Thirteen #2
The walk down the street in the crisp night air was very soothing, and Piper’s arm in mine felt comfortable and welcome.
All three of these women genuinely cared for me, and it was relaxing being around them.
Later, when we were playing stripes versus solids at the pool hall, Celia finished off her Bloody Mary and looked at me hard.
“What?”
“Thanksgiving is next Thursday. What are you doing this year?”
I bent over the table to take my shot. “I dunno.”
“Why don’t you come to my mom’s with me and Angel? He can use the buffer.”
Her mother and her husband went at it every year. “I dunno…she tears him up, and it’s a bit painful to watch.” The year I’d gone, I’d eaten in the kitchen.
“It’s because she doesn’t think online poker is a real job.”
I agreed, but I would never tell her that. “I know, sweetie. I think I’m gonna pass.”
She shrugged. “Fine, then Jilly gets you, since Piper had you last year.”
“I’m not five, ya know,” I assured her, smiling as I polished off my third mojito.
“You better slow down.” Piper chuckled, massaging my shoulders. “Or we’ll be carrying you out of here.”
“Not that I would mind.” Jill grinned suggestively. “You know my feelings, J. You just haven’t been in bed with the right woman yet.”
I sighed and held open my arms to her. “Come gimme a hug.”
“Oh yeah, don’t mind if I do,” she said, giggling, moving fast to grab me tight.
It was funny, but the three of them were all over me, leaning on me, touching me, hugging me, patting my ass, running their fingers through my hair, smoothing fingertips over my eyebrows, my cheeks, down my nose.
It was always like this; the physical attention that was flattering and somehow just sweet.
I was adored, and it was obvious to anyone who looked at us.
As I stood leaning on the bar, having been sent for the fifth round since the waitress was “too damned slow” I saw Nick on the other side of the room.
I was a little tipsy or I would have never gone over.
He was playing foosball with a woman and two other guys, and even though I was sure he could see me, he didn’t acknowledge me, even when I was right beside the table.
“Hey, Nick.” I smiled wide, happy to see him.
No answer.
I glanced around at the others, but only the woman’s eyes flicked to mine. “Hi.”
“Hi.” She gave me just a trace of a smile.
I looked back at Nick’s face, realizing what, if I had been sober, I would have understood quicker. I was purposely being ignored. He was seemingly absorbed in the ball on the table and couldn’t be bothered to give me the time of day. “Are you even gonna say hello?”
“Sure.” He looked up, and his eyes were flat and cold, his tone icy. “What can I do for you?”
It was my fault. He had been open and honest the last time we had spoken, and I had blown him off as I had submerged under the wave that was Detective Kage.
Basically I was getting a little karmic retaliation.
I had been shitty to him, Sam had dumped me—or technically, I’d run since he was never going to keep me—and so I had basically reaped what I had sown.
Big fat circle of cause and effect that I deserved.
“Nothing,” I said softly, hands in my pockets. “Sorry.”
When I got back to the girls, I asked them if they wanted to hit the movies with me. They just stared at me until I volunteered to buy popcorn and M&M’s. That got everybody moving.
On the way out I got my second dose of fun when a hand grabbed me by the back of my shirt and I was suddenly face-to-face with Detective Kage. I stood there, frozen, even though he had let me go, and watched him walk away with his buddies in a big, loud group, hand in hand with a beautiful blonde.
“You look like a rent boy dressed like that,” he had said under his breath as he passed.
I had thought different. I didn’t think jeans, wingtips, and a brown dress shirt open at the collar said rent boy.
But maybe there was just something about me that looked cheap?
As I watched him make his way to the bar, saw him do the guy clenches and handshaking with the men he was meeting, I felt my heart in my throat.
I could barely breathe, seeing him hold her hand, then let go only to put a protective arm around her as he ordered her a drink. I was going to be sick.
Jill grabbed my hand and yanked me outside.
They all wanted to know who Sam was and what he had said.
I explained that it was much too long a story to go into before a movie.
When I got the look from Celia, I understood that they couldn’t have cared less about anything at that moment but hearing me dish some dirt.
We ended up going to the jazz club across the street from my new apartment, and I explained all about Detective Kage, leaving out the part about people trying to kill me.
Only Dane knew that piece of the puzzle.
They sat and listened to me until two in the morning, at which time we adjourned to a mom-and-pop diner around the corner, where we had breakfast. Piper said she hadn’t been out so late since college.
When Celia asked her what it had been like in the seventies, she got smacked really hard on the arm.
I laughed so hard milk came out of my nose.
After I put them all in a cab, I staggered home, up the steps to my apartment, and passed out on the couch. It was actually really comfortable, and I was surprised how often I ended up sleeping there. Even with the new bedframe I’d bought for my mattress and box spring, I preferred the couch.
I stayed in all weekend, not leaving the apartment again until Sunday night.
Between the icy rain, the Real World marathon, and VH1 counting down everything from Worst Love Songs to Best Rocker Hair, I had no reason to go anywhere.
I had enough food, I had tea, both iced and hot, and lots of water.
Since I felt like sludge, I hit the gym late Sunday night and ran five miles until I was exhausted.
I showered when I got home and under the hot water, I finally felt the funk start to recede.
By the time I was out, I felt more like me than I had in over a week.
Stupid to give anyone power to make me feel one way or another—except my boss.
Only Dane Harcourt got to yank my chain.