One Hotlanta Night

1. Vivian

Vivian

I t probably doesn’t bode well for the future of your relationship if you walk into your boyfriend’s room and find another girl bobbing her head in between his thighs.

Enthusiastically.

And it’s not going to get much better when he looks you dead in the eye, smirks, and doesn’t even try to push her away.

This was not the way I saw my precious weekend off going.

Yep, that was what I’d walked into on an otherwise sunny Saturday morning.

Should I have noticed the unfamiliar blue sedan parked outside my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend’s house?

Maybe, but Trent was a drummer, and guys were coming by all the time, at all hours to practice, chill out, get high, and whatever else was on their list of fun activities.

And I knew they had a new player, a girl, that was doing a good job of meshing into their testosterone fold.

Well, I guess she was doing an excellent job now if she was blowing the guy I’d been with—mostly—for the past few years.

Lately I’d been half in-half out of the relationship, not sure where we were going as a couple.

Looked like he was all the way out now with his cock in someone else’s mouth.

Not that I’d miss that part; Trent’s oral game wasn’t that great anyway.

“So what did you do ?” Claire asks me, leaning against the smooth wooden bar top.

My best friend reaches down and unscrews the Barefoot white zinfandel, then fills up my glass again.

The first one came after she noticed the state of my hair: wild and disheveled from driving with the car window rolled all the way down.

I wasn’t supposed to be back at The Pork Belly—her family’s restaurant and my place of employment—until Monday.

I’d wandered in one day a few years ago looking for a job; Claire hired me on the spot and made me assistant manager within the month.

Not only did we hit it off in our work relationship, but we became fast friends as well.

Between the two of us, we keep the place running.

But that also means time off is scarce. Two days back to back? Pretty much unheard of.

Which was why I was looking forward to some quality time with my guy. Or, barring that, if he was gonna keep droning on and on about his band, then at least some sex. Right . Clearly that wouldn’t be happening ever again.

I brush my tangled, wind-blown hair from my face.

“I did what any good girlfriend would do. I asked him what the fuck he was doing. And he said it was to—you ready?—‘ Get my attention.’ That he’d been feeling ‘neglected,’” my fingers mark the air quotes, “and she’d started unzipping his jeans and going at it, so he let her. ” I scoff.

“Well, that’s certainly one way to get your attention,“ Claire drawls. “Effing douchebag.” Her daughter Raelynn might not be at the restaurant, but Claire reigns in her words out of habit. “You knew this wasn’t going to work out with Trent, not like forever-eva.” She levels me a look as though daring me to challenge her.

“You’re right.” I sigh. Deep down, I’d known it too.

“I just… You know how it is. We’ve been through so much, and he still wants me.

Or at least I thought he did.” I take another sip of the wine that really isn’t all that bad, considering it’s not top shelf.

Swirling it in my glass, I question my lack of devastation.

Three years with someone. You’d think I’d be more upset.

But I really wasn’t. That thirty-minute drive had cleared my head.

Trent had come into my life on the tail end of my first love crushing my heart.

The rebound that I kept coming back to, like that ratty old sweater in the closet you just can’t make yourself throw away.

He had the whole bad-boy package that I’d fallen in love with.

At least, I used to think it was love. He was hot, he was older, and he eased my wounded pride.

Gave me the attention I craved and it was good. Until it wasn’t.

The thrill he’d elicited with his badass-biker look and the thick, gravelly voice when he said my name…

made me feel nothing right now. Absolutely nada.

Fumbling through memories over the past three years, I tried to figure out what had initiated that spark, what had kept me coming back to him time and time again even after we’d taken a break, and I found nothing.

Not a damn thing. Just emptiness. And pity for the next woman he would try to wrap around his finger.

So yeah. Sitting here sipping my wine, I was most surprised to feel… absolutely nothing.

I thought it was love, thought that after three years maybe this was it, he was the one. How else do you spend that much time with someone unless you’re meant to be?

Although I could never quite see myself walking down the aisle to him.

Maybe that was why it had been so easy to take breaks. I’d get sick of his BS or he’d get sick of mine, and we’d go our separate ways for a while. But in the end, we’d find our way back to each other, like two toxic magnets.

I didn’t know—or care—what he did on his time off. But then his criticisms started, disguised as “opinions.” Nothing I did was good enough: not my job, not my health, and finally, he started in on my “extracurriculars.”

He’d implied that no one else would want me after “all the guys I’d been through,” as he put it.

If he really thought so little of me, if I was so damn awful, then why did he still welcome me back into his bed? It was a crazy, self-destructive cycle we’d dance through.

Until today, with that girl. She even resembled me, her head of dark curly hair covering the part of Trent’s anatomy I knew so intimately.

It was like watching a scene in a movie unfold, going from color to black and white.

I stood there staring at his smirking face, challenging me, and felt…

absolutely nothing. I should have been upset, furious even.

Instead, all I felt was relief.

I truly didn’t give a damn anymore. All the affection from the past three years drained out of my chest.

I could breathe again.

After letting the cool, sweet wine slide down my throat, I inhale deeply. Being single had never felt so damn good.

“So tell me exactly what you said to him. Word for word,” Claire says, tossing her long brown hair over one shoulder.

I roll my shoulders back, coming back to the present moment.

“I told him if he was feeling so needy, he should let her finish the job. And then I walked out.” I fold my arms over my chest, goosebumps covering my arms. It’s April but this is Atlanta, so we’ve had to start running the A/C early.

It’s either the breeze of the vent above me or the resignation in my head that makes me shiver.

It’s definitely not a broken heart; I know what that feels like.

“Well, I for one am truly glad that you are done with that bastard. But how are you really feeling about all of this?” Claire asks me.

“You know, I’m okay.” I blow out a breath and toss my curls over my shoulder, already frizzy from the humidity. Gotta love Georgia. “I mean, it’s like he’s some security blanket that was super soft and fuzzy in the beginning, and then just ended up being a ratty piece of lint by the end.”

She snorts. “Yeah, that’s a pretty good description.”

“I think I’m more mad at myself for always going back to him, you know?”

“Listen, chica, we are both guilty of staying in relationships that weren’t good for us.

” Her mouth twists to the side; boy, does she ever know this first-hand.

Her dead husband was a piece of work, and no one knew just how bad it was between them until after he was gone.

I didn’t know Claire back then, but I know he did a number on her, to the point where she won’t even consider dating.

If he wasn’t dead already, I’d kill him myself.

“But there’s always a silver lining, right?” She grins. If anyone can make proverbial lemonade, it’s Claire. “I got Raelynn, and you’ve got—”

“What, Claire? What did I get out of this shitshow?”

“Freedom from the dipshit, for one.” She boops me on the nose, and I almost choke on my wine. Didn’t expect those words from her.

“Claire!”

“Well, it’s true. He was never right for you. Never good enough for you,” she says, looking directly in my eyes. She knows how much his belittling got to me.

I swallow. “Yeah, right.”

“Chica, I’m serious. You’re worth so much more than that douchebag. You deserve it all.”

“As do you, my friend. As do you.” I salute her with my wine glass.

Not pressing further, she asks, “So what do you want to do now? Call up one of those other boy toys to distract you for a while?” She wiggles her eyebrows mischievously, and I swat her arm with the back of my hand.

“Hell no! I’m taking a break. For real this time.” To be fair, I don’t have the greatest track record; I prefer to have someone cute just a phone call away. “I’m serious. This is it. I’m done with the drama, done with broken hearts, done with the roller-coaster emotions.”

I slap my hand on the bar, thankful the dinner rush hasn’t yet started to see me lose my shit.

“I’m over it. Romance, dating, love, and men .” Leaning back on the bar stool, I blow out a breath. “You said it right the first time. They’re not worth it.”

“Riiiight…” she drawls. I narrow my eyes at her and she laughs. “Okay, okay! I’ll believe it when I see it!”

Her eyes sparkle and I’ll admit, it feels good to have someone in my corner who sees all my flaws and still loves me anyway.

“All right, well, before you embark on your self-imposed celibacy, I insist that we go out to celebrate! I won’t take no for an answer,” she adds, fiery eyes gleaming, and I know there is no arguing with her.

“What about Raelynn?” I ask.

“She’s at her aunt’s tonight. Emily wanted a weekend with her.” Raelynn’s aunt and uncle treat her like their own. I’ve never really thought about children, but being around Raelynn makes me hope for some.

One day. If my body can handle it.