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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Saturday, June 19
(but only by 12 minutes)
The concert isone of the best I’ve ever attended. These guys should call themselvesRelentlessorTireless.The non-stop energy, pyrotechnics and haunting rock harmonies are spot on. My heart beats in time with the music and my blood burns with the fireworks. It is all over too soon for me. But then we jump back into our limo and head for the after-party at our hotel.
The band has rented the entire downstairs ballroom. Small local bands take turns providing music while alcohol flows freely. I’ve danced with Sam, Evan and Connor and my cheeks are hot from exertion and copious amounts of vodka. I am not a drinker. I’m going to pay for this tomorrow, but I don’t care. I just slow danced with Sam Slade! Inner Fangirl, finally revived, is practically panting. She’s all fluttery and tongue-tied, but Sam is a total sweetheart about it and just keeps smiling at me.
I glance over his shoulder and see Connor talking to Plastic Boobs. Her hand is on his arm and is traveling up to his shoulder. She gives him that look. Every woman knows that look. The “fuck me” look. The look that has my Inner Sex Goddess and Miss Insecurity conspiring to incinerate this woman. She leans up and whispers something in his ear and then turns his cheek and … no! I can’t watch. She kisses him. Well, she either kisses him or she’s trying to taste test his tonsils.
A sickening feeling washes over me, and I feel myself sway slightly on my feet. I look up and Sam’s face peers into mine with something akin to enjoyment and amusement. My gaze instantly flicks back to where Connor and Plastic Boobs are sitting. Sam cranes his neck to follow my eyes.
“That’s Becca,” Sam says. His tone would imply he just tasted something sour. My stomach roils again.
“An employee?” I ask. The vodka is seriously beginning to disagree with my anxiety.
“Groupie. She follows us around like a little lost puppy dog. We throw her a bone once in a while, if you know what I mean. Well, a couple of the guys do. A couple of us are too old and too married for that shit. Looks like she’s got her sights set on Con. Hope he’s had all his shots.”
The music fades, and I make an excuse to Sam that I’m not feeling well and slip up to our hotel room. It wasn’t a total lie. The vodka has decided to leave my body violently under a torrent of tears.
When I’ve wretched all the sin I can from my stomach, I stand up and stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. My silk blouse is wrinkled from sweat and dancing. My hair has fallen out of its cute braid and dark pools of running mascara make my eyes look like a mask on a raccoon. Crying has made my nose red and puffy. I’m horrified at how I look. It’s not just the aftereffects of too much loud music and vodka, I look desperate and pathetic. I thought he loved me.
I twist the knob of the shower and jump in with all my clothes on. Sliding back against the cold tile wall, I feel the warm water soak into me as heartbreak leaches out.
* * *
I wake up alone in the king-sized bed of our hotel room. The numbers on the clock beside me scream that it’s just after 3:30 a.m. The hotel room is dark. Connor isn’t here. Fresh hot tears pour from my eyes again. I don’t want to think about it, but I know where he is. He’s drowning in a sea of plastic tits and needing a shot of penicillin.
Miss Insecure gives me all of her best doubts. I’m not good enough to be anything more than a fun summer fling to a man like Connor Rose. I mean, look at him for goodness’ sake. He’s Tarzan and the God of Sex and Orgasms for crying out loud. I’m just for fun. I’m not the kind of woman men like that keep. I never have been, and I never will be. Tears rock me to sleep again as the quiet demons weave their dark magic over my dreams. He can’t love me.
I wake up and glance at the clock again. It reads 7:48 a.m. My eyes are so swollen and sore from crying I can barely open them. When I can finally focus, I see a long, hairy hard arm draped over my hip. I breathe a slight sigh of relief. At the same time, I feel rage burn against my eyes again, but no tears come this time. They aren’t any left.
He’s still wearing his clothes from last night, even his boots. He smells of stale booze and marijuana smoke. I don’t want to be here when he wakes up. I slip from the bed and into a swimsuit and head down to the pool.
I stare at the pages of a book I’m pretending to read, words swimming past my eyes as I mindlessly turn pages. I order a sandwich and eat an early lunch. I swim a few laps and then slink back to my chaise in the shade. My thoughts tumble around and around in my head. I love Connor, I know I do. I thought he loved me. But there’s no way he can. How can a man who is in love with me go off and screw some blond bimbo from a rock concert?
I’m a fool. My mother used to tell me when I was a child, “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” Well, shame on me. I let myself get sucked into a man’s lies. Again. Into a man’s bed. Again. I let him use my body for nothing more than his ticket to pleasure and my ticket to pain. Again. I lift my sunglasses and wipe the tears from my eyes. I breathe deeply and try to stay the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm me in a tsunami of brokenness.
“You’re punishing me, aren’t you?” I hear Connor’s voice growl beside me. He’s standing over me, rubbing his fingers through his long damp hair.
“I’m reading,” I say, not looking up to meet his eyes.
He sits on the empty lounger next to me. His hand splays over my bare knee. “You would make me chase you out here at the brightest spot in the entire hotel. It’s to torment me while I try to survive this damn hangover, isn’t it?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have stayed out so late and had so much to drink then,” I snap.
“You’re angry?” Connor says. His hand stills, but it doesn’t lift from my skin.
“No … I … you. Where were you last night? I woke up after three o’clock … alone.”
“Um, hmm. I was …” he starts. I wave my hand dismissively.
I don’t want to hear about him and that awful woman. I cut him off with a contemptuous tone. “I don’t want to hear about you buried in that woman’s plastic pussy all night, Connor. Spare me the details.”
Connor begins to laugh and flags down a waiter. “Can I get some water, please? Like a gallon of it?”
The waiter smiles and nods, then disappears, while Connor works to bring his irritating laughter under control. I cannot believe he’s laughing at me.
