Chapter Twenty-Three #2
By the time I pull up outside Vanessa’s building, the knot beneath my ribs has tightened into something restless enough that I stop pretending not to notice it. Her apartment is dark. I stare up at the windows for a second longer than necessary before killing the engine.
Maybe she’s asleep already. Maybe she took a bath and ignored her phone. Maybe she, no. It’s only a little after seven. She’s just not home. The thought confirmed when I step onto the sidewalk and spot movement inside the front window.
Vinny. The cat sits poised in the window like a tiny judgmental gargoyle staring down at me. He’s alone. I let out a long exhale through my nose. She did say she was going to be with Nicole. But I didn’t think she’d still be out with her. That was hours ago.
I reach for my phone ready to text and ask where she is. The message sits half-formed in my head before I stop myself. Because that’s exactly the kind of thing I promised myself I wouldn’t become with her again.
Vanessa is allowed to exist outside my immediate reach, even if something ugly and restless beneath my skin hates that fact. I shove my phone back into my pocket, then stand there another full minute anyway like a complete fucking idiot.
“Helpful,” I mutter toward the cat. Vinny blinks at me in response. Traitor.
I get back in the car before I can make the very bad decision to sit outside her building waiting for her to come home. Home? Christ. I’m even thinking of her place as mine now.
My grip tightens once against the steering wheel.
I don’t consciously decide to drive toward Gild. One minute I’m heading south through downtown trying not to think at all, and the next I’m pulling into the familiar space across from the club as realization settles into place.
I came here because it reminds me of her now. And not the sex, not even the control. It’s the comfortable connection we established while here. That realization probably should concern me more than it does.
The elevator opens into warm darkness and candlelight.
Gild breathes around me like a warm breeze wrapping me in low music and velvet shadows.
Bodies are moving through flickering gold light like ghosts.
The club always feels untethered from reality somehow.
Like time slows to a different pace here.
Tonight, it only takes three steps inside before my entire body locks in place as my gaze lands on the last person I expected to see here.
Vanessa.
She’s sitting at the bar beside who I assume is Nicole.
One long leg is crossed elegantly over the other, while candlelight catches deep auburn waves spilling over bare shoulders.
Her dark dress hugs every soft curve of her body, and rich, wine-red lipstick accentuates her mouth beneath the low amber glow.
And she’s laughing. Not the polite laugh she uses when she’s being professional, but real laughter that I know travels all the way up from her stomach.
Her head is tilted back exposing her neck, and her eyes are bright and relaxed.
She looks stunningly beautiful. My chest tightens so abruptly it almost feels violent.
Because all I can think is, she didn’t need me tonight.
Nicole notices me first. Of course, she knows who I am. Anyone can find hundreds of pictures of me online if you google my name or the band’s. Her expression shifts into something that resembles dangerous amusement as she leans toward Vanessa to whispers something in her ear.
Vanessa turns. And there it is; that tiny flash of surprise across her face before her features soften into warmth when she sees me standing here. Which somehow makes this worse.
Oliver appears beside them at almost the exact same moment I do, whiskey glass in hand, curious observation in his gaze as it moves between Vanessa and me.
“Well,” he drawls, “You look like a man who just discovered how he really feels about something.”
I pin him with a dry look.
Oliver smirks into his drink. “Interesting feeling, isn’t it?”
Nicole outright laughs beside Vanessa now.
“Don’t encourage him,”
Vanessa admonishes Nicole, who defends herself by throwing her hands up in defense. “I’m sorry, but this is just too good not to enjoy.”
I move so that I’m beside her, my attention locking fully onto Vanessa.
She looks happy. Soft from wine and candlelight and laughter.
Alive in a way that unsettles something possessive low in my chest. Not because she’s doing anything wrong.
But, because in one sharp instant, I’m painfully aware that she has entire pieces of herself that exist completely outside me.
And I don’t know why that bothers me so much.
“Thought you went shopping,” I speak low enough that only she can hear me.
“I did.” Vanessa arches one elegant brow. “Earlier. Now I’m having a drink with my friend.”
Fair.
“Hayden, this is my friend Nicole.” She dips her chin in her friend’s direction.
“A pleasure.” I nod and glance over at Nicole, who’s staring with far too much fascination, enjoying the show, I think.
“Nice to meet you” Nicole takes a lazy sip of her martini as she assesses me. “You seem distressed.”
“I’m not.” I quip.
Oliver snorts into his whiskey. Dick. I signal for the bartender to bring me a drink.
Vanessa studies me quietly for a second longer than necessary. And because she knows me too well, I can see the exact moment she realizes something underneath my calm exterior is off. “You, okay?”
The concern in her voice loosens something tight beneath my ribs. Dangerous woman. I step closer by reflex, one hand settling low against her back. Mine. The thought arrives so fast it rattles me from the inside out.
Vanessa’s eyes flick toward my hand before returning to my face again. She doesn’t pull away, but she notices my need to possess her.
Nicole slides off her stool. “You know what? I think I need another drink somewhere a little farther away from whatever this energy is.”
“Excellent survival instincts.” Oliver raises his glass in agreement. “I think I’ll join you.”
Vanessa laughs under her breath as Nicole starts to walk away, Oliver’s hand resting low on her back as he guides her deeper into the club. And just like that, it’s just me and Vanessa standing close enough to share breath while candlelight flickers across her skin.
“You left Friendsgiving early,” she observes with soft concern. The fact that she mentions it catches me off guard for some reason.
“I did.”
“How was it?”
How do I answer this? It was warm, and loud, and full of people I love, yet it was incomplete. I study her for another long second before answering honestly. “It would’ve been better with you there.”
Something flickers across her face too quickly for me to fully read. Not quite hurt, but not quite hope. Something in between. And for the second time today, I realize I did this all wrong.