Chapter 3
Phoenix
What have I gotten myself into? All I needed to do was get eyes on my assignment. To verify what I hoped would be the best access. But now I’ve met her, and the whole thing is fucked.
Here I am at the end of my day, looking back on my last ten plus years, wishing I had done things so much differently.
Wishing I felt like I deserved something good.
I sit here on my favorite stool, which is a joke.
It’s a barstool in a shitty dive bar in the middle of this fucked-up nothing town. But people here leave me alone.
I twirl my lighter in one hand while I space out, staring at nothing and everything with the same lack of fucks to give.
Rot gut whiskey swirls in my glass for as long as I’d like, hoping it’ll get better.
I know I’m out of place. A guy dressed in nice clothes, pulling up in a fancy car, coming into a shit hole where shots are three bucks and for every two you buy, you get another free. But nobody’s going to look for me here.
This is where I come to think about her.
Sam. The former love of my life. The only person I’ve ever wanted to clean up my act for.
Though, even with her, I lied. About everything.
She didn’t know who I was. Not really. Not what I did or how I made my money.
Hell, all she ever really knew was my first name. Then, one day, she was gone.
Afterwards, rather than face the shame, I ran away.
Started over. Not exactly from scratch, but I left behind my old life.
I staked a claim in the world of digital security, working for high-value clients with deep pockets.
The kind who doesn’t want others to come looking for them.
I don’t like to talk about them, but suffice it to say, with what I accomplish on their behalf, I never want for anything I can’t have.
Still, here I am more than a decade later, and it’s spiraling around in my head.
How everything fell apart with Sam. How I loved her.
How I planned to marry her. How she disappeared without a word.
Twice. The first time, when we were the type of young where stupid is a character trait, we were at the fair.
She sent me to get her cotton candy. Pink.
Because nobody likes fucking blue. It took me maybe ten minutes.
And when I came back, poof. She was gone.
Then, years later, I found her by accident.
There was this little coffee shop in town nobody could shut up about.
My first time in, there she was, sitting in the corner, sipping her latte.
She apologized for how she treated me. How she ghosted me.
And a year later, when I had the ring and was ready to propose, she fucking did it again.
It’s still fresh. Raw. Painful.
My phone buzzes. I ignore it. Probably another client with a security breach they need fixed yesterday. I'm good at what I do, but tonight I'm off the clock.
“Another?” The bartender's voice breaks through my thoughts. Ty, I think is his name, is a big guy with tattoos crawling up his neck, but his eyes are kind in a way which makes me uncomfortable. I nod, sliding my glass across the sticky bar top.
He tips a hefty pour and pushes it back before asking, “Everything alright, man?”
“Always,” I lie, as though he actually cares.
I haven’t moved on. How could I? I’m not sure I’ll ever reconcile the loss, or the way she used me.
I haven’t found anybody who captures my attention, certainly not like her.
And nobody since has made me want to be a better person.
But for the first time in a long time, I felt something different today.
Something I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before.
Or if I have, I’ve blocked it in my attempts to ignore the subsequent pain.
I knock back the brown liquor in my glass, letting it trickle down my throat, burning every inch of the way. It’s the cheap shit. It’s all they have here. Then, I slam the glass back down and return my glance to Ty, and he knows without asking. It’s a universal sign for “Another.”
He raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. Smart man. He pours generously and slides it back without a word, and I go back to staring into the void.
Veronica is her name. The barista who made my coffee this morning when I hit up the coffee shack where I was supposed to assess an assignment.
I was surprised I was even able to speak.
I was breathless. She had the most flawless skin.
Her dark hair cascaded down in waves between her shoulder blades, resting atop the red-and-black buffalo-plaid flannel shirt she wore, with its sleeves rolled up above the elbow.
It was a long one too, draped well below the curves of what I’m sure are two immaculate handfuls, falling just a little above the knee.
It left a lot to the imagination. She wore a tight pair of black leggings teasing a luscious pair of thick thighs, hidden just out of sight.
Nothing about her was overstated. She didn’t flaunt her body.
Hell, I’m not sure she wasn’t intentionally trying to hide it from the droves of gawking customers.
And then there was the way she looked at me with those eyes.
Those enchanting green eyes. And not to be outdone, her smile made my blood simmer in an instant.
The corners of her mouth curling up to those hewn dimples.
It was all part of the show, I know. “Hey, how are you? What can I get you?” Just good customer service, right?
Of course, I ordered a coffee like a blithering fucking idiot. A nervous teen in a middle-age body, entirely enamored by an angelic being.
I watched her move while she worked. Graceful, efficient, like she'd done it a thousand times, but still cared about getting it right.
When she handed me the cup, our fingers brushed for maybe half a second.
Electric. And I know she felt it, too. Her eyes said it all without her lips making a sound.
I should've asked for her number. Should've said something clever. But I don’t know how she would have taken to a clearly older man hitting on her. Especially when it must be the norm in a service job. It might have weirded her out. I can’t care about it right now.
She is everything. A goddess hidden in a little coffee hut for me to find.
All these years later. Finally, there she is.
Now I'm second-guessing everything. Was there really a spark, or am I just some pathetic asshole projecting my loneliness onto the first woman who's made me feel anything in years?
Then there’s her colleague. The giddy one who all but tore her clothes off in front of me.
The one I intended to find when I pulled into the lot.
She was even younger. And she gave me the same stupid look Sam always threw my way.
The one I couldn’t help but fucking fall for.
And that’s how it always goes. It’s no bother, though.
I can do my job and get to know Veronica more.
Because her shack is where I get my coffee now.
Even when I’ve completed my task, I can’t run from this.
And I’m scared. Excited. But scared. Because after all this time, my heart pounds in my chest for a woman I know nothing about, except her name.
Veronica. My tongue dances in my mouth, shaping each letter of her name, and the sound is like the last sip of whiskey.
I savor it, swallow, and now I’m craving more.
I need her to be mine.