Rebound (Pucker Up)
1. Bree
Chapter 1
Bree
T he pounding on my front door jolts me awake from a less-than-stellar sleep. As Dad would say, “ Who the hell has the fucking balls to make such a fucking racket? ”
But I don’t swear. Even thinking such words makes me cringe, so I’ll say, “Who in the world is banging on my door?” Less impact, but since I’m alone, it doesn’t really matter now does it. My friends think it’s cute that I refuse to use cuss words. But when you grow up thinking they are simply a popular adjective that can be utilized in just about every sentence, and then become a pre-school teacher, you have to work hard to eradicate them from your every-day language. Now I only pull them out when the situation truly deserves the extra emphasis.
I rub my eyes before twisting my head to glance at the clock on my bedside table. Drat! It’s eight o’clock on a Saturday. Nobody gets up this early in Las Vegas.
Squinting I sweep my gaze around my room and notice the shadows in the corners. It dawns on me that there’s no sun streaming through my blinds, splintering across my face to wake me like it usually does. There’s always sun in Vegas. Okay, not always of course, but usually. The mornings are the best time to enjoy it before it gets too freaking hot, especially in the summer months. Yes, it’s a hot heat, not a humid one, but it’s still freaking hot. I never realized just how hot it could get before I moved here. Even outside of June through August, it’s hot. Like now, it’s mid-October, and it’s eighty degrees. Back home in Boise it’s probably twenty degrees colder.
But I digress. I slam my eyes closed again. That’s because it’s not eight in the morning. It’s eight at night.
Double drat.
“Bree!” Kat’s voice filters the door and meanders through my tiny apartment, reaching my bedroom. “Open up!”
I groan and yank the blankets over my head, rolling over and bringing my pillow to block out all sounds of my best friend. Maybe if I ignore her, she’ll go away. After the week I’ve had, all I want to do is wallow in the darkness of my bedroom. Mercury must be in retrograde because this has been the week from hell—I even came close to using actual swear words.
First, I discovered Mike with not one, not two, but three other women in a very compromising position. Who knew surprising my boyfriend of three months would be quickly followed by breaking up with him.
That was Monday.
The swear words were on the tip of my tongue, but I somehow managed to hold them in. It was a feat, but I was successful. Mom would be proud.
Every day since, there’s been a never-ending series of disasters—from faulty equipment to injuries, spills, splatters, broken toys, fights, and constant tears. Everything fell apart. I found myself constantly putting out fires or being burned in the middle of one. And the tears—not just from the children—flowed a little too freely.
I love my job as a preschool teacher. The kids are my world. I adore them. However, this past week pushed me to the breaking point when I lost my cool and yelled at them to settle down during story time. Okay, I didn’t scream, but I did raise my voice in a sterner tone than they’re used to. The shock on their little cherub faces made me feel like poop. Which meant coming home and crying some more after apologizing profusely to them for taking my bad mood out on them. The hugs they gave me eased my guilt slightly, but my behavior was unacceptable.
So, I stayed up late making treats to take into class today, hoping to end the week on a high. I glance at my smeared with Aloe and bandage-covered thumb. Unfortunately, I didn’t leave the baking session unharmed, resulting in more tears and a few selective non-swear words.
The pounding continues, more insistent this time, even though it’s muffled by my pillow. “Brielle Melanie Stevens, you open this door right now!” Kat will use her key to let herself in if I don’t get moving. Frankly, I’m surprised she hasn’t already.
With a sigh, I drag myself out of bed and shuffle to the front door in nothing but my Minnie Mouse sleep shirt. This thing is old and threadbare, but it’s my favorite. It’s comfy and soft and always makes me feel better—except it hasn’t worked its magic yet.
When I open the door, my best friend breezes in, followed closely by Scarlett and Chloe. So much for a quiet night alone to wallow in my grief, sadness, and stupidity. When I turn from closing the door, I find my three friends striking an intimidating pose in my small but cozy living room. I spent almost every dollar of my hard-earned first two paychecks picking out affordable items to make this apartment feel like home—my home, and I love it how it turned out. Soft pastels, cushy decorative pillows, and photos to remind me of home. Then I spot the hockey jersey I’ve been wearing lately and my unfaithful ex pops into my head again, ruining the moment.
Kat and I have known each other since we were kids, living next door to each other from the time we were in kindergarten. After college graduation, we moved to Las Vegas on a whim, searching for excitement after growing up in Idaho. She’s beautiful with her long reddish-brown hair, green eyes, and curves where they’re supposed to be. I’ve always been envious of her genetics. Her skin becomes perfectly bronzed under the blazing Vegas sun. Whereas I turn into a lobster if I forget to apply a bottle of sunscreen every time I leave my apartment, and I wish I had less meat on my bones or that it would at least gravitate to the spots that need it rather than congregate in my belly and thighs. Kat can strut Las Vegas Boulevard for hours in her signature heels, towering over me by a good four inches. She might look demure, but she can drink most of us under the table and loves having a good time.
The smart move would have been to rent a place together to save money. Still, after growing up in the middle of two sisters and two brothers, the last thing I wanted or needed was another roommate—even though I love Kat dearly. And because she knows and understands me, she answered a roommate ad Chloe had placed when she decided to follow her brother to Las Vegas.
Chloe is sweet and spunky, and her brother is the team captain for the Las Vegas national hockey team, which is how I met Mike. She warned me to stay away from him at the time, but I didn’t listen. Now I wish I had. Right now, she’s giving me that ‘I told you so’ look, with a side of sympathy.
Scarlett befriended me at work, helping me settle into the job and the city, so she witnessed the rest of my horrible week. She can be a bitch when you get in her way, or she’s offended on your behalf, but her Southern hospitality takes the sting from most of her barbs. There’s a very small part of me that feels bad for Mike the next time Scarlett runs into him.
Kat surveys my disheveled appearance with a scowl. “That’s it. No more moping over that jackass.” She points a manicured lime green-tipped finger in my direction and twirls it round and round. “You’re coming out with us tonight if I have to drag you myself.” Then she stalks toward my bedroom, yelling over her shoulder. “You get in shower, and I’ll find you something sexy to wear.”
I cross my arms, taking my stand. “I told you, I’m not in the mood.”
Scarlett places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Sweetie, we get it. But staying home and crying over someone who doesn’t deserve you isn’t going to help.”
Chloe nods eagerly. “Yeah, Mike was a total dick for cheating on you.” She tosses her long dark tresses over her shoulder. “It’s time for some fun with your real friends.”
My shoulders slump in defeat. I know they mean well, but the wound is still fresh. I’m saved from responding when Kat returns and shoves a short black dress into my hands. “Go get ready,” she orders. “We’re hitting the bar.”
I stare down at the dress, resentment simmering in my gut. I don’t want to go out. I don’t want to pretend I’m okay when I’m not. But the determined faces of my friends tell me I don’t have a choice. I have little doubt they’d manhandle me into the dress and drag me out the door—all in the name of sisterhood.
With a dramatic sigh, I turn and stalk toward the bathroom. Might as well get this over with.
Thirty minutes later, after a hot shower that was supposed to make me feel better, I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I slip into the slinky black dress. Sometimes, I wish I had Kat’s body. But tonight, and in this particular dress, I like how it hugs my generous curves in all the right places. Raising my head, I still. My hair is a tangled mess, and my eyes are still puffy from lack of sleep and sobbing. Even feeling somewhat confident in the dress, I look like I haven’t slept in days and have spent every waking moment crying over some guy. I look like poop.
A gentle knock sounds on the door, startling me. “Can I come in?” Kat calls, her tone much softer now than earlier and muffled like she’s got her mouth right against the crack in the door.
I open it, and she steps inside, makeup bag in hand. Without a word, she gets to work fixing my face, blending concealer under my eyes before she goes to town on the rest. We’ve done this many times over the years, so I relax under her ministrations, letting her work her magic because she’s so much better at it than I am. I know she won’t go overboard.
“There,” she says when she’s finished, spinning me to face the mirror. The girl staring back looks put together, pretty even. A far cry from how I feel inside. She’s given me a smoky eye and added a touch of pink to my cheeks. The mascara makes my lashes look darker and longer than usual.
I glimpse Kat’s reflection in the mirror, and she hugs my shoulder. Her eyes are filled with empathy.
“We’re going to have fun tonight. You’ll forget all about Icky Mike. He really is an asshole who didn’t know what he had when he met you. You’re not a bunny, Bree, and he treated you like a bunny. You deserve so much better.”
I chuckle at her clever play on his nickname. The other guys call him Ike, but I prefer her version. I force a slight grin in response. She’s right about one thing—I can’t wallow forever. Mike wasn’t my everything, and we’d been together for only a few months, most of which he’d been out of town. Perhaps going out tonight will help me move on.
Chloe and Scarlett appear in the doorway, and sensing my anxiety, Chloe reaches over to give my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry about a thing,” she says. “We’re going to dance, drink, and have an amazing time. Right girls?”
“Hell yeah!” Kat and Scarlett chorus.
I pull my besties into a hug, which is difficult with four people in a cramped bathroom, but we make it work. “Thank you,” I whisper, my throat tight with emotion.
They return the embrace fiercely.
“That’s what friends are for,” Scarlett says. “Now let’s go show that asshole what he’s missing.”
Kat and I exit the bathroom arm-in-arm, and I can’t contain the blush or the tiny bit of excitement that sizzles inside me. From the moment we landed in Vegas, Kat and I swore we’d live it up while we could. Now, buoyed by their enthusiasm, I feel a spark of something other than heartbreak for the first time in days.
The four of us head downstairs to wait for an Uber. When it arrives, the three of us slide into the backseat while Kat takes the front. Butterflies flutter in my stomach. I never should have gotten involved with a hockey player. I’ve heard the rumors, and I’ve read the stories. I’ve been in the bars after a game and watched the puck bunnies hang all over the guys, and the guys eating it up like candy. I’ve been at Chloe’s place when her brother is there, and I’ve watched him interact with some of his teammates. They’re good-looking, and they know it. They’re successful, some very much so. And especially after a win, when they’re experiencing an incredible high, I’ve seen them in action.
Yet, somehow, for some stupid reason, I thought Mike would be different. Maybe because he’s a few years older than the others. I thought he’d outgrown the boys-will-be-boys behavior. With their schedule, they don’t have time for girlfriends; at least, that’s an excuse many of them use. A couple of the guys have wives or significant others, but most are single and horn dogs. And they love the attention they get from the women who adore them just because they lace on a pair of skates and race around the ice, passing and shooting a puck. He laid it on thick. And I fell for it.
As the driver makes his way down the neon-lit Strip, I force myself to relax and enjoy the evening. In fact, I make a pledge to have fun tonight. Maybe a night out with my friends is exactly what I need to get over Mike.
Does the ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas’ work when you live in Vegas?