Chapter 10 Nora
NORA
“I’m fine, sweetheart, really,” Pam says as she dismisses me with a wave.
Abby gives me a knowing look.
“I told Abby she didn’t have to come, I was fine. I didn’t want to ruin your night over some minor fender bender.”
“Minor? Mom, your whole back end is fubar.”
Pam sweeps the floor, letting out a heavy sigh. “That car has been through the war and it’s still kicking, like me. Ain’t no distracted driver going to be the reason Christine goes kaput, that’s for sure.”
I reach for my coffee, noting the time on the clock.
My one fifteen cancelled, and I don’t have another appointment until two thirty.
I’m feeling a bit under the weather thanks to the hangover—even though it’s mostly dissipated—and the whole mortifying situation in general this morning, and I debate if I should just crash in the back room or maybe run to the Cool Cat Café for a pick-me-up coffee and then head back.
Not to mention, I can’t stop thinking about Rush—or more aptly, how I woke up cuddled beside him with his arms around me. For the briefest moment, I thought maybe it had all been a bad nightmare—Brett and that woman. Throwing up in the back of Freddie’s car.
Hazy bits and pieces have been forcing their way through all day. Though things still feel a little blurry, I remember some things.
Primarily Rush’s touch, his hand on the small of my back. His sweet, spicy scent.
And his tongue.
In my mouth.
I try not to think about the last one, because I know I was drunk and not in my right mind, but that doesn’t make what happened between us any better.
Even if he was drunk too.
I’m not sure if I kissed him or if he kissed me. I’m not even sure it matters, but I know it was a mistake. A drunk mistake that most certainly cannot and will not happen again.
Which should be easy, considering the fact that I don’t exactly have a reason to be around Rush or Freddie without Brett.
It’s not like he’s at an away game right now, and there’s a family event or something happening that I’ve committed to.
And even so, it’s not like I regularly make a habit of hanging out with my boyfriend’s—er, ex-boyfriend’s—brothers.
But then I think about Tommy. Or more accurately, the conversation we had this morning. When he offered to drive me to my brother’s.
The thought of not seeing Tommy anymore makes my heart stiffen. He’s been nothing but kind. Sweet. Especially this morning. There were a hundred things he could have said, or he could have ignored me all together, but he didn’t.
He listened without judgment and even commiserated. Well, as much as he could because apparently he’s never had a girlfriend, which I find hard to believe.
Still, his words and attempt to connect with me meant more to me than I know it should.
I didn’t show up to my brother’s with much, given that my things are still at Brett’s. And even if Michael lets me stay at his place for a while, I know at some point we’re going to have to talk, even if it is just to get my stuff back.
But the thought of talking or seeing Brett makes me tense, and I shove the thought away.
Yeah, maybe I should grab a coffee and some spare clothes, at least for the next few days. Just until…
Until what? Until I find the nerve to talk to Brett? Until I manage to get out of the hole of despair that I’ve fallen into? Until he leaves for a game or something and I can sneak over there to get my stuff?
“I’m going to head to Cool Cat. Anyone want anything?” I ask, rising from my chair.
Pam shakes her head. “I’m good, baby, but thank you.”
Abby raises an eyebrow at me, and I know she wants to press me since I told her Freddie and Rush brought me back to their place because they were worried about me.
Though I left out the part where I woke up curled next to Rush, and that I kissed him. I’ll take that little tidbit to my grave. I’m not sure how to process that information myself, and the last thing I need is for Abby to ask me questions I don’t have answers to.
Thankfully, there hasn’t been much of a chance for her to ask, given that as soon as I told her, her ten o’clock came in and she’s been booked back-to-back all day.
“What about you?” I ask as Zayne steps out from the back room with a bowl of color for Abby.
“I’m good,” he says, grumbling slightly. I had to hear all about Zayne’s botched attempts to get laid and how he regretted ever swiping right on the asshole who passed out on him mid-way through his blowjob, when he came in looking a little worse than I feel.
Naturally, Zayne left the guy and didn’t look back, but at that point he was already pissed off over the whole ordeal, and as such he’d gone home with a case of blue balls and an agitated ego.
“Abs?”
Abby twists her lips. “I don’t think Cool Cat has the tea I’m after,” she says with a smirk, and I have to turn away because I can feel the blush starting in my cheeks.
I don’t need her to see that and jump to conclusions or press me, so instead I grab my jacket and my purse and tell them all I’ll be back after bit, before my next client arrives.
The minute I get in my car, I let out a heavy breath.
“Yeah, that’s what you need. A damn coffee,” I tell myself as I pull out of the small parking lot and head down the road to the café.
The whole way there, I think about calling my brother.
I know he’s only going to be gone for a few more days, so I have to figure something out in regards to my situation.
I had been living on my own since I graduated beauty school, and when the topic of moving in with Brett came up, I was more than ecstatic to move in with my successful hockey-playing boyfriend. I let my lease lapse and packed my bags and moved in with Brett, and now…
Now if we’re over, I need to figure out what to do—where I’m going to go.
I’m sure my brother or Abby would let me crash with them, but the fact of the matter is that I had a home. I spent six months making Brett’s house cozy and warm and feel like my home.
Which is why I need to get my things, but where will I put them? I packed up my life and brought it with me, and then with Brett’s money and blessing, I revamped a lot more than one room.
I painted those walls, built all those bookcases that I filled with my books.
I ordered all those little end tables and decor pieces, throw pillows and blankets.
I put most of my things that I wanted to take to Brett’s in a box and left the furniture for the next person who leased my apartment, which my landlord was more than appreciative about.
I didn’t see the need to take it with me, and seeing as Brett said I could refurbish and design the rooms to give them a “woman’s touch,” I focused all my energy on the new things. Not the old.
Now I’m wondering if maybe I should have gotten a storage unit or something. Because I have nothing. No place, no furniture, not even a box full of clothes.
Clothes…yeah, I should probably get some clothes, at least for the next few days until I figure something out.
Until I can muster up the courage to talk to Brett.
I went over to Michael’s in my dress, and all I had on me in my car was an emergency outfit of jeans, a shirt, a hoodie and some socks and tennis shoes.
I’ve got the dress and heels Abby lent me, which I know I’ll need to give back at some point, and of course I’ve got my stolen Rush sweats, tee, and underwear.
Yeah…it might not be a bad idea to get some real clothes until I can get my closet full of clothes from Brett’s.
I know I could just go over there—show up unannounced, since I still have a key and he hasn’t exactly asked for it back or anything, and I doubt he’s changed the locks. Brett is a lot of things, but I don’t think he’d do something like that.
Still, part of me is terrified I’ll show up and he’ll be there, cock buried in that woman or someone else again. Pumping her full of his cum instead of me.
And waiting until he leaves for a game or practice feels sketchy, even to me. Creeping around like some criminal, which I’m certainly not.
The thought makes me ill. Not just because of his lies or what he said to me, but…
because even though it’s stupid, and even though we’ve had plenty of sex, it feels like his sleeping with her is more than a direct insult.
Combined with the comments he made in the last few weeks—about the fact that I gained a few pounds over the last few months—it feels like a deeper cut.
Like I’m not pretty enough. Skinny enough.
Like he’s just not physically attracted to me anymore or something.
Maybe that’s not true, but I can’t help but think there’s some bit of truth there given the fact that he hasn’t spoken to me at all, or tried to preserve or fight for our relationship.
So, I pull into the parking lot and head toward La Femme, the boutique at the end of the strip mall, next to the Cool Cat Café.
It’s been a while since I bought myself something new to wear, and I guess now is as good a time as any.
Isn’t that what all the girls in the movies and books do when they get dumped?
Head to the nearest boutique and give themselves a damn makeover?
Buy a bunch of sexy clothes and get their hair and nails done and turn themselves into a damn sexpot to spark jealousy?
Maybe that’s what I need to do. Maybe I need to show Brett what he’s lost…
The thought settles for a moment until I see my reflection in the rearview mirror. My hair is in disarray, and my makeup is smudged in the corner of my eyes. It almost looks like a smokey eye, but I know it’s just remnants from my night of mistakes.
My skin is pale, paler than usual, and even though I’ve put on a bit of makeup, I know I look less attractive than usual. I look hungover and depressed, and I think that maybe there isn’t anything to show anyone. Not right now, looking like this.