Chapter 31
The last sunrise of the year arrived in spectacular fashion, and as I sat out on my balcony, I watched the sun cast golden bolts up from the horizon in a perfectly symmetrical fan of light. I sipped hot coffee and inhaled the fresh ocean breeze that drifted up the beach.
Even though it wasn’t yet five in the morning, council workers were out in force. A tractor was driven in endless loops back and forth, raking the sand for rubbish and debris, and dozens of laborers were busy setting up stages, fencing, and other temporary erections in preparation for tonight’s New Year’s Eve festivities.
I found it hard to believe that this year was over. It felt like only last week that I’d done the craziest thing in my life when I pleasured myself in George Whiteman’s room on the first day of this year.
I giggled.
I’d come a long way since then. Full circle, in fact. At the height of my year, I’d had five men who I was seeing on a regular basis.
Five men.Five gorgeous, unique, stunning men.
Clayton, Henry, Hunter, Billy, and Corben.
And now I had none.
Tomorrow was a new day. A new year, too. Maybe I could set myself another challenge? But even as that idea whizzed through my head, I smacked it away.
Although this year had been amazing, I doubted it could ever be topped.
No. . . next year would be the year when I dated men properly . . . as Jane Nichols.
Despite the tumultuous emotions that had attacked me during the last two weeks, I was still optimistic about next year. I’d learned many, many things in the last twelve months, and one of them was to look at the world with my eyes wide open.
I now knew it was impossible to judge a person on their appearance.
Luke Stone was a testament to that—on appearance, the one-legged fashion designer was a man in control, but scratch the surface a little, and he was a man who’d only just survived six years of personal demons.
I finished my coffee, and as I showered, all the wonderful men of this year danced across my brain. Three of them stayed in my vision longer than the others—Henry, Billy, and Hunter.
They were the only three who had truly touched my heart.
But it was the loss of Hunter that hurt the most. He was truly special, and I didn’t know if I could ever recover from what I did to him. I will never forget the heartbreak in his eyes when I last saw him.
Before I tumbled down that rabbit hole again, I hopped out of the shower and forced myself to keep moving.
Twenty minutes later, I stepped from the elevator and strode toward reception. “Hey, Bailey, how was the night?”
“Morning, Jane. It was busy.”
“Kept you awake then?”
“Yeah, it was good.” His grin seemed genuine.
“All right, what have I got today?”
We went through the changeover and at five-thirty, after Bailey stepped through the front glass doors, I was all alone in the large, open marble expanse. I strolled into the kitchen and popped the kettle on.
But my isolation was short-lived.
I didn’t even get to drink my tea as nearly every minute of my shift was occupied with guests checking in, checking out, and asking questions about the New Year’s Eve festivities on the beach.
It was crazy busy, and before I knew it, Marjorie stood next to me, chatting about her plans for the night. After the changeover, I hugged her goodbye and headed up to my room.
Other than Lolita’s New Year’s Eve party later, I didn’t have anything organized for the rest of the day, however that changed the second I walked into my room and noticed how gorgeous the day was. I slipped into my exercise gear and headed out to the sunshine.
I walked over the grass and crossed the soft sand on my way toward the water’s edge. The beach was always busy, but today it was exceptionally crowded. It was a stunning day, wasn’t too hot or too windy. Beachgoers were out in droves, soaking up the summer sunshine. People were everywhere, and the holiday spirit was in full swing.
I headed away from the hotel in the direction of Mermaid Beach Surf Club. The afternoon sun blazed on my right cheek, and I adjusted my cap at an angle so I didn’t get sunburnt. I picked up my pace and set a steady jog on the firm sand. Sucking in the ocean air and absorbing the sun on my skin was the perfect way to spend the last day of the year.
About a half-mile past the surf club, I stopped, pulled off my shoes and socks, and started my return journey home. As I strolled along the water’s edge with the waves splashing against my ankles, it was impossible not to think about Corben. His ideas of fun made me smile.
Corben was an interesting man—a man who knew what he wanted and went after it. Although I was going to miss him, I was glad we’d said goodbye. He wasn’t the man for me, and even though it had been a shocking reality at the time, it was true.
As the waves tumbled to the shore, I tried to focus on nature’s therapeutic melody rather than the endless pairs of people who strolled toward me holding hands. It seemed like I was surrounded by couples. Young couples, couples with kids, elderly couples, same-sex couples. Everyone had a partner but me.
Before I succumbed to the failure vibes that threatened to grip me, I made a beeline for the Blue Haven Café, sat in my favorite spot, and ordered a glass of wine with a serving of lasagna and salad. With all the drinking I was planning on doing tonight, I needed to line my stomach with some serious food.
As I savored the tasty pasta dish and sipped my wine, I forced my brain to focus only on all things good and special in my life. First up was my fabulous relationship with the most amazing best friend in the world. My life wouldn’t be as interesting as it was without Lolita in it. And her family, for that matter—they were just as special to me as she was.
There was my awesome shoe collection. I was pretty sure there weren’t too many women who could boast about a collection like mine. There was also my family, my job, my apartment, my finances, my health—even my boobies, apparently, were pretty special.
I giggled.
The list went on and on, and by the time I headed back up to my room to get ready for Lolita’s party, I was primed for a fun night.
I showered, applied a good dose of party makeup, but not too much that I slipped from Jane to Memphis, styled my hair the same way I’d done for my dad’s sixtieth birthday, and applied a touch of rose lipstick.
I decided to wear the dress I’d bought the day I’d had my stupid fake nails removed. According to Lolita, post-breakup shopping was compulsory. And despite my reluctance, after the nails were gone, I’d wandered Pacific Fair aimlessly, hoping for a shopping miracle. I held up the little black dress that had been the result of that trip.
It was a cute sleeveless number that alternated horizontally between sheer lace and black fabric that conveniently covered all the important body parts. The flared skirt was short, stopping high on my thigh, and the dress came in to accentuate my waist.
I put on matching black lingerie of French knickers and a strapless bra and pulled the dress on. The zipper in the back was a bitch to do up, but once it was in place, I turned to the mirror. It looked good. Simple, yet stylish.
I added some color with my orange Aquazzura Wild Things suede stilettos that had a funky leather frill at the front and two leather straps that I wrapped around and around my ankles several times and tied off at the tasseled ends. Keeping with the orange theme, I put on dangly orange crystal earrings and a chunky orange bangle.
I glanced in the mirror at the finished result and declared it perfect for a New Year’s Eve party.
With my tote over my shoulder, I grabbed my bag containing three bottles of Bollinger, walked out my door, traveled down in the elevator, out the hotel entrance, and along the street toward the tram station.
I didn’t have to wait long at the station, and within two minutes, I was sitting on the tram on my way to Lolita’s. Fifteen minutes later, I stepped out at Main Beach station and walked to Lolita’s house.
Other than the abundant crowds and the overt party atmosphere, my trip to her place was uneventful. I pushed through her front door without knocking, like I always did, and went straight to the kitchen. Lolita sat on the kitchen counter with her husband locked in her leg embrace as she spooned something into his open mouth.
“Oh, sorry, sorry.” Aware that I’d interrupted something, I backed away.
“Jane, hey, babe. Don’t be sorry. We were just having a moment. But it’s okay, moment’s over.” She giggled at Cal, and he didn’t seem to mind one bit.
He walked my way and wrapped his arms around me. “Happy new year. You look amazing.”
“Thank you.”
He took my drinks bag off me and set it on the kitchen counter.
“Holy smokes, babe, you look hot. New dress?” Lolly circled her hand in the air, and I spun around.
I nodded. “Post-Hunter breakup shopping.”
“Niiicce. I told you it’d be worth it.”
I chuckled. “So . . . what do you want me to do?”
“You can help me with this cooking. Cal keeps distracting me.” Lolly rolled her eyes at him.
“You love it.” He clutched his heart, feigning shock.
“You know I do—that’s why it’s distracting. Now shoo. Go and get ice or something.”
Cal pulled a sad face and turned to me. “She’s so mean.”
Lolly smacked his butt. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
“Okay.” Cal’s face lit up, and he practically skipped from the kitchen.
Lolita pulled an oven tray from the dish drainer and set it on the counter. “Want to help me with these?” She pointed at miniature tart cases in several Tupperware dishes, which Lolita no doubt would’ve made herself.
“Sure.” We lined the tray with the tiny tarts and then filled each one with bocconcini cheese, semi-dried tomatoes, and a scattering of prosciutto. It was a pity we weren’t cooking them until later because I could have easily devoured a few now.
As we moved from one canapé preparation to the next, Lolita cranked up the music, and we sang, danced, drank champagne, and chatted about all things wonderful and good. Before we knew it, seven o’clock had arrived, along with the first guests.
Lolita and Cal had converted their backyard into Party Central. The grass had been covered in a wooden dance floor with a giant marquee tented over the top, and colorful lights hit the area from every angle. Giant ice buckets were dotted about the place and Cal had put glow sticks in each one, lighting them up in a variety of colors.
Within twenty minutes, about fifty people filled the dance floor. The music was loud and funky, and it was impossible to resist moving to the beat. As I made my way around the room with my champagne, I made a point of saying hello to everyone and introducing myself to those I didn’t know—which weren’t too many.
Every time I finished my champagne, either Lolita or Calvin filled it up. My glass was officially bottomless, and I was soooooo happy with that.
Abundant alcohol was about the only thing guaranteed to save me from the never-ending questions people asked about my love life. I will never understand why my single status was so fascinating to everyone but me.
The more I drank, the more the bombardment annoyed me. All I wanted to do was stand on one of the bar tables and regale the crowd with all the sordid details about my glorious Memphis romps. I wanted to scream that I, Plain Jane, was getting loads of sex. About fifty times this year, in fact, with loads of hunky men.
I’m a fucking sexual diva!
Thankfully, as quickly as the stupid idea whizzed around my brain, it whizzed right back out again because I quickly realized just how bad that sounded. Nobody would understand, and I could just picture the partygoers’ horrified faces at my announcement.
Instead, I sipped my Bollinger and moved on to the next group of people in the hope the conversation would be much more interesting.
Several hours into the party, I spotted Clayton standing at a bar table with a beer in his hand. He looked stunning and stylish, and totally handsome. Our eyes met as if we were meant to see each other, and he walked toward me.
He strolled right up to me and planted a kiss on my cheek. “It’s lovely to see you, Jane.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I couldn’t believe this smoking hot man was talking to me after what I did to him.
I sipped my bubbles and tried to calm my racing pulse. I blinked at him, hardly able to believe he was smiling at me, let alone making conversation. “It’s lovely to see you too.”
As if we’d planned it, we edged to the side of the marquee, where there were less people, and the music wasn’t as loud. “You still working at the hotel?”
I tucked a slip of hair behind my ear. “Yes. I’ve been promoted to day manager.”
His eyes lit up. “Oh, so you get your nights off now?”
I nodded. “I do.” My heart was going crazy. I couldn’t believe Clayton was actually talking to me after I broke up with him.
“That must be a nice change. So, have you been anywhere exciting with your nights off?”
“A few places. Lolly has been chaperoning me.”
He chuckled. “I bet she has. She’s up for any party.”
“How’s Telitha?”
“She’s wonderful. Feisty, courageous, fun—everything a little girl should be.” His smile grew spectacular as he looked at me, and I felt as if we’d never been apart.
I sipped my champagne and allowed lovely thoughts to flow through me.
“There you are.” A woman came striding toward us and planted a prolonged kiss on Clayton’s lips as if I wasn’t there at all. She was a raven-haired, golden-skinned beauty, and I admired her and hated her in an instant.
My jaw dropped, and despite myself, I struggled to pull it back into place.
“Jane, I’d love you to meet my girlfriend, Sunny. Sunny, this’s Jane, the friend of Lolita’s I told you about.”
“Oh, right. Lovely to meet you.” Sunny held her hand toward me, and we shook.
I swallowed. “Lovely to meet you too.”
“We’ve been dating for about two months now.” Clayton put his arm around his stunning girlfriend. “Sunny has a daughter the same age as Telitha.” He turned to Sunny, and when their eyes met, I just about threw up. “We’re all so happy together.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you.”
What the hell’s wrong with me?Two seconds ago, I’d thought we were flirting.
Am I that desperate?
I had to get away before the plain Jane in me said something that embarrassed the shit out of me.
“Anyway, I’m going to see if Lolita needs help in the kitchen.” Sunny and Clayton barely glanced in my direction, and with each step I slinked away, I felt like everyone else stared at me with pity in their eyes.
I was swimming through a pit of mud, barely able to breathe. I needed to get out of there. I needed to go home.
I went upstairs to Lolita’s bedroom first and grabbed my bag from her duchess, then I returned downstairs and sought her out. She was in the kitchen, checking something cooking in the oven. She shut the oven door and turned to me with a smile, but before I even spoke, her smile fell away, and her eyes bulged. “Hey, babe, what’s wrong?”
My chin dimpled, and I fought it with all my might. “Clayton has a girlfriend.”
“I just found that out, too.” She frowned. “But why does that upset you?”
I splayed my fingers on the counter. “I don’t know.”
“Come here.” She wrapped her arms around me, but it only made my sorrow ten times worse.
Using my knuckle, I dabbed a tear from my lower eyelid. “I’m going home.”
“No.” She pulled back. “Don’t go. It’s only just gone ten o’clock.”
“I don’t care. I just want this year over with.”
She frowned, and I could tell she was on the verge of arguing. I beat her to it by leaning forward and kissing her cheek. “I’ve already called an Uber,” I lied. “He’ll be here soon.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Are you sure?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Okay, well . . . I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe we can go to lunch or something.”
I nodded again, and pleased with how easily I’d gotten away, I headed out the front door. As I stood in her driveway, the noise drifted from the backyard in a dull cacophony of laughter and music. I used my phone to check if there was an Uber nearby.
There were about fifty, and I pressed the button and leaned back on the garage pillar as I waited. The bricks were warm, the result of baking in the western sun, and I tried to use the heat to settle my rattled nerves.
The Uber only took seven minutes to arrive. I climbed into the back, and the lady driver made a few attempts to make conversation before thankfully, she gave up. The crowds and blocked off streets made the drive much longer than I’d hoped, and we arrived at the drop-off zone at the Hot Horizon Hotel just before eleven.
I went straight to my apartment, stripped, scrubbed off my makeup, unpinned my hair, and had a long, hot shower. Afterward, I pulled on my cotton PJs, and with a bottle of wine in hand, a glass, and a packet of corn chips in the other, I headed out to my balcony, ready to watch the fireworks. I filled the glass to the brim, swallowed back a huge gulp, and shoved an entire corn chip into my mouth.
“Now this is living,” I said to the enormous crowd lining the beach.
As it ticked into the final hour of the year, the noise from the beach grew louder, and my thoughts about how I’d feel waking up tomorrow grew more and more confusing.
On one hand, I hadn’t found a man. But on the other hand, I’d found me.
And although I’d end this year alone, I no longer felt lonely.
This year has taught me how to like myself. I’d learned to laugh at my little idiosyncrasies that made me . . . well, me.
Despite all the breakups, I couldn’t deny I was happy. Most of all, I was completely confident that I would find a man. I was no longer the meek and mild wallflower who was sitting back and waiting for the perfect partner to come to me.
I was a tiger. A tiger who was ready to get on the prowl.
I raised my glass. “Look out world. . . here I come!” I giggled and gulped back a huge sip of my wine.
Someone knocked on my door and I frowned. Thinking it was Lolita, determined to drag me back to her party, I strolled through my apartment, and I peeked through the peephole.
My frown grew deeper when I saw the top of a fireman’s hat. I tugged the door open.
It was a fireman.
My jaw dropped, and my heart set to explode.