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“Please don’t mention your clit, buzzing, and me in the same sentence ever again.” I pause. “Or him. I never want to think of him again.”
“Come on, Miss Clit Buzzer, let’s get you home.”
Nicole and I head home and we do as she said. We drink wine, eat ice cream and I tell her all about Mr. H. At stupid o’clock I fall into bed, feeling a little less heartbroken and majorly horny. Damn Mr. H, getting my clit buzzing.
ChapterSeventeen
… three months later
The last three months have been hell, literally.
After rejection night as I now refer to it, Mr. H never gave up on messaging me. I’ve received a message from him daily. They started with him begging me to forgive him. Wanting me to pardon him for kissing me and then pushing me away. To quote Cher fromClueless, “As if” it’s that easy. As if I can just forgive and forget the best fucking kiss of my life. When I didn’t heed to him, he stopped with the begging and started sending random facts and silly memes. And now, ninety days later, yes, I’m counting, sue me, we are on simple pleasantries texts morning and night.
Mr. H:Morning, Sunshine
Mr. H:Good night. Sleep tight, Sunshine.
Why does he have to be so fucking sweet? Just be an asshole about it and let me move on, but noooo, Kane-fucking-Heatherington is a kindhearted soul who will keep persisting until I forgive him. And I’m close to giving in because Mr. H is the kindest man I know, well, apart from my dad. But I can’t let it go, I’m still hurt so I’m doing the mature thing, I’m ignoring him. To date, I have not replied to any one of his text messages.
The gifts he’s sent, however, are a different story. I’ve drunk the wine he sent, hello, it was the good stuff. I gave the flowers to Nic or Miss Rhi. I shared the chocolates with Nic but I returned the lingerie. That was just too much, especially when it was pink, like what I was wearing that night.
But the biggest change, stripping is no longer enjoyable but I need to pay the bills so I continue to work at The Nirvana Lounge. I did up my efforts to get a marketing job but three months later, still no success.
Every time I’m on that stage, I still imaginehimand as soon as the song is over, I’m once again hit with the pain of his rejection. Night after night, I relive that rejection. And night after night, that pain still hurts.When will I be over it?
Nicole and Fern were my saving grace. The two of them kept me going when the hurt became too much. They cheered me up when I was down, laughed when I laughed. Cried when I cried and when Fern visited me in New York, we danced—with my clothes on—the hurt away ‘til the wee hours of the morning in Chelsea and did all of the above in person rather than via FaceTime.
Hell, I even went on a few Tinder dates, but it never went further than kissing because each time I’d imaginehim,and then everything I felt for my date dissipated and I ran away with my tail between my legs. Plus, none of them could kiss like Mr. H. If kissing was an Olympic sport, he’d be the gold medalist. Mr. H has ruined me for all other kisses.
Right now, I’m on my way to La Guardia, I’m heading home to Silverbell for Mom and Dad’s anniversary party. I want to be there for my folks on their special anniversary, but I also don’t want to be there because it will be the first time I’ve seenhimin the flesh since rejection night.
My phone pings just as the airport comes into view.
Mr. H:Have a safe flight, Sunshine
Of course he knows I’m coming home, Dad would be singing it from the clifftop that his princess is coming home for the weekend. My finger hovers over the screen. For the first time in months, I want to reply but the taxi comes to a stop outside the terminal. Is this fate’s way of telling me not to reply? Fate can be a bitch, but I think I’ll listen to the bitch this time.
Throwing my phone into my bag, I pay the driver and climb out. Since it’s just a weekend trip, I don’t have any checked luggage, plus Fern and I are planning on hitting up the shops before the party. Normally when I’m home, I’d stay at Mom and Dad’s, but this time I’m staying with Fern.Heis not likely to pop in for a visit if I’m at my bestie’s and I want as little time withhimas I can get.
Fern is now back living in Silverbell. Like me, her big Hollywood plan didn’t quite work out. Her dream of making it big in Hollywood came to a crashing end, literally, when she was involved in a serious car crash. She’s lucky to be alive and after weeks and weeks in rehab, she returned home. I think there’s more to the reason for her return. She’s hiding something from me but I know my bestie, she’ll talk when she wants to talk.
She fell into a job back home at The Clifton. Mr. H being the caring and amazing person he is, aside from the ‘giving me the best kiss of my life before ripping my heart out’ part, he helped Fern out with a job at the hotel at the check-in desk. In the twelve short months she’s been there, she’s worked her way up the ranks and now is the head concierge. She’s kick ass at it and I’m so happy she found her happiness after it all came crashing down around her.
Lucky for me, Fern has a two-bedroom apartment on Main Street. When she found out I was coming home for the weekend, she offered, well demanded, that I stay in her spare room, and I jumped at the chance to hide away at her place. Daddy wasn’t too happy I wasn’t staying at home, but Mom reminded him that I’m a grown woman now. I love when Mom puts Dad in his place, it doesn’t happen often but I was glad she snuck a win in this time.
The flight was uneventful—thankfully—and when I disembark, I make my way toward the exit. Digging in my bag, looking for my phone, I’m not watching where I’m going and I bump into someone and begin to fall backward. Before gravity takes hold of me and I end up on my ass by the baggage carousel, a hand reaches out and grabs me. As soon as their hand touches me, a spark ignites every nerve ending in my body and when I look up at my rescuer, my eyes widen.
“Mr. H,” I breathlessly whisper, while at the same time he drawls out my nickname, “Sunshine.”
He pulls me upright and takes my hand in his. Our fingers entwine, his thumb strokes the back of my hand, my skin buzzing from his touch. In the middle of the busy terminal, we stare at one another, holding hands.Has he gotten hotter in the last three months?His beard is longer and a little grayer than I remember. I want to reach out, pull him to me, and kiss him again. I want to see if what I remember about that kiss is correct or if I’m embellishing how amazing our kiss was.
A voice from behind me yelling “Dad” pulls us apart. He drops my hand and instantly I mourn the loss. Mr. H smiles at someone behind me. “Konrad,” he says, stepping around me and toward his son. Turning around, I see them embrace. Konrad notices me and smiles.
“Cali,” he questions, “what are you doing here?”
“Just flew in for Mom and Dad’s anniversary party this weekend.”
“Of course.” He nods.
