It's Got A Ring To It (21 page)

Love Always,

Ethan (Your
Honeypie
)”

Throughout the entire letter, his expression remained blank.
Empty and heartless.
Once again, he couldn’t even look me in
the eye.

Strangely, the way he stood there looking at his feet, trying to
avoid my eyes, calmed me. He was weak. Nothing but a
fa
ç
ade
of the hopes I’d hinged upon him. Ethan never was the man for me. Just a hurdle
I needed to get over.

Abruptly, he jerked toward the doorknob, but I didn’t flinch this
time. If anything, I stood taller, stronger as the heat of his breath brushed
my cheek. His choleric eyes met mine, testing me. Daring me to move.
Challenging me. But, this wasn’t about fear. I wasn’t the old me.

This time, the serene monotony of my voice, even scared me. “You
never loved me. You waited until the day of our wedding to reveal your
premeditated escape plan, like the coward that you’ve always been. Stupidly, I
worried more about you seeing me in my gown, than the absentminded look that
hung on your unapologetic face. And when I did grasp the fact that you were
really leaving, I sat there shaking my head, crying and confused. All you said
was to take care, like I was some random passing acquaintance. Like I meant
nothing to you.”

“Can I leave now?” he conceded, when his eyes finally met mine.

Without a second thought, I ripped the letter into small shreds and
placed them in his hands. “Everything happened the way it was supposed to,” I
offered, stepping out of his way. “Take care, Ethan.”

nineteen

For the
hundredth time, Brooke called again. I’d been sending her to voicemail, hoping
she’d get the hint, but she wasn’t one to easily give up. Especially, not when
she
was
convinced that
I was wallowing. When I gave her the rundown on how things went with Ethan, she
offered to skip her flight to be with me. I knew she was worried that I would
go back down that same spiraling road.

“Yes, Brooke? What now?” I answered, reluctantly.

The
Bluetooth
echoed in the background with static. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Are you coming out
tonight, or what? I’m serious,
Laila
. I really think
this will be fun. Plus, you need to get out of the house.”

“Hold on Brooke, someone’s beeping in,” I answered quickly, thinking
it was Mom or Lena making their calls before all the lines got tied up after
the countdown. “Hello?”

“Good evening, this is Peter calling from The Journal. Is Myles
Donovan available?”

My reaction surprised even me. Normally, I’d go off the deep end in a
drastic rage, yelling at some poor schmuck, but this time was different. All
the anger was gone, replaced by a witch’s brew of emotions. I was still a
little peeved because he was back at the forefront of my mind, but now there
was also regret and the nostalgic longing that made me miss him. I wanted to
know where he was and what he was doing. A flashflood of steamy memories of our
rollercoaster courtship washed through my mind and I just needed to get away.
Away from my thoughts and my memory-filled house.

“Peter, I’m sorry. You have the wrong number, but if you do talk to
Myles, let him know that I miss him.” Then, as easily as I let the good times
loll on my conscience, with the resounding silence that followed the call, I
reminded myself of the settling reality of our singularly professional
coexistence.

Once I clicked back over, Brooke picked up right where we’d left
off—hounding me until I gave. “If I agree to go with you tonight, will
you stop talking about it and stop worrying about me? I’m fine. Remember, I was
the one ending it with him this time.”

“Who gives a shit about Ethan? I don’t want you starting this
wallowing crap all over again over Myles. I know it was another call for him, I
can tell by your little sappy tone. I’m just glad you’ve come to your senses
and decided to get out with me
.
”
S
he sounded winded.

“What the heck are you doing? You sound like you’ve just run a
marathon.” The doorbell rang in the other room. “Hold on a sec, Brooke.
Someone’s at the door.” Through the peephole, she was standing there with the
whole kit and caboodle. Brooke stood out there, still on the phone with me, in
a pink velour pantsuit with three totes and a garment bag with a flat iron cord
dragging on the floor. “Hang up, fool.”

She headed straight to my bedroom. Five or so dresses were strewn
haplessly across the bed in a range of colors. My eye was instantly drawn to a
cute little red number, but I wasn’t exactly feeling like I could pull off
sheer sides and a deep cut in the back. The black one looked too much like a
Robert Palmer girl and highlighted all the wrong curves. I found something
wrong with each one. The lesser of the evils was the strapless fuchsia mini
with the
tight-bandaged
lycra
that sucked everything
in. Breathing was overrated. I just needed to look half as hot as Brooke.

Curse that damn
fettuccine
.
I downed a shot of
tequila
for a boost of liquid courage, while
I waited for Brooke to finish. It was smooth, but burned going down. Already
defeated, I sucked on a lime wedge, wondering how in the hell I was going to
make it through a night out. I’d never had a New Year’s without a boyfriend. A
party animal, I had never been. No club-hopping, or raging nights of one
-
night stands and regrets,
followed by puking out my guts. It was always a sweet date night to celebrate
my relationship, topped off with a midnight kiss and missionary sex. Despite
the sexy fuchsia dress and the badass spiked black leather strappy stilettos, I
was still playing dress-up as the new daring version of myself. Behind the
smoky eyes and whipped ponytail, I was out of my element.

“How do I look?” Brooke came twirling out of the bathroom. She
was
gorgeous by any
standard, but with any extra effort, she
was
absolutely stunning. Her long legs
went
for miles and even
longer with the shimmering strappy pumps she wore. She’d toned down the makeup
save for a pop of color with ruby red lips. A sleeveless gold sequins dress,
cut off mid-thigh, bent at every curve of her voluptuous body. Her hair was
slicked back in a bone-straight ponytail. I didn’t say a word. I took another
shot to the head, thankful that she was the designated driver.

We had about an hour until
T
he
S
trip would be blocked off to vehicle
traffic. Out of habit, I unplugged the flat iron and checked the knobs on the
stove. Brooke switched on the lamp next to the sofa and turned the TV
off
.

After we locked up, it was off to the races. By the time we reached
T
he
S
trip, the only parking that was remotely
close was in some suspect lot hidden behind the Venetian on
Koval
.

The streets were lined with people everywhere. Brooke and I held onto
each other as we parted ou
r
way through the crowd, moving with the current. People were on all sides of us
getting downright belligerent, sloppy drunks and the uninhibited alike.

 
“Vegas
, b
aby, yeah!” some guy
yelled, right in my ear and scared the crap out of me, but that kind of
excitement was contagious. I felt a little more daring. Bolder. Though, it
could have been the two shots I had back at the house.

It was wild, crazy, and
cold
.
The little winter that Vegas gets, inche
d
its way in around Halloween and
went
full force through New
Year’s Eve. Still, while the men are all suited, the women shivered with
goose bumps
in their mini
dresses. There I was one of them, rubbing my arms
,
as my lips
chatter
ed
, trying to keep warm. Brooke insisted that
coats cover
ed
up cute
outfits, and I listened against my better judgment.

We finally washed up on the sidewalk at Caesars and made our way to
the
Vee
Bar. As soon as Brooke made it to the bar,
she expertly rustled us up a pair of
L
ong
I
sland iced teas in record time. A
good-looking
guy caught my
eye. Then, so did his girlfriend. Just about every other person was coupled up,
reminding me again of the comfort of being a
“
we
.
”
When our drinks arrived,
Brooke and I toasted to a
N
ew
Y
ear and new dreams.

With each drink, the tension in my muscles loosened. The faster they
arrived
, the faster I took
them down. It was nice not to have to think. Surrounded by all the young
perfectly bouncy-booby girls, I was hyperaware of my insecurities and I needed
a surge of nerves to get me through the night. For one night, I wanted to live
like the movies. I had my best friend in the world and I wanted to remember the
night like a crazy montage of wild clips.

“
Laila
, bottoms ups. Let’s dance.”

I slammed the shot glass onto the bar upside down and wiped my mouth.
We found a little spot in front of the DJ and made it our
dance floor
. The music blared and I could
barely hear as I yelled along with the song. Up and down, the two of us were
bouncing all over the place when a tall chocolaty guy with broad shoulders and
kissable lips came up behind me and slid his hands around my hips. Any other
day, I would have
avoid
ed
him,
but I just smiled up at him and leaned
back into it. His hands wandered down my swaying backside and back up to my
breasts. Brooke threw up her hands in surrender and shot me a look of shock
that could kill. I closed my eyes and pretended the luscious man whose body had
melded mine was someone else. A hollow aching at the meeting of my thighs
reached toward a peak as he turned me toward him within his embrace. He stared
down at me with
hooded
eyes
and labored breath
s
.

“Want to go somewhere with me?” he asked with innuendo dripping from
each word.

The unabashed version of me sent chills down my spine. The things I
wanted to do frightened me and made me question which person was the real me.
And each drink made it harder for me to tell. The room began
to spin
and dizziness
ensued. The next thing I knew, the floor stared me in the face.

My vision went in and out of focus. One second I was face forward on
the
lacquered
cement and
the next Brooke was running beside me to catch up with two men who were
escorting me out a side exit.
W
e
ended up in an alley-like loading dock for delivery vehicles. Muffled sounds
from the club seemed miles away as we walked the dead-end road. I kept looking
behind us, thinking some opportunistic killer lurked in the shadows. It could have
easily been a set for
Death Wish
or some revenge movie. Chilly. Secluded. Oil-ridden asphalt.
And
a slew of locked doors.
If someone wanted to get us, this would be the
place. We
were
sitting
ducks, ripe for the taking. Somewhere far off, the din of the New Year’s Eve
crowd on
T
he
S
trip buzzed like auditory
breadcrumbs leading us back to civilization.

Somehow, we wound up back in front of Caesars facing
Margaritaville
. During our escapades of dancing and being
ejected from a club, hours had elapsed. It was already a quarter to midnight.
On the hotel rooftops, they were preparing for the big fireworks display. Most
of the alcohol had already kicked in and the noise level rose to ear-numbing
levels. At that point, most people were where they wanted to be for the
countdown and Brooke was hell-bent on making it
Margaritaville
in time
, whether she
had to drag me or not.

After some determined shoving and barging, we made it to the front
door, where the bouncer seemed all too pleased to permit our entrance. He whispered
something to another guy, who ushered
us
inside to a VIP section.

“You paid for bottle service?” I asked. I knew she was trying to go
all out for New Year’s, but bottle service costs an arm and a leg. And on New
Year’s Eve, the ante is upped so high you may as well take out a mortgage on
Park Place.

Her sneaky smile let me know she had something in the works. “No. He
did
.
”
B
uoyantly she pointed to a
table adjacent to ours. My vision was still a tad blurry, so
I
squinted in that general
direction. The guy’s face was familiar. His name lingered on the tip of my
tongue, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

“Who is that? I can’t tell from here.” But before she could say his
name, I knew. “Is that…Kale Reed?”

“As a matter
-
of
-
fact, it is. He’s my date
tonight.” My emotions must have shown all over my face because she immediately
retracted. “I mean, my other date. You know you come first,
Laila
.
But, it’s Kale Reed
!
You can’t turn down Kale Reed.”

She’s right, of course. You don’t decline a date with a sizzling hot
burgeoning actor, who won an Oscar for his role in the best love story of all
times. He was endearing and rough around the edges. The love scenes would make
any red-blooded woman pray for someone with even a smidgen of what he’d been
blessed with from birth. Naturally, he was right up Brooke’s alley. Although
she usually like
d
them young, his lined salt
-
and
-
pepper hair and symmetrically carved face
said he was all man
.

Still, I wished that she’d have let me know up front. Instead of
making such a big deal about me going out with her, I could have been at home
wallowing. Just what I wanted, to be the third wheel while Brooke dates a
celebrity.
A gorgeous, hard-bodied, honey-eyed celebrity.

Eight,
s
even,
s
ix,
f
ive
,
with every second, the countdown wedged me
into a corner.
People
surrounded me
at every turn, but I had never felt more alone. Tears
swelled at the rims of my eyes and I wanted to be anywhere else. Brooke hugged
me tightly,
and
then
she turned and found Kale. Four, three, two, one, Happy New Year! The sound of
my pounding heart and sudden hyperventilating drowned out the noise. I watched
from afar: kissing, hugging, happiness. I was suffocating. Frantically, I
searched through the river of people for an exit.

We had a rule set in stone; we come together, we leave together.
Since college, we protected each other and acted
as
the voice of reason, when the other seemed
to be lacking. It was the first time I’d broken the rule. As I caught my breath
outside, I hoped she had sense enough not to go home with him.