bolt upright, my butt digging painfully into the stiff mattress. Who the hell could ever sleep on this thing? Posters of busty, nearly naked mage models are tacked to the dark blue walls. Papers and car magazines clutter up the desk in the corner. The scent of stale body odor seems imprinted on the sheets, making my nose wrinkle. The whole place reminds me of a thirteen-year-old boy’s room.
