Chapter 2 Nora #2
But how can I when all I can think about is Brett and the life we should’ve had? The anniversary we should have had?
I know I can’t mope around my house and wait for Brett Sterling to show up at my door and tell me he’s sorry, and he loves me, and he never meant to be an idiot, and…
Zayne throws an arm around me and another around Abby. He flashes Abby an innocent gaze. “See…Nora says I can come.”
Abby sighs in exasperation. “Fine. But you’re the DD if that’s the case.”
Zayne groans as the doorbell jingles, letting us know a client’s in.
“Showtime, girls,” Pam says as she hops out of her chair and heads to greet the walk-in.
Zayne groans but lets me go, heading for his station in the back by the dryers where Krystal is still folding her mountain of towels.
Abby walks over to the middle station, giving me a soft smile as I head for my station closest to the coat rack and door.
“I’m not taking no for an answer,” she says, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at me. “You, me, Zayne. Tonight, High Line.” Her amber eyes catch mine with a knowing glare.
I nod as Pam walks the client over to my chair. “Nora will take care of you from here,” she says as the door opens again, this time with a client I do recognize. Mrs. Sanders, one of Abby’s regulars.
“Okay,” I say as I guide the client to the chair, focusing on the task at hand.
“I’ll pick you princesses up at seven, yeah?” Zayne says as he swishes his combs in his barbicide.
“Sounds good,” Abby says as she capes Mrs. Sanders, leaving me to focus on one task I know I can do, even with my damn eyes closed.
My job.
I swear, I’ve been living in a bubble or I’ve time-slipped somewhere, because I’ve never felt more like a sore thumb in my life.
I watch Zayne as he sips his Shirley Temple while ogling nearly every man who crosses our path and simultaneously swiping left or right on his phone.
“Try to look a little excited to be here,” Abby says as she comes to sit by me, handing me a drink with an overzealous amount of fruit on top.
“I am,” I say, though I can hear the falter in my own voice. Not even I would believe me.
Abby gives me a pointed look. “Brett Sterling may be hot, and he may be the next best thing hockey has ever seen, but he’s still an ass,” she says. “And he doesn’t deserve you. Not even a little bit.”
“I don’t know,” I say, my fingers sliding over the cool glass, spreading the moisture there. “I mean, sure, we had our problems, but who doesn’t, you know?” I stare into the glass before taking a sip.
“Oh! Nice!” Zayne whistles as he swipes right.
“Yeah, but no one should be having that many problems in the first year of their relationship. That’s supposed to be the fun times, the romantic times…”
I bite my lip. “We did have fun, and he was romantic. We—”
“Name one thing Brett Sterling did for you. Not something you planned or coordinated. Not something you had to remind him of. Something he did for you just because it was you and he wanted to make you happy.”
“That’s easy,” I say as I open my mouth, but…
Nothing comes out. I stop and think, searching my brain for something. But either this second drink is getting to me or I’ve just had an aneurysm, because I can’t think of anything.
Abby purses her lips as she leans back against the high top where we’re standing. “Uh-huh, that’s what I thought.”
“I’m just…on the spot,” I say, shifting my weight. “You know I can’t think on demand.” I pout as I sip my drink. It tastes like a cross of blue raspberry and cotton candy, which shouldn’t be as sweet or as good as it sounds.
“Mhmm…” Abby sips her drink just as Zayne pushes off the table and grabs my hand.
“Come on, sweetheart, the night is young and so is my patience.”
Abby rolls her eyes as I stumble toward Zayne.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Abigail,” he says. “You two might have come here to drink your woes away, but I came here to dance.” He pulls me into his arms and rocks his hips as he settles his hand on my waist. “Now, please…” Zayne purrs, using his hands to shake my hips. “Let us dance.”
I can’t deny the innocent, sweet look in his eye. “Fine,” I say in between sips of my drink. “One dance.”
He grins just as the beginning of “Backstreet’s Back” by the Backstreet Boys comes on and Abby squeals, “Oh my God! I love this song!”
And before I know it, I’m being whisked to the dance floor. I drain my drink quickly, shoving it onto an open table as we pass by.
The place is packed, even for a Thursday night. Though there’s plenty of room at the bar and the tables aren’t full, the crowd on the dance floor is thick and all the VIP areas are full. I glance around at all the velvet ropes, the bright lights casting a glow on their patrons.
Zayne and Abby sing loudly as Zayne bops between settling his hands on my hips and moving me to the beat and doing the same with Abby, even stopping to twirl us once in a while.
With or without alcohol, Zayne Cortland is always a damn riot, and before I know it, I’m dancing and smiling along to the beat as well.
“There she is!” Zayne says, spinning me like a damn ballerina. “There’s the spectacular Eleanor Brighton I know.”
I blush at his kind words as he heads to spin Abby.
“Hey, you want to grab us a refill?” Abby asks as she slides her hands around Zayne’s neck.
If I didn’t know he was gay, honestly I would never think he was.
Especially because he’s always so affectionate.
But Abby and I both know it’s just how he is.
Zayne’s a flirt, and though he prefers big, beefy bears, his default setting is to be flirty with just about anyone.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it sometimes, myself. Not because I find him attractive or anything, just…sometimes it’s nice to be praised and complimented, and Zayne definitely knows how to layer on the compliments and make you feel confident.
Especially when you don’t feel that way yourself.
“Sure,” I say with a grin as Abby shoves a twenty at me.
“Vodka Red Bull and—”
“Shirley Temple extra cherries,” Zayne says, sticking his tongue out as Abby laughs, her hold on his neck only tightening.
She looks at him with a grin that I wish I could capture, because most of the time she and Zayne are pushing each other’s buttons and not… doing whatever it is they’re doing now.
Acting almost happy.
Like a couple.
I shake my head. Must be the alcohol getting to me. Maybe I should cool it…
“Don’t even think about it.” Abby points at me. “You get yourself another Highline Hitter.”
I purse my lips and nod, knowing it’s best not to argue. I can always change my mind or refuse to order when I get to the bar, but…
I did say I wanted to come here to have fun. Have some drinks and forget about Brett and his betrayal. I can’t very well forget about that without a little liquid help, and I know that. The two drinks I’ve had so far definitely are making me feel relaxed, if not a little looser than usual.
I can’t remember the last time I got drunk. Probably before I met Brett.
Seeing as Bret and I didn’t spend that much time going out or getting into the Denton, Virginia nightlife, we rarely went out drinking. Most of the time if we did drink—at all—it was for an event or something he had to appear at.
Though we never announced our relationship officially, most of the management and his coach knew we were indeed together.
The PR team refused to make an official statement, saying they didn’t want to alienate their viewers and it would be more beneficial for the both of us if my identity as his girlfriend was hidden.
After seeing some of his teammates and rival team players fall into some bad situations with the BookTok fans on TikTok, Brett agreed it was probably best, and so did I.
But now…
Now I’m wondering how much of my life with Brett was real, or if everything was some strategy from the start, some illusion I bought into like one buys a season pass to the boy aquarium.
“Excuse me,” I say to the thick bodies crowding my space. The bar is packed with everyone rushing to get their refills. I should have made Zayne come do this. He’s not a huge guy by any means, but he can push his way past an army without a problem due to his loud mouth and personality.
Me? No one notices me. Not now, not ever.
Brett was the only one. I mean, I had boyfriends in high school, sure, but nothing serious.
Though my dance card wasn’t as full as you would think after I graduated.
I went on a couple of dates—mostly blind dates set up for me by my friends, or I met up with a few guys offline, but for the most part, I spent the better half of the last five years swiping on matches that would never swipe on me.
I had thought something was wrong with me. Was it my fiery red hair? My freckles? The fact I wasn’t some size four Barbie doll? Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m just not a go-getter or an extrovert.
But then I met Brett—at a local fundraiser for our county library—and it was like suddenly I understood why nothing had ever worked out or felt right before.
Because from the moment I met him, it felt like everything clicked.
So when he asked me to get drinks after, of course I said yes. He was Brett Sterling, for God’s sake.
I hadn’t planned on sleeping with him that night. Truthfully, I hadn’t. I never sleep with a man on the first date, but the mixture of alcohol and Brett’s smoldering gaze and the fact I hadn’t slept with a man in nearly five years at that point had me crumbling for him like a deck of cards.
And now…
I shove the thought away.
“Excuse me,” I repeat, a little louder, hoping to at least pull the attention of the lumbering asshole in front of me. I’m not looking to piss anyone off, and if I could get through to the bar any other way, I would, but it’s like the whole place is crawling with people and I’m growing impatient.