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Amelia laughs at me. Her jet-black hair is pulled up high in a ponytail with a red bandana holding it out of her face. Another flour-covered apron is covering her today, revealing only her frayed jeans and red Converse tennis shoes. I like this girl’s style. She fills the empty spot in the display case with her muffins and then turns to me. “So, what’ll it be?”
I point to the coffee pot. “I’ll take the biggest cup you offer of that.” Then, I study the muffins. “And can I have one of the coffee cake muffins, please? I can already tell it’s going to be a long day.”
Amelia turns her back to me while she makes my coffee. “Sure. So, did those pics I saw of you last night during the Kings game make your day longer?” She turns to hand me the coffee, but I’m staring at her, dumbfounded.
“I’m sorry, what? What pictures?” Then, I remember Nattie mentioned a picture too. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity-Fuck.
“Oh, come on. If you’re dating the quarterback, do you actually expect me to believe you didn’t watch the game? Oh wait, were you there? At the game? I guess you wouldn’t have seen the halftime show then.”
Amelia stares at me, waiting for me to answer, but it takes me a minute to catch up. “No, I wasn’t at the game. I was home, and I watched it with my little brother, but we missed the half-time show and most of the second half. I missed the pictures,” I groan.
Placing my muffin in a bag, Amelia rings me up. “Well, it was a good picture. You guys might as well have lit my television on fire, you looked so hot. I didn’t realize you ran in those kinds of circles.”
My head whips toward her. “Oh, no. I don’t. I mean, I guess I do. I’m friends of the family. Declan and I aren’t dating.” How many times am I going to have to say this today?
“Does he know that? Because if a man looked at me that way, I’d climb him like a tree.”
Everyone’s got a damn opinion today. “Yeah. That’s the popular opinion. Thanks for my breakfast. I’ll catch up with you later this week.”
I push through the front door and head down to my studio.
Great.
Another reason to relive Saturday night.
My toddler tap class has just ended, giving me a two-hour break before the next group of tiny dancers make their way through my doors. Please, God, let me have replenished the Tylenol I keep in my bag. My head is throbbing. Two days of very little sleep do not agree with spending an hour listening to ten little girls try to make as much noise as possible with their black patent-leather tap shoes.
I think my head may actually explode today.
After grabbing a bottle of water, I sit at my desk, pop two pills, move the overdue bills aside and pull up the Internet. I’ve been debating with myself all morning about whether to search for those photos Nattie and Amelia mentioned. I might as well have had an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. Or in ballet speak, a white swan and a black swan.
My little white swan is perfectly put together. Her tutu is starched and pristine. Her bun is tight, not a hair out of place. She’s warning me, “Protect your heart. You don’t need to see those pictures. You know what happened, and you know it needed to be a one-time thing.”
My black swan, who is equally as beautiful, but is the dark to her light, laughs at her, “Girl, you know you need to see those pictures. Let’s get another glimpse of that panty-melting man. While we’re at it, maybe we go for round... what round is it now? Oh, who cares. When the sex is that good there can never be too many rounds!”
Stupid swans.
It only takes one search to drown in images of us from Saturday night. The first ones to appear are when we walked the red carpet, and they’re stunning. We look perfect together. Declan really is magnificent in that tux. I scroll through a few before I get to the one at the top of the curved staircase. The one I knew in my heart would be a perfect shot when he did it. Declan holds my hand to his lips while he drops a kiss on it. The beautiful old brick building is the perfect backdrop with the glittering lights of the city surrounding us.
Good grief, I’m swooning just from looking at it. My fingers hover over my mouse, as I internally debate whether I want to save it as my screensaver before forcing myself to hold strong and keep scrolling.
A bit further down are images of us dancing, and we don’t look like friends in these images either. We look intimate. I flush, remembering what happened after these pictures were taken.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting in a daze in my chair when my phone buzzes.
Declan:Hey, Belles. I’m not sure if you caught the post-game press conference last night. I’m sorry they asked about you.
Annabelle:Hi, Dec! I missed that. I had some stuff going on and didn’t catch most of the second half of the game. Congrats on the win though.
Declan:We still good for pizza and a movie Friday night?
Annabelle:We are. Tommy talked about it all night last night. He’s ready.
Declan:Oh, yeah? And what about you, Belles?
Annabelle:See you Friday, Dec.
My white swan perks up. “He’s so dreamy, and he’s not going to make this easy. Maybe we should give him a chance.”
My black swan smacks her down. “The only thing that man needs a chance to do is give you more orgasms.”
I drop my head down onto my desk, close my eyes and remind myself I don’t have room in my life for a relationship.
No matter how dreamy Declan Sinclair is.
Why does everything always have to be so damn hard?
