Chapter 17
It’s been more than forty-eight hours, and Damien’s touch still lingers.
The touch of a bad man, a killer, a man obsessed.
Today is the least productive I’ve been in a long time, and as I sit at my desk, cataloging crime scene images, I have to remind myself not to zone out fantasizing again.
Focus.
He’s everything you should hate.
Everything you should fear.
I’ve repeated these words to myself several times, and yet, I’m currently getting wet at the thought of him.
My eyes shift to the clock, counting down the minutes until I can shut down my computer and hit the road. Dove texted the address to the lounge where I’ll meet her and the girls for cocktails after work, and I can definitely use a drink.
The sound of chatter, and then laughter, steals my focus. I glance left, only to catch Martinez in a huddle with Stevens, Mack, and a few other officers. Their eyes are on me, but then quickly flash away, which isn’t obvious at all.
They were talking about me.
Or at least he was talking about me, and the others… were laughing.
My mind and heart both race as I consider what he might be saying, what intimate details about me or us he could possibly share. It’s been tough enough earning their respect, and now I’ll have to contend with Martinez.
A bitch scorned.
My attention is officially shot for the day, so I power down a few minutes early, and then grab my things. On my way to the exit, I side-eye the group in the corner, still gossiping like teenage girls. There isn’t much I can do but ignore it, so I suppose I’ll have to learn to tune their shit out until the buzz dies down.
Fucking Martinez…
The drive to the lounge is short, but long enough that I’m able to clear my head a bit. So, by the time I pull into the lot, I’m more excited to see Dove, Isha, and Eliza than I am pissed that my co-workers are a bunch of dicks.
Because I clocked out early, I’m also the first to arrive, entering the dimly lit building alone. I’m escorted to a table for four, perched on a platform in the corner. There, I sit and wait, scanning the drink menu, but every so often, I can’t help but glance around. With the dark-painted walls and furniture, and the lo-fi bassline pulsing from hidden speakers, the vibe is similar to that of The Jungle. So, naturally my thoughts are on Damien again.
My thighs clench together, and it’s all I can do to keep from moaning out loud. I’m always aware of him watching from the shadows, so I find myself wondering if he’s here. If he sees me now. If he knows I’m still—and probably always will be—haunted by him. I know what I told him, that what happened that night could never happen again, but that can’t stop me from thinking about it.
“Boo, bitch.”
At the feel of Eliza squeezing my sides, I nearly jump out of my skin. “What the fuck?”
“Did I scare you?” she teases, planting a kiss on my cheek.
“You think?” I shoot back, and despite being annoyed, I can’t help but smile at her.
She takes the seat beside me, still smiling from ear-to-ear, proud that she just about killed me.
“Damn, someone’s on edge. You good, girl?” she asks with a wink, but before I can give an answer, Dove and Isha walk up.
“Sorry we’re late,” Dove apologizes. “Things were crazy today.”
“Wedding stuff?” I ask.
“Of course. Seems never-ending.”
“And yet, you’ve never been happier,” Eliza teases, and the smile Dove flashes means it’s true.
“Need any last-minute tasks checked off the list before the weekend?” Isha offers, reminding me how quickly the date’s approaching.
Dove smiles again, and despite the chaos that is her life right now, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look happier.
“Nope,” she says. “Everything’s all settled. Just bring your crazy asses, and I’ll be satisfied.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Isha teases, and then scans for a waiter to snap her fingers at. “Speaking of drinks, who the hell do I have to fuck around here to get one in my hand?”
“Your poor husband,” Eliza mumbles, earning herself a nudge from Isha the next second.
“Ok, so date check,” Dove says. “Martinez is still your plus one, right, Layla?”
I’m grateful to have a menu in front of me. It gives me something to hide behind.
“Layla?” she repeats, giving angry principal vibes.
“Well, if we hadn’t broken up this weekend, I’m sure the answer to that question would be yes.”
“Oh, noooo!”
“Why didn’t you call us?”
“Do I need to buy bullets?”
Those are their collective responses to my news, and it becomes clear why our friendships stuck after college.
“Are you okay?” Eliza asks, and I still don’t meet anyone’s gaze.
“I’m good. And I use the term broken up loosely. We weren’t even officially together.”
“Yeah, but you two have been fucking for half the year. That has to mean there were at least some sort of feelings involved.”
I neither confirm nor deny, mostly because things were such a blur between us, I’m not entirely sure what was and what wasn’t.
Isha gently slips the menu out of my hand, making it impossible to hide from them. The waiter walks up just in time, and she orders four Cosmos, because that’s what we always order.
“Tell us what happened,” she beckons as soon as it’s just us again.
I sigh, not really knowing where to start. “Well, things have been kind of off between us for a while now, but I think we were just going through the motions because it all became so… familiar.”
They breathe a collective, sympathetic “Mmm…”, letting me know they get exactly what I mean.
“We had plans Friday. He wanted to show me he’s serious about me, so he invited me out to meet his friends.”
“Things didn’t go so well?”
I lift my eyes toward the ceiling for a moment, trying to decide how to answer Eliza’s question.
“I suppose he would’ve had to have shown up for it to have gone poorly.”
“What the fuck?” Isha snaps. “That asshole stood you up?”
“Calm down and let the girl tell the story!” Eliza jumps in, patting my hand the next second when her gaze shifts to me. “Continue, Layla.”
“Yes and no?” I say, knowing I sound vague as hell. “He was an hour late. And… by the time he got there, I’d met someone else.”
“Oh, damn!” Isha shouts, garnering the attention of the group of women at the next table. “Talk about a quick rebound.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “It wasn’t like that. It started when this weird guy tried to hit on me, then turned aggressive with me. Damien stepped up and told the guy to fuck off.”
“Damien…” Dove says, letting his name roll off her tongue. “He sounds hot.”
I swallow the lump her words bring to my throat, remembering how seeing him in the flesh affected me. His height, the way he wore a suit, the way he touched me.
“Did you get his number? His socials? Anything?”
I smile at Isha’s not-so-subtle prying. “I… know how to contact him.” That’s all I can say shy of admitting that he stalks me and has somehow found a way to message my computer.
“So…?”
“So…?” I say, echoing Dove’s question.
“Did you fuck him?” she clarifies, and the others can’t hold in their laughs.
Then, my lack of a response suddenly renders them silent.
“Wait… you did?” Isha’s nosey ass pipes up.
“Not exactly, but there may or may not have been hand stuff.”
“You hand stuff? Or him hand stuff?” she asks.
When I glance down at my lap, imagining Damien’s hand moving between my thighs, hidden only by his suit jacket, she gasps.
“You slut! I fucking love you!”
Her declaration has us all laughing. Even more so when she leans in to hug me.
“I wish Martinez could’ve seen,” she adds. “That would teach him not to take you for granted.”
Again, my loaded silence speaks volumes.
They gasp, and I explain, because I know they’re about to ask anyway.
“He didn’t see everything, but he saw enough. Enough that it turned into an argument in the parking lot that ended with him calling me a bitch.”
They’re in shock, probably wondering why I didn’t message the group chat with the juicy details, but I honestly didn’t feel like talking about it before now.
“Damn, so it’s over-over,” Dove says, and I nod.
“Yup.”
I’m reminded of how Martinez and the other detectives shared a laugh at my expense, but don’t think I should mention it to the girls. Knowing them, they’d be waiting outside the station with baseball bats.
“Well, you did nothing wrong,” Eliza reassures me, although I don’t really need it. “Martinez dragged his feet for months, never making it clear where you two were headed, so this is on him. As my grandfather used to always say, either shit or get off the pot.”
I frown at her grandfather’s analogy, but understand the meaning.
“Agreed, but our stagnation was mutual,” I point out. “He never defined what we were, but neither did I. I think I just always knew something wasn’t right with us, you know?”
“And I say good for you. You didn’t settle, and now you’ve already got a new hottie to take your mind off things. Win-win,” Eliza adds, and the others nod in agreement.
Dove gasps when an idea hits her. “You should totally invite him to dinner this weekend!”
“What? No!”
I’m outnumbered when Isha takes Dove’s side. “Why wouldn’t you? This way, we can evaluate him early, so you don’t waste another six months with some prick that doesn’t deserve you.”
“Or… we should acknowledge that she just exited a situation-ship with a co-worker and might need some time to process,” Eliza reasons, giving my hand a quick squeeze. “Only do what you’re comfortable with, when you’re comfortable with it.”
She lets my hand go when our drinks arrive, and I’m grateful they’ve moved on to discuss times they’ve gotten handsy in public. My thoughts are still on Damien, though, imagining what it might be like if I were actually able to put in that call to him.
Imagining if things were normal, if he weren’t… who he is… I might’ve taken Dove’s advice.
But that can’t happen, I can’t un-know the things I know about him, the “work” I’ve seen him do. So, I sober up quickly, releasing the thought.
This weekend, I’ll be arriving at Dove and Chris’s engagement party alone. And as far as my plus-one, now that Martinez and I are through, it’s officially a plus-none.