CHAPTER FIFTEEN GABRIELLE
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
G AbrIELLE
M urray’s on State, a bar that just opened if Della is to be believed, is hopping. It’s one of the more upscale bars I’ve visited—not that I’ve visited many. But I do appreciate the forest-green walls, bronze accents, and that the music’s not blaring so loud that you can’t hear yourself think.
Heads turn as we make our way to the bartender. I skim the crowd, wondering whether I’d recognize my high school classmates if I saw them. Or would they recognize me?
I pick at the scalloped, plunging neckline of the black, formfitting shirt I found in a box in the back of my closet. It’s the sexiest thing I own. With distressed jeans I bought in an emotional shopping binge a few months ago, and a pair of heels so the jeans don’t drag the ground, it’s very nineties. Della said I look hot. I’m choosing to lean into that opinion and not focus on the way my stomach is rounder than it was twenty years ago.
“Hey, ladies,” the bartender says. “What can I get for you tonight?”
“Amaretto sour,” Della says. “Gabby? What about you?”
Is this kid even old enough to serve us alcohol? I shake my head. “Lemon drop martini, please.”
“Coming right up,” he says with a wink.
“So what do you think?” Della asks. Her bright-red lips split her cheeks. “I’ve never been here before, but I heard it was the place to be these days.”
“The only place I know that is the place to be these days is drop-off at the school by seven fifty. If not, they’re tardy.”
Della laughs. “We’re expanding your horizons. By the end of the night, you’ll forget all about drop-off.”
I hope so.
The bartender hands us our drinks, assuring us the first one is on the house, and takes a tip from Della. Then we work our way through the growing crowd to a table along a wall.
“It’s been so long since I went out that I almost forget how,” I admit, taking a sip of my drink. Whoa, that’s strong.
“You are in good, capable hands tonight.” She leans forward, her cleavage on full display. “If you see anyone you’re interested in, let me know.”
I laugh. “What are you talking about? It’s not that easy.”
“What do you mean, it’s not that easy ? Girl, men are the most predictable animals on the planet. I can read them like a book.”
“Is there a course to take for that?”
“It’s called having a stripper as your mother.” She lifts a brow, grinning. “And she was a damn good one, let me tell you. Some of my friends’ parents were doctors and lawyers, and my mom raked in double the amount of cash they did.”
Is she serious?
“It was a business to her,” Della says. “She used her body as a tool, just like a CEO uses his brain.”
“Is that something you just grew up knowing?”
“Until I was eighteen, I thought she was a traveling nurse.” She laughs. “I found out when a guy I was dating in college happened to go to her club and saw her. Awkward conversation. Dropped the boyfriend. But there was this ... missing piece between Mom and me that fell into place.”
I take a drink and then set my glass on the table. “Is that why you’re so confident? Is that why you have such a ... free, I guess, way about you? Because you really don’t seem to care what anyone thinks.”
“I don’t care.” She shrugs. “My confidence comes from being raised with a very body-positive mindset. It was all presented at an age-appropriate level, of course. Just because she was a stripper doesn’t mean she was a bad mom or negligent.”
“Of course not.”
“In a way, she was a better parent. She taught me to be proud of myself. To take care of myself. I remember her telling me from a young age that I was in charge of my body. I grew up not being ashamed of it.” She takes a drink. “What about you? What was your life like growing up?”
The alcohol heats my skin, and I welcome the warm, relaxing sensation that eats away my stress—if only for a while.
“I was raised here in Alden, remember?” I swirl the liquid around my glass. “There was an expectation of modesty. We didn’t talk about sex or things like that. My friends and I would secretly trade romance novels to try to learn what we could.”
“Ah, the perfect romance hero. That’s where you went wrong.”
“No, they exist. But finding one isn’t as easy as breaking down in the middle of a cornfield. They don’t pop up out of nowhere.”
She grins. “I’m sure they do exist. I’m just too jaded to want the perfect hero.”
“Why is that?”
She studies me for a long time, pausing to take a long drink. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
“I don’t tell people what I do for a living. Not because I’m ashamed,” she says. “Just because I don’t want to hear the judgment.”
“Okay . . .”
“I clean houses topless.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
She shrugs. “I have a roster of men—most of them business owners or men who travel to town regularly for golf or business meetings. And I clean their homes or wherever they happen to be ... topless.”
“In Alden?”
“ No. I go to Cleveland or Cincinnati. I have a security guy who goes with me to make sure nothing goes wrong, and we run background checks. We have nondisclosure agreements. I don’t really even take new clients at this point, because my regulars treat me so well.”
I glance at her chest. I bet they do.
She sighs. “Look, Gabby, we only live once. Why not live life the way you want? Why be scared or tiptoe around it? Grab whatever it is that makes you happy and run while you can.” She snickers. “People can judge me while sitting at home in their miserable, boring lives while I take my money and head to Italy for a month in the summer and Germany for December.”
“Grab whatever it is that makes you happy and run while you can.” Her words ring through my brain on repeat.
“Excuse me for just a moment,” she says. “I’m going to go say hello to a friend.”
“Sure. Go. I’m fine.”
She slides out of the booth and sashays her way across the bar. As soon as she’s gone, I let out a long, hasty breath.
“Grab whatever it is that makes you happy and run while you can.”
It’s been a long time since I had the ability to think that way. And as much as I love the sentiment—and the freedom that comes with it—it’s not that easy. I’m a single mother. Yes, I can try and plan and want to integrate things into my life that make me happy. But at the end of the day, those plans are contingent upon how they impact the most important thing in my life: my children.
They are my priority.
I’ll have to find a happy medium, a balance between what invigorates me but doesn’t detract from the boys. I hope to God I can find it.
I can imagine Christopher saying those words to me too. “You deserve a lover, someone to appreciate all the wild goodness you have to offer.”
I did have a wild goodness about me then. I lived my life instead of surviving it. I went after what I wanted.
How do I get back to that, get back to her?
“Gabby, I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine. This is Heath and his friend Bryant,” Della says, snapping me out of my reverie. “Guys, this is my new neighbor, Gabby.”
Wow.
If someone asked me to select two men from this bar that Della would know, it would be these two. They’re young—midtwenties, at best. Fit as hell. Their arms stretch the fabric of their Polo shirts, and their necks are nothing short of tree trunks. And their smiles? To die for.
Della and Heath sit across from me. His bright-blue eyes are the same color as his shirt.
I look up at Bryant. “Do you wanna sit?”
“I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” he says, sitting next to me.
Charisma pours out of him as he watches me with a cocky grin. He chews gum with a deliberateness that draws attention to his mouth. I can imagine those lips doing many things to a lucky lady.
“So, Gabby,” he says, ignoring the others. “Tell me about you.”
I take a drink to wet my throat. “What do you want to know?”
“We can cut to the chase, and I can ask if you’re single.”
His smile is devilish, and I feel it in places that could get me in trouble.
I laugh.
“Why are you laughing, mama?” he asks.
My laugh grows louder. “I get that’s a slang term these days, but it’s awkward when I could almost be your mother.”
“Age is just a number.” He smirks. “And you’re fine as hell .”
Oh.
He licks his lips in an overt suggestion—one I have no problem understanding. It’s the understanding part that causes my skin to feel too small for my body.
This is what I’ve been after. A fun, casual night with a guy to get me back in the saddle. And by the looks of Bryant, he’d be a whole lot of fun.
The Gabby from Boston, from before Christopher’s death, would’ve known what to say. Hell, she’d have already said it. I’d be sitting on this guy’s lap and working him up. He’d be eating out of the palm of my hand.
But now, I hesitate. A snack is sitting inches from me, and nothing comes out of my mouth. Time is ticking and he’s waiting for a response. But the more time passes, the more frantic I get.
I don’t know what to say.
Suddenly, the thought of going home with Bryant is overwhelming. It’s not what I want. Not at all.
What I want is back on Bittersweet Court, hiding secrets and pushing me away.
I look at Della across the table. What do you do when the thing that just might make you happy refuses to let you try?
“Hey, Heath,” a voice says, coming our way. An attractive man with dimples approaches our table. “How have you been?”
“Well, if it isn’t Lark Johnston.” Heath stands and shakes Lark’s hand. “It’s been a long time, buddy. How have you been?”
“Hanging in there,” Lark says.
“Lark, this is my friend Bryant.”
Bryant nods at Lark. “Nice to meet ya.”
“Same,” Lark says, flipping his gaze to mine. There’s a twinkle in his eye that tickles my curiosity. “And who are you?”
“Babe, this is my new neighbor, Gabby,” Della says. “Gabby, this is Lark.”
“Babe”? Interesting.
Lark’s grin is cheeky. “It’s nice to meet you, Gabby.” He and Della exchange a look that I can’t quite read.
Lark sits next to Della. He wastes no time pulling her into his side and whispering something in her ear. She gazes up at him and winks, making him laugh.
My stomach tightens, although I’m unsure why. Everything is going well, and my tablemates are chatting away like old friends. Why do I feel like I’m on the ledge, waiting to fall?
“So,” Bryant says, casually, “are you single?”
“Yes.”
“Great.”
“But,” I say, holding a finger between us, “I’m not here to pick up a guy.”
Even though that’s exactly why I was here originally.
“That’s fine,” he says. “You don’t have to pick me up. I’ll pick you up.”
“You’re cute.”
He scoots closer, his body rippling with energy. “I’m a lot more than cute. Give me a chance.”
I force a swallow and lean back, trying to get a grip on the chaos inside me. Luckily, I’m saved from responding when Lark speaks loudly.
“There he is,” Lark says, looking over his shoulder. “I was afraid you got lost.”
“It’s Jay Fucking Stetson,” Heath says, laughing. “Hell, brother. I haven’t seen you in ages.”
Say what? The room begins to spin. Did he just say Jay Stetson?
My gaze whips to Della’s. She grins, shrugging.
I close my eyes.
“Are you all right, mama?” Bryant asks.
This is bad. This is so, so bad.
I open my eyes and am immediately clobbered by a blaze of heat from the side.
“Do you know Bryant Shoals?” Lark asks. “And that is Gabby, a friend of Della’s.”
Fuck. My. Life.
“Nice to meet you, Jay,” Bryant says, still angled my way.
Everyone stares at me, waiting for me to say hello. I slowly bring my eyes to Jay’s. Our gazes collide so hard that I flinch.
Jay’s jaw flexes. He works it back and forth while gripping his glass so hard his knuckles turn white. Even though he’s pissed, he’s so damn handsome that none of these men even come close.
But what does it matter how attractive he is? Or how strong the connection is between us? He’s made it clear: he may want me, but he’ll never give in.
“Good to see you again,” I say, my voice even.
“Is it?” Jay asks, the words cold and clipped.
His indignation angers me. He has no right to be mad. My choices are none of his business.
“Yeah,” I say, lifting a brow. “It’s always nice to run into neighbors when we’re out and about. How else would we see each other?”
Bryant scoots closer. “If you were my neighbor, you’d be seeing a lot of me.”
Jay pins me to my seat with his stare. The intensity makes me shiver.
“Do you want to see a lot of me tonight, mama?” Bryant asks, giving me a cocky grin. “Say the word and we’ll get out of here.”
I pull my eyes away from Jay and land them on my seatmate. Knowing Jay’s watching my every move, I lean toward Bryant.
“You certainly seem like a man who knows what he wants,” I say, coyly.
I can almost feel Jay bristle from across the table.
Bryant leans so close he nearly touches me. “I want you .”
“Tell us, Gabrielle,” Jay says, his voice eerily calm. Everyone at the table quiets. “What do you want?”
My heart thunders as I absorb the heat in his eyes.
“Hey, man,” Bryant says. “Fuck off.”
Lark hops to his feet, positioning himself between Bryant and Jay.
Jay lifts a brow at the man sitting next to me. “Choose your battles carefully, little boy.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Bryant asks, getting up. A vein throbs in his temple. “Why don’t you go back to wherever you came from and leave my date alone?”
What?
Lark holds one hand on each of their chests. “Let’s not do this here.”
“Bryant, what are you talking about?” I ask, disbelief at his audacity mixing with frustration. “I met you ten minutes ago.”
“That’s not the point,” he says, squaring his shoulders to Jay.
Jay takes a step back. He looks Bryant up and down, then turns to me. He says something to Lark that I can’t hear before disappearing into the throng of bodies that now pack the bar.
A collective sigh rushes around the table moments before chatter breaks out again.
Bryant starts to sit back down, but I shimmy to the end of the booth.
“Excuse me, please.” I get to my feet. “I’ll be back, Della.”
“Gabby ...” she calls after me, but I’m already two layers deep in the crowd.
My breathing is ragged as I pick my way through the bodies. I don’t know why I’m chasing him. It’s probably not a good idea, especially if he’s as angry as I think he is. But I’m angry, too, damn it. He doesn’t get to waltz in here and act like a jealous boyfriend.
I scoot out the door. The chilly wind of the evening hits me in the face. My body is too heated, too worked up, to shiver.
The parking lot is busy. Cars fill the spots and line the street in front of the bar. I scan the area for Jay.
“Where are you?” I mutter.
I’m about to give up when I spot him nearing his truck. Irritation floods me again, growing heavier and thicker as I get closer to him. I nearly jog the last few yards to catch him before he gets in his truck.
My palm smacks the hood, making him jump. He twirls around, one arm poised to throw a punch. But when he sees it’s me, he doesn’t throw. He only scowls.
“What the hell was that back there?” I ask, throwing my hands on my hips. My breaths billow in the air. “What are you doing?”
“ You wanna ask me what was going on back there?”
“Yeah, I do. I was sitting there with my friend, having a drink and enjoying my night. And you come in and ruin it.”
His jaw flexes. “No, I’m pretty sure he’ll still take you home.”
“I meant with Della. I don’t want to go home with that guy sitting beside me, you asshole.” My hands fly through the air. “I just want to have one good night where I can have fun. Where I can dress cute and have adult conversations. Where I don’t have to figure out what’s for dinner and hear about pings .” I suck in a breath. “I don’t want to sit at home another night and wonder why you—”
His mouth crashes against mine. He holds my face in his hands and pivots us so that my back is against his truck. The metal is cool through the thin fabric of my shirt, a stark juxtaposition to the heat radiating off Jay.
My knees go weak.
He controls my mouth like he owns it. Kissing and licking as if I’m the oasis he’s been searching for.
His fingertips burn into my face, pinning locks of hair against my cheek. The air is scented with his cologne and peppered with soft moans that escape my throat. Peppermint stings my tongue as his wraps around it in a lazy dance like they’ve done it before.
I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer, and give back as good as he gives.
“Jay,” I say, struggling for air once he pulls away.
His eyes are wild. His chest heaves as if he just ran a mile. His lips are swollen and red, a reminder of the kiss we just shared.
He searches my eyes as if he’s desperate to find an answer to a question I don’t know. I just look at him, pulling down all my defenses, giving him access, silently pleading with him to find what he’s looking for.
“I gotta go,” he says, stepping away.
“Jay, no .”
He unlocks the door and opens it. “Go back inside, Gabrielle.”
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, moving out of the way. “Jay! Stop it.”
He climbs in the truck and starts the engine. Before he closes himself in, sealing himself away from me, he sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“Jay . . .”
The truck lurches forward, and he pulls out of the parking lot, leaving a trail of dust and a confused, splintered heart behind.