Chapter 2
Chapter two
Emma
"Emma?"
I turn toward the masculine voice and force a smile for the man I've agreed to spend the next few hours with tonight.
At least I'm out of the house and giving love a chance, right?
On Valentine's Day.
Because I'm clearly a sadist... and a masochist. Hmm, what is it called when you're both?
Self-destructive.
"Charles," I say smoothly, like I'm not having an identity crisis and questioning all my life choices.
I slide out of the booth to offer him my hand, but he's already sitting down, so we end up in an odd handshake over the top of the table.
I giggle, but he gives me a tight smile and then huffs in irritation as he reaches for the drink menu.
Okay.
He's tall and not bad looking, but I can already tell there is no spark. His eyes are too familiar. Or at least the coldness behind them is. But I've already got a drink, and it was insanely expensive, so I plan to finish every last drop before I bid Charles adieu.
I take a large sip from my glass and toss my hair over my shoulder before attempting to start the conversation.
"So, what made you pick this place? Do you work nearby?"
"Yes."
I nod, but he doesn't continue. Um, okaaaay.
"Your profile said you're a lawyer. What do you practice?" I try again and give him a smile.
"Law." He snaps the cocktail book shut as the waiter stops by the table for his drink order, and I quickly attempt to school my face in response to his abrupt tone. "Jack and Coke."
When the waiter leaves, Charles stares around the bar, looking everywhere but at me. After a silence that is perhaps less than a minute, but feels like sitting through the extended-version of Titanic, I clear my throat and take another sip of my drink.
When the waiter returns, Charles finally looks at me but still doesn't say a word.
Well, this is as awkward as I feared. Lovely.
"Charles, I can have my drink at the bar, if you've changed your mind?" When he doesn't respond, I start to scoot out of the booth, but he sighs loudly.
"You were thinner in your pictures." Charles levels me with an accusatory glare and my mouth falls open in shock.
"Um," I squeak, trying to find my voice.
"Actually, I'm the same weight I was in the pictures," I say truthfully.
I'm not going to admit this to Charles, but I have gained weight this year, and it was something that made me a little self-conscious about dipping my toe back into the dating pool.
I spent years starving myself in an attempt to gain the attention of a husband who never loved me.
The second my divorce was finalized, I let myself eat.
I'm finally at a healthy weight for the first time in my life, and I'm beginning to appreciate my curves.
However, I'm not going to say any of this to the dull-as-dishwater creep sitting across from me.
"Yeah, right." Charles rolls his eyes. "Look, we can go to your place and fuck, but I don't want you to know where I live."
"Excuse me?" I rear back. "You want to have sex with me, but I'm too fat for a date?"
Charles huffs out with contempt. "You trick me with pictures that don't even look like you and then you act like some cock-tease? Do you do all this just to get free drinks?"
"I paid for my own drink. And I took the pictures on my profile the same morning I posted it.
Can you say the same?" I huff, staring pointedly at the balding spot at the crown of his head that was missing in his photos.
Not that I care, because I'm not a shallow dickhead, but turnabout is fair play.
His face turns red and his lip curls with fury, but we're interrupted before he can respond.
"Charles McNally."
An icy shiver snakes through my body at the sound of the familiar voice, cold and cruel. My heart beats faster as panic sets in. I swallow hard, turning to find my ex-husband, Donovan, sweaty and red-faced as always, ambling up to our booth.
Well, fuck.
"Donovan Elmhurst." Charles' face lights up and the sniveling man makes a fool of himself holding out his hand, which Donovan ignores entirely.
It's a power move that I'm all too familiar with, having watched him give the same treatment to countless men over the years as I stood with a fake smile on my face, pretending he wasn't an abomination of a human being.
"Enjoying my leftovers, Chuck?"
"What?" Charles' face crumples in confusion and he shakes his head rapidly, his eyes darting from me to Donovan as he tries to process the comment.
"You're his ex?" Charles hisses when he finally puts two and two together. He narrows his eyes at me in furious accusation before turning to Donovan. "She didn't tell me."
"Am I supposed to add it to my dating profile?" I ask, my anger building as these two worthless assholes act like I wandered in off the street to run a grift on them.
Charles lifts his lip in disgust at me. "I should have known you were a gold digger."
My cheeks heat, even though he couldn't be further off base with his accusation.
"Relax. I couldn’t care less, Chucky-boy. Hope you have more fun between those legs than I did."
His flippant, crude comment has a ball of fury bubbling up in my belly. Deja vu pummels into me so hard I'm nauseated from the spin down memory lane, but I can't move a muscle. It's like I'm paralyzed.
Donovan treated me like this for our entire marriage.
Like I was dirt beneath his shoe. Barely acknowledging me as a human being, pretending I didn't exist, flaunting his affairs publicly, and the worst of it, forcing me to walk on eggshells in my own home.
After a lot of therapy, I finally put myself out there, only to land right back in front of the nightmare from my past.
You're free, I remind myself, and those two words wrap around me like a warm blanket on a cold night.
I am free. And I don't have to sit here and take this.
Summoning every ounce of composure I can muster, I grab my coat and slide out of the booth. I shove past the group of people blocking me as Charles hurls another snide insult after me in a bid to get on Donovan's good side. Joke's on him. Donovan doesn't have a good side.
As I near the door, the sweet promise of salvation is so close, but a man steps out in front of me and I find myself face to face with a six-foot-four wall of muscle.
"Did he hurt you?"
Asher Rockwell.
The smell of his cologne is an immediate comfort. Manly and fresh. I open my mouth, but words escape me as I get a good look at him. His jaw is clenched, his face hard. Nothing like the gregarious Asher I've always known, and yet I immediately feel safe in this presence.
Asher and Donovan have been friends since grade school, and he was a permanent fixture in my life for years.
Fun, flirty, blond-haired, blue-eyed Asher made the never-ending parties bearable, especially when Donovan inevitably slipped off to fuck one of my "friends" in the bathroom or a coat closet.
I was convinced my husband had a list of every woman I came in contact with, and he was picking them off one-by-one so that I would always feel totally alone.
Donovan didn't know that Asher was my salvation, however.
A respite which ended the second I filed for divorce. I haven't heard from him in two years.
"Did he hurt you?" Asher repeats when I don't respond, and I swallow hard.
"No."
His blue eyes lock with mine and the familiar throbbing starts in my core. I'm not ashamed to admit that fantasies of Asher got me through many a cold night during my sexless marriage. But he's Donovan's friend, and I am done with that life.
"Emma, good to see you!"
I turn, managing a smile despite the shitstorm evening from which I'm trying to escape as West Billings takes my hand in his.
"Hello, West," I say, glad to see a familiar face that doesn't send me into a panic. West is one of the few people in Donovan's social circle who was genuinely kind. Both he and Asher maintained my faith in humanity when I was surrounded by nothing but rotten-to-the-core men and women for years.
"Happy Valentine's Day," West says, handing me a rose that seems to materialize out of thin air and I smile again.
"Thank you." I glance at Asher, who looks like he wants to murder West for some reason. I've always wondered why Asher is so loyal to Donovan. Especially when my ex-husband couldn't care less and wouldn’t return the favor.
"Well, I'm off to pick up my beautiful wife." West shrugs on his coat.
"Say hi to Bailey for me, please."
"Will do. Although, you should text her and say hi yourself.
" West's comment is loaded with a history that I do not want to unpack tonight, so I nod my head slightly in response.
West pats Asher on the back before exiting the bar.
And then I'm sucked back into the heady vortex of Asher Rockwell standing before me.
His eyes make a slow perusal of my body and instead of shrinking in on myself, I stand up straighter, hoping he enjoys the view.
I can't help but notice the bulge pressing against the front of his pants, and a small shiver runs through my body at the prospect that I might have had something to do with that.
I glance up to find Asher staring at me, well aware of where my thoughts – and eyes – are occupied.
I bite my lip. Asher eyes me hungrily and takes a step closer.
I lean toward him, knowing it would be insane to touch him, especially in public with my drunk ex nearby, and yet wanting to be closer to him all the same.
But then Donovan's slurred bark for another drink cuts through the din of the bar, and a bucket of cold water brings me back to startling reality.
"I have to go." I shove the rose from West into Asher's hand and dart around him out the door.
I take a large gulp of cold night air, savoring my freedom and then shake my head in frustration.
"On Valentine's Day, Em - of all days." I roll my eyes, chiding myself for leaving my apartment at all tonight. My cheeks heat as a passerby gives me a strange look for talking to myself.
I look around and realize the odds of getting a cab or ride share tonight are slim to none, even if I decided to splurge after the expensive cocktail that I didn't even get to finish.
Pity parties are so much more fun with ice cream and cozy pajamas.
Resolute with this new plan, I pull my coat tight to ward off the cold and try to figure out the quickest way to the subway. As I take a step to the right, the deep voice straight from my steamiest fantasies startles me almost as much as the words themselves:
"I'm taking you home."