Rebound

51. Lavinia

FIFTY-ONE

LAVINIA

“Maybe I need to start teaching Burlesque,” Elena says, sipping on her Pomegranate Passion. The drink is the same color as the dark red of her lipstick.

Her eyes are focused on the Burlesque dancer on stage.

“Don’t you already teach pole dancing classes?” I ask.

“You teach pole dancing?” Sage asks, looking at Elena in question.

“I also teach ballet to kids and adults. And I’m a certified Pilates instructor.” Elena looks at all of us in turn. “You girls should come to a class sometime.”

“I prefer my exercise to involve bookstores,” Jules says. “As in, I walk to my nearest bookstore and then walk around in it looking for books.”

The lights dim as a heavy, low beat plays through the speakers. Excitement hangs in the air as a woman in a thin sequinned dress walks on stage, each movement slow and sexy.

The way the dancer moves is entirely too hot and mesmerizing, each movement meant to make you think of sex. You can’t look away.

“If ballet was half as exciting, I wouldn’t have left,” Elena says absently.

“Really?”

“Eh, probably not.” Elena takes a sip of her drink. “You know what it's like being at the top of your game. Everyone’s expectations are bad enough, but your own are somehow worse.”

Every mistake somehow feels like the end of the world and the end of a long fought for career. The last few months have made me realize I don’t have to have hockey in my life to be interesting.

My career as a content creator isn’t a joke. I can still be a role model without playing the game I love.

“I can’t imagine doing what either of you did,” Sage says. “My brain isn’t wired to compete.”

“I know what you mean. I can’t imagine waking up at an ungodly hour to train,” Jules says.

A server stops by to check up on us and the girls order another round of drinks and since I’m the designated driver, I order another diet soda.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Sage says, turning to look at me.

We’re sitting on a U shaped hot pink velvet couch close to the stage and Sage is right beside me. It’s dark here but when she turns to look at me, I can still make out the beauty mark on her right cheek and the genuine emotion in her eyes.

“I haven’t had the time to do anything by myself in a very long time,” she continues.

“We can hang out any time you want. It doesn’t have to be a girls’ night out. If you want us to go to a picnic with your daughter, we can do that as well.” Jules and Elena nod in agreement.

Sage laughs lightly. “I’ll take you up on that.”

“Is she in Boston?” Elena asks.

“No, she’s still in Los Angeles with my cousin. I came out early for the job and now I have to find a house for us,” Sage explains. “They’re a couple I like but I want River and Junie to see them first before I finalize.”

“We can go with you as well, if you want some extra opinions,” Jules offers.

“Absolutely, tell us the date and time and we’ll be there,” I add.

On stage, the dancer has removed all her clothes and is left in strategically placed pasties and feather fans. She looks like she’s really enjoying herself and it’s so sexy.

“I think I just fell in love,” Elena says, eyes trained on the dancer.

When the song ends and the dancer takes a bow, a chorus of cheers and hoots ring out. I look around and notice the bar is full of women. Only women.

“Is this a women only club?” I ask Jules. “If so, that is so cool.”

She looks around the room as well. “Huh. I don’t think it’s women only. The photos I saw on social media also had men in the audience.”

“Maybe it’s girls’ night?” Sage suggests.

“Either way, who’s going to miss the men?” Elena says. We all raise our glasses to that. Every single woman in here is dressed to the nines in really sexy, slinky clothes, the kind we only ever wear for ourselves and our partners if they’re ever so lucky.

“Also, did you see the biceps on that bouncer?” Jules asks. “No one’s getting in here if they’re creepy and if they do, they’re not getting out alive.”

The server brings us our drinks and as she’s telling us to enjoy our nights, I swear she calls me Mrs. Maddox, but there’s a champagne pop behind us followed by loud cries that I think I misheard her.

She definitely wouldn’t have called me Mrs. Maddox, anyway. It’s my brain thinking about Roman.

I’m trying not to think of him and wonder if he’s having a good time with the boys. It’s probably strange for him to have so many people in his apartment when the only people who are ever there are me or Kita.

We all cheer and drink. Girls’ night is good for the soul. It’s been so long since Jules and I had a proper girls’ night where we got dressed and went out. The last time was in Las Vegas.

“You know what we need?” Jules says. “A cool name for our group chat. Why do the boys get HoBros and we get nothing?”

“They call themselves the HoBros?” Elena bursts out laughing.

“And they have stripper names!”

“I think I might have the perfect one,” Sage says. “Given how incredible we all look tonight, how about the Snack Pack?”

“I love it, that is the one,” Jules says. Elena and I nod in agreement, and we all raise our glasses to it.

“See, this is the benefit of doing things with women because you know shit is going to get done,” Elena says.

“Hear, hear!”

Since I'm the one who started the group chat, I take out my phone and change our name. We’re now officially the Snack Pack. It's like the sexier version of the breakfast club.

“We should get water so we’re not drinking straight alcohol all night,” Elena says, as she downs another shot.

“And maybe something to eat,” Sage adds.

“The server looks like she’s busy. I’ll order something at the bar,” I say. “I have to pee anyway.”

“I’ll come with,” Jules says.

Jules hooks her arm through mine as we walk to the bar. This place is full, maybe even over capacity, and it’s seriously all women. The only man is the bartender and he’s popular.

“He’s cute.” Jules coos. “You think I can do a bartender?”

I examine him as we wait for our turn in line. He’s dressed in all black, tattoos on his arms, an eyebrow piercing. He’s obviously very flirty and the girls ordering ahead of us are giggling as they lean over the counter.

“Honestly, I always pictured you with a lit professor or something,” I say.

“Ooh, an older man?” Jules bites her lip. “I like. Does he look like Silas Cross?”

“Seriously?” I laugh.

Jules wiggles her eyebrows. “Coach is hot. His only flaw is hockey.”

She’s not wrong. Coach is hot, with his sparkling brown eyes and dark hair that has a hint of gray in it now. There was a time when I wanted to marry him and if it wasn’t him, no one else would do. It went downhill from there. Until now.

“I bet he talks you through it,” Jules muses.

I shift on my feet, my cheeks burning slightly.

It’s hot in here, that’s the only reason I’m burning up.

It’s not because I’m picturing Roman’s hands on my waist, his chest pressed against my back as he tells me how good I’m taking his cock, and we were going to take it nice and slow.

My eyes meet Jules’s before I look away again, not before I see the widest smile across her lips.

“I don’t know why I expected anything else.”

We’re thankfully next and as we step up to the counter, the bartender smiles at Jules, giving her a once over. But when his eyes move to me, his smile drops and he straightens, clearing his throat.

“Let me…get someone else to help you.” He’s gone before either Jules, or I can say anything.

“It’s like high school all over again. The boys are afraid of you,” Jules says.

“I’m wearing pink and I’m in high heels. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

In response, Jules teasingly pokes my bicep, which is definitely more defined than it used to be. “I wish I had your powers to intimidate men.”

“Sorry about the wait, what can I do for you?” A woman is behind the bar now, wearing a black suit, her pink hair pulled up into a bun. There’s a diamond stud sparkling in her nose.

“We wanted to order some water and apps for the table,” I say.

“Absolutely, we can bring you anything you need.” She nods. “My name is Maya and I’m the manager here. If you need anything else, let me know and I can get it for you, Mrs. Maddox.”

Someone jostles into me from behind, pushing me forward, and I feel a splash of something on my bare back.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” There’s a girl behind me, a half empty glass in her hand.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Jules has a stack of napkins in her hand as she pats my back dry. “Come on, I can do more in the restroom.”

We’re moving down a dark hallway and getting into line for the restroom.

“Hey, do you think it’s weird the manager called me Mrs. Maddox? I think our server did, too.”

Jules tilts her head, her eyes shifting as she thinks about it. “Yeah, I guess it is. It’s not exactly the name you go by. I mean, you’re still legally Lavinia Callahan.”

Exactly. The only person who calls me Mrs. Maddox is Roman and only when he’s feeling particularly possessive. Even if the staff follows me on social media, it doesn’t make sense for them to call me Mrs. Maddox.

We make quick work in the restroom and Jules wipes the alcohol on my back so it’s not sticky. On our way back, I direct us back towards the bar where Maya is still serving customers.

“Why did you call me Mrs. Maddox?” I ask.

Her eyes move from me to Jules and back again, and a slow smile stretches across her face. “Your husband bought The Velvet Vixen this morning.”

My mouth drops open at her admission. What in the world? We were together the whole day, and he never once mentioned buying the damn bar.

“Wow. This man gives a new meaning to unhinged,” Jules whispers.

No shit.

“Is there somewhere I can make a call?” I ask.

“You can use my office.”

I squeeze Jules’s hand before following Maya to her office. I’m pulling my phone out and calling Roman before she even shuts the door behind her. Her office has brick walls, with a translucent glass door. There are shelves lined with folders and a filing cabinet. It smells faintly of bergamot.

“Baby, do you miss me already?” His voice fills the line, and I can’t help the shiver that chases down my back.

“Roman, did you buy The Velvet Vixen?”

There’s silence, and then I hear a quiet click, like a door shutting. There’s a mewl from one of the cats.

“I did,” he admits.

I sit down on the couch pressed against the wall. “Are you insane?”

“For you? Absolutely. I have no chill when it comes to you. I think you should be impressed with how normal I’ve been because there’s a part of me that never wants to let you out of the house. I’m so fucking obsessed I can’t stand the thought of sharing you with someone else.”

My skin warms at his confession. Do I like this? The ache between my legs tells me I clearly do. It’s one of the many reasons I fell for him. He’s so possessive, but he’ll never stop me from being me.

“Did you get rid of the men?” I ask.

“You said it was girls' night. I gave you a girls’ night.” He sounds so blase about it all. “With the added bonus of me not going to jail for killing any man who looks at you.”

I huff a laugh. “I can’t believe you dropped hundreds of thousands of dollars on a whim. What does your financial manager even do?”

“You’re not a whim, Blossom. You’re my wife, and I’ll do everything and anything I need to do to keep you safe and mine. I have a feeling these girls’ nights are going to be a frequent thing and now you have somewhere to go where I know you’ll be safe.”

In an environment that he can control. I think about his clean apartment, the way he’s organized everything in the kitchen and his closet. My husband likes control and I'm an anomaly in his life he can’t control, not that I think he even wants to.

“I can take care of myself,” I say in a small voice.

“I know, baby. But when I said I do, I volunteered to take care of you as well.”

Oh no, he’s going to make me cry. I sniff, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“I don’t know what you think is happening, but literally no one has ever flirted with me.

I’m apparently not the girl people flirt with,” I say.

I got boyfriends by happenstance through friends and people I knew.

All my relationships went from being friends to oops, we’re attracted to each other so we might as well date.

“That’s because you scare them, as you should,” Roman says. I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous.

“I don’t scare you.”

“That’s because I’ve seen you devour eight cupcakes in a row and promptly throw up.”

“I was eight!” I exclaim, crying laughing at the reminder of that birthday party. Regardless of the puke involved, it was still one of my favorite parties. “I’m going to buy bottles of their most expensive champagne for every table.”

“I expect nothing less. They have my credit card on tab. Have fun, baby.”

I disconnect the call, and on my way back to the table, I tell Maya to send a bottle of champagne to every table.

A low tune rings out, indicating another dancer stepping on stage and I’m grateful because I need time to think. Aunt Constance told me a long time ago that if a man wants you, he’ll show with his actions that you’re important to him.

Roman shows me that every day. I need to have a very serious conversation with my husband.