Rescue Breathing (9 page)

I nod my head and touch my glass to hers.
I have zero interest in Monica. She's pretty to look at and the
guys are getting an eyeful every time she bends over in laughter at
one of their jokes, but I'm distracted—and it's not by Monica. It's
no coincidence that I had the guys meet up with me here at The
Fairmont Olympic to kick off our weekend. Olivia's staying at this
hotel for her conference and I have to—no,
need
—to see her again. She's taken up permanent
residency in my head and it's a problem.

What I need to do is just fuck her and be
done with it. Once I've gotten mine, I can move on. As it is, all I
can think about is how she would feel under me. If Olivia would
have just taken me up on my offer to bring her to her hotel last
night, I wouldn't be in this constant state of arousal. I would
have convinced her to come back to my hotel so I could finish what
I started in the bathroom on the damn plane.

Although she's staying at this hotel, my
pride has gotten the better of me—again. I refuse to seek her out
and ask for her room number at the front desk. I know I should just
call her like I said I would. The voice in my head tells me
otherwise—that I should just leave her alone. It's better if she
doesn't get messed up with me. Make it a clean break. Perhaps a
little distraction with Monica will help get my mind off
Olivia.

The guys and I continue to swap stories,
each trying to embarrass Travis as much as we can. Monica throws
her head back in laughter and places a hand on my chest.

“
You'
re just so funny!
” she insists after hearing more of my stories.

She
's a pretty girl with an ugly laugh. I suppose it's one way
nature keeps its balance.

Monica stands on her toes, trying to
whisper into my ear, but I don't bend down to accommodate her. “Why
don't you show me your serious side upstairs in your room?” she
whispers loudly. Wow. She moves faster than I do.

I close my eyes. A part of me wants to
take her up on her offer just so I can get my rocks off, but a
bigger part of me just isn't into her. Like, at all. I'd only be
imagining that I'm with Olivia anyway.

“
I'm not staying at this hotel, doll. And,
no offense, but I'm not interested.”

Monica starts her ugly laugh again.
“
See?
You
're so
funny!”

I shake my head and take a long sip of my
beer, realizing that I
've got myself a cling-on. “Do you recognize my buddy,
Marc, over there?” I ask Monica, pointing to my friend who is deep
in conversation with one of Travis's co-workers.

Monica wraps an arm around her waist and
rests her opposite elbow upon her forearm, her free hand clutching
her nearly empty wine glass.
“Is that Marcus Kennedy from KQMO?” she asks, pointing her
glass at Marc.

Since Marc is now a reporter and anchor on
a Seattle television station, he's a local celebrity of sorts. It
comes in handy now and then—like when we need last-minute dinner
reservations or tickets to a game. Most of the time, it's annoying
because a shit-ton people come up to him all the time. Although, on
the flip side of that coin, a lot of those people are women because
Marc is so damn good-looking. A single,
built-like-a-brick-shithouse, six-foot-two black man with eyes so
green you'd swear they weren't real makes many a woman cream. A guy
like him doesn't stay a secret for long. Needless to say, Marc has
become quite popular since coming back to Seattle.

“
Yep,” I confirm. “He's not seeing anyone.”
I flash my eyes wide at her. “A lot of these guys aren't married.
Mingle,” I encourage her. “I'm bowing out of contention because
I've just started seeing someone.” A lie, yes, but I need Monica to
move on.

Monica pouts her lower lip and looks at me
disappointedly.
I nod my
head toward the group of men and she takes her cue, moving on to
her victim. I let out a breath, relieved that Monica's attention is
elsewhere. She's gorgeous, but she'
s no Olivia.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Olivia

I
've had a long, very long, boring day. I signed myself up
for a series of lectures about post-traumatic stress disorder, the
basis of my own research. This morning, I sat through several
talks, a poster session, and then a “lunch and learn” presentation
on the use of Minipress in patients with severe post-traumatic
stress reactions. I'm a little disappointed. I haven't really
enjoyed any of the presentations I've been to and I'm starting to
lose faith that I'm going to get anything out of the rest of my
time here. It's so rare that I get to come to these conferences,
never mind present at one, that I guess I was kind of hoping this
would blow my socks off. Oh well. No harm no foul. At least I got
to get out of New York City for a few days.

And of course I did meet Owen.
Huh, Owen. Haven't heard from
him since we got here, although that was a mere twenty-four hours
ago. I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting, but if I'm honest,
it bothers me a little that I haven't heard from him. It amazes me
sometimes what a girl I can be. I guess I'll just chalk that one up
to it was nice being flirted with and I may still have it after
all. That's what Charley would tell me anyway.

I sit alone in the conference hall for a
moment, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair I've been in for
the last several hours. I don't know what to do with myself. There
is a dinner going on, which I am avoiding like the plague. I have
no interest in being hit on by old psychologists over too dry
chicken marsala and Italian cookie platters; not to mention, it
starts at 5:30. Who the hell under the age of seventy-five eats
dinner at 5:30?

I decide I should probably go upstairs and
give Charley a call so we can plan our evening.
Plus, I haven't really had a chance to
have a real talk with her since I got here, and even though I'm
spending the evening with her, I'm longing for a heart-to-heart
with my best friend. The distance from home is exacerbating my
ever-present loneliness and I'm craving closeness with someone
familiar. I gather my paperwork and notebooks, stuffing them into
my briefcase. After taking the last drink from my cranberry and
seltzer, the one positive from today's conference, I start toward
my room.

* * *

“
He said what?”

Charley is telling me about her current
boyfriend—if you can call him that. She's been dating this guy for
just a few weeks, but it started intense and has fizzled just as
quickly. Sadly that's Charley's M.O. She's phenomenal at giving
advice to others, but taking her own? Not so much.

“
He said I'
m a
bitch
. A bitch!
Can you imagine?!” she huffs incredulously. “So I say to him,
'You're one to talk. You fight like a woman.'”

I laugh. “Oh, Charley, when will you
learn? A pretty face is just that, only that. You put too much
stock in these one-night stands. They can't always end as a
relationship.”

“
Liv, I'm telling you. You might have
something here. I'm swearing off men. It's official.”

There is a pause, and then we both start to
laugh hysterically.

After a few more minutes of boy talk, we
plan our activities for the night. Charley is going to meet me in
the bar. We're going to have some dinner and then go out on the
town, maybe dancing.

“
I can't wait to hang out, Charley. I've
really missed you,” I choke out, tearing up a bit. It's true. I
have missed her terribly.

“
Ditto here, girlfriend. Get yourself
prettied up and I'll meet you in the bar downstairs at your hotel
at around 7:00. Does that sound good?”

We agree on the plans and times and end our
call.

Knowing I have a little time on my hands
before meeting Charley, I lie on the bed and turn the television
on. As I flip through the channels, my mind wanders a bit. I think
about my brother's upcoming wedding. I'm the maid of honor and I
still have a great deal to do, including planning a bachelorette
party. This gets me thinking about my folks. I haven't talked to
them in a while and I supposed I should call them—or better yet,
visit. Visiting is tough for me, especially since the Jay incident.
When my mother found out what happened, she was very disappointed
in me, which was difficult for me to swallow. I've spent most of my
life trying to please my parents, and having them be disappointed
in me for anything was hard. But this was something I couldn't
control, that even I didn't know about, so that was too much to
bear.

While time has passed, I find it hard to
visit. I still see something in my mother's eyes that makes me
uncomfortable. The only real cure for this is a new relationship, I
suppose. I think deep down she's scared I'm going to become some
spinster psychologist who spends all her time with her nose in
books and not enough time meeting men and eventually making
grandbabies.

I fall asleep with my mind reeling and
wake up a few hours later, refreshed but in a definite need of a
drink. I decide I'm going to make tonight special, so I rummage
through my suitcase and pull out my best outfit.

Standing in the large bathroom, I stare at
myself in the mirror. I remember the glow I saw on my face when I
glanced at myself in the airplane bathroom with Owen. It has since
gone, but for once, I can feel it lingering in the background,
aching to come out. There is hope. It's the first time in a long
time that I have felt like I may have a chance at being happy
again. It's a heady feeling.

My hair is curled and falls artfully down
my back.
I have a desire
to look amazing tonight—another long-dormant feeling. I open my
makeup case and start my transformation.

Pulling the zipper up on my little black
dress, I slip on my one pair of fuck-me heels. I feel a little
silly getting this dressed up, but hey, I don't get to go out that
often, so I'm gonna live it up, right?

After grabbing my keycard, I head to the
elevator, hitting the button for the lobby. I still have about
fifteen minutes before Charley will meet me, but I figure that it's
Saturday night in a busy city in a nice hotel, so we may have to
wait for a table. As I step into the lobby, I am greeted with the
bustling sounds of the Seattle nightlife. The bar is popular and
crowded, and I can't help but smile. Sometimes it's nice to feel
like you're going out somewhere special, and tonight, I feel that
way.

I walk into the bar and stand in the open
entryway, scanning for a table for two. As I look over the crowd, I
notice a very loud bunch of men and one or two very blonde women
standing in a group at the end of the bar. They are clearly
celebrating something and they are loud, boisterous, and amusing.
They look like they're having fun, and for a second, I actually
feel jealous of their little gathering and the fun they're having.
I peruse the room again only to find that all the tables are taken.
I do see, however, two unoccupied barstools toward the middle of
the bar. They are a little too close to the raucous men for good
conversation, but maybe a table will open up soon.

I settle myself at the bar, placing my
handbag down and manage to hoist myself up on the stool without
showing everyone in the bar what color panties I'm wearing. My
phone buzzes on the bar top. It's a text from Charley.

You won
't believe this but I blew a tire.
I'm calling for help now. Don't give up on me yet. I'll text you in
a few to let you know if I can make it!! xoxo C

I frown.
Ugh, that sucks. The bartender comes my way and I
order a mojito, light on the sugar. I'll have a drink, and if I
don't hear from her, I'll just go back up to my room. I text
back:

No worries. Be safe. I'll be at the bar
having a drink.

I can
't help but reminisce about my experience at the airport
bar and I smile to myself. I start to look around the room,
people-watching yet again. As I search for someone with an
interesting story, my eyes pass the entrance to the bar, and I
wonder if it's possible that Owen would walk in.
Like some kind of
movie? Honestly, Olivia
.

I spot the same couple I saw when I came
in last night and I smile warmly at them.
They are very lovey-dovey and kissing and hanging
on each other with no regard for being in public. Jay was not a fan
of public displays of affection (of course, now I know why) and I
often craved that with him. Just a touch, a look, or a peck on the
cheek would have been nice.

I scan a little farther and see Rob, the
clinger from conferences past.
I quickly spin myself around on my seat, praying he doesn't
see me. If he notices that I'm here, I'
m done for.

The bartender brings me my drink and I
give it a stir before taking a sip. It's delicious, and the slight
warmth from the alcohol soothes me almost instantly. I check my
phone one more time and then put it down when I realize that
Charley hasn't texted me back.

I look carefully toward the other side of
the room, trying to avoid Rob
's area. As I sweep my eyes over the crowd, I am
immediately drawn to the rowdy boys' club at the end of the bar. I
turn slightly to observe them. They seem to be a bunch of men who
know each other well—and a hoard of women trying to get to know
them better. I love watching human nature in action like this. It's
entertaining if nothing else.