The Break-Up Psychic (22 page)

“I’m done with him, Lu. I think…I think I’m going to go for it with Sam, see if there’s something real there.”

“And you think you can trust him?” Luanne calls as she enters the bathroom. Her tone isn’t surprised exactly, it’s more like skeptical.

“What? You don’t think I’m capable of it?” I ask, turning in my position on the sofa to eye the bathroom door.

“I’m not saying any such thing. I just know you’ve got your guard up and you don’t
wanna
get your heart tore up again.” Luanne leans against the doorframe as she applies a fragrant body butter to her tanned legs. I can smell the lilac-scented lotion from across the room.

“I know I don’t know him all that well but, Lu, I really want to try and trust him. He’s sweet and funny and…he’s says he’s crazy about me,” I say, smiling at the memory of his words.

“Well he’d be crazy not to be. Just don’t go forgetting about all them resolutions you made.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say, unable to remember a single resolution when my mind is full of images of Sam and the feel of his lips on me.

“Good, because as much as I love you, the vodka’s getting expensive.”

Online shopping for women is like online gambling for men. Once you get hooked, you’re left broke and feeling slightly ashamed. Do I really need another pair of deep-purple suede platform pumps? I feel like I might. I delete the practical brown leather loafers and click the
Checkout
icon which quite unhelpfully asks me to review my order again. It’s like a digital AA sponsor for shopaholics. “
Are you sure you really need that second pair? What’re you making up for? Let’s talk about transference…”

With my mother’s wedding now just ten days away, I really need to get serious about two things: the shoes I’ll be wearing with my Maid of Honor dress, and whether or not it’s too soon to ask Sam to come as my plus one. I reluctantly delete the platform pumps and complete my purchase of a nice strappy kitten-heel that’ll go great with the lavender dress my mother chose for me. If only getting a date for the nuptials were this easy. I’d love to put Sam James in my checkout cart.

Sam, Sam, Sam. Why are you so deliciously cute with your perfect ass and your sexy dimple and your…other impressive attributes? Concentrating on anything has been impossible since Luanne left for work two hours ago. Every attempt I’ve made to distract myself from thinking about our date tomorrow night has ended in failure. I can’t seem to find a single television show, blog, or book that can stop my mind from recalling vivid images of Sam wearing nothing but a smile.

I grab my cell phone and scroll through my contact list which is like a scrapbook for ex-boyfriends. I’m not planning to call any of them ever again, but not keeping them listed is a recipe for disaster. How can I avoid the inevitable late night booty-call if I don’t know who’s calling me? My finger slows after
R
and the contact list stops as Sam’s number comes into view. Although we haven’t been on the requisite third date to warrant his information being stored in my contact list, I figure there’s not much difference between drinks and dinner, and drinks and sex. I’ll choose Sam’s idea of a date over unlimited pasta and breadsticks any day.

I press
Send
before I can think better of it and wait nervously to hear his voice.

“You’ve reached Sam, leave a message.”

Damn. Why is it when I don’t want him to answer he does, and when I do want him to pick up, I get voicemail? Must have something to do with physics.

“Hey, Sam, it’s Ellie. Listen, I know we’ve got plans for tomorrow but I was wondering if maybe you wanted to grab a beer with me later tonight. Luanne’s at The Cavern and I promised to be her human shield when Jason’s around so…call me back, okay?”

I end the call, smiling to myself at the thought of our next rendezvous. Maybe I should refresh my makeup in case he calls me back. Better yet, maybe I should pack a little makeup bag for my purse in case of another unplanned sleepover. I head into the bathroom and grab my eyeliner from the sink, touching up the thin line that’s been smeared by the day’s intense heat. I know it’s cliché, but if I had to pick my best feature, it would definitely be my boobs. They’re spectacular. My deep blue eyes are a close second.

I dab a pretty gloss over my naturally pink lips and run my hands through my hair, building volume. I think an impromptu date with Sam requires something sexier than my usual pretty A-line dress. I pull the light string in Luanne’s closet and step back to consider my options. It’s a tough call. I could go for naughty school teacher, naughty secretary, or slutty Jazzercise instructor. Hmm… I pull a blue halter-style dress from the closet that’ll show a good amount of leg. The dress is sexy and as an added bonus, my cleavage won’t be exposed for the world to see. A rarity for Luanne’s wardrobe.

I let the cotton material float down over my stomach, which is full of over-excited butterflies. My black pumps sit high up on a shelf in the closet, a place of honor for them. Their red bottoms smile at me as I bring them down, admiring the intricate craftsmanship of the dainty stitching. These shoes are perhaps the best thing to come out of my relationship with Tim. He bought them for me on a work trip to Paris and I was ecstatic when I lifted the lid from the box. I’d been so disappointed when he told me I couldn’t tag along on the trip. He said we wouldn’t be able to spend any time together because of all the meetings he had scheduled throughout the week. Of course, in retrospect his meetings were probably less about creating new jobs and more about getting blow-jobs from his client’s pretty French secretary.

I give my reflection a good once-over in the mirror, spinning to the side so I can see the skirt swish around my legs. That’s another benefit of living with Luanne, lots of stairs to walk up and down each day. My legs have never looked better. I pick up my phone and check the time, 9:45 p.m. This is ridiculous. I’m just going to head over to The Cavern and hope I can catch Sam there. Maybe it’s too loud inside the bar, and he didn’t hear his phone ring.

I grab my purse and head out of the apartment, turning the lock once I’m in the hallway. I reach out my right hand, preparing to knock on the apartment’s door, but stop myself. Every time I’ve left the apartment for the past few weeks I’ve followed the same ritual, knocking on the door for the strength to stick to my resolution, but I don’t think I need it anymore. Maybe Sam James wasn’t what I had in mind when I resolved to start dating boring, moderately attractive men, but he’s exactly the kind of man I’ve been looking for—kind, honest and capable of making my toes curl in ecstasy. I drop my hand and turn away, skipping down the stairs as a new lightness overcomes me. I don’t need any more stupid resolutions. I just need Sam.

The Cavern is as lively as ever and I have to step around a pack of sorority girls who’re loitering in the parking lot. They’ve all got their phones out, taking pictures of themselves with beer bottles held before them. Nothing says collegiate learning like the drunken Facebook post. I pull open the crooked pine door and step into a sea of rowdy patrons. I spot Luanne instantly, her bouffant up-do adding five inches to her height behind the crowded bar. Sam, on the other hand, is nowhere to be found. I move over to the bar, dodging lit cigarettes and dirty dancers, and spot a vacant stool next to Hart.

I’m starting to think Hart either lives there or has lost the use of both legs. I’ve never seen the man outside of the bar nor have I seen him stand. His bladder must be made of cast-iron.

“Hi, Hart, how’re you?” I ask, taking my seat.

Hart turns slowly toward my voice, his droopy eyes evidence of one too many tonight. “What’re you
doin
’ here?”

“I came to see if I could catch Sam. And I want to thank you. I thought a lot about what you said the other day, about not letting the past hold me back and having faith. It was good advice.” I sit forward on the stool, trying to hold myself steady in front of Hart who seems to be losing his battle with balance.

“Don’t know why you’d ever listen to an
ol
’ fool like me,” he says, bringing a tumbler half-full of honeyed whiskey to his lips.

I watch his movements, aware something must’ve happened over the past couple of days to warrant this change in his attitude. “You’re not a fool, and it was good advice. Whatever happened with Sam and his ex is in the past. I can’t let it hold us back.”

Hart drops the glass back to the bar with a dull thud. “The past has a way of
creepin
’ in, upsetting the balance of things.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, confusion trumping the nervous excitement I’ve felt since leaving the apartment.

“
Nothin
’. Listen, how about you and I head out of here? I could do with some fresh air.”

“I’d love to, really, but I want to wait around a bit, see if I can meet up with Sam.”

Hart pushes himself off the bar, getting to his feet. I’m half tempted to throw out my arms and walk behind him, the way you do with babies when they’re taking their first steps. But despite the fact he appears to have met the better end of a bottle, he remains miraculously upright. “C’mon,
darlin
’, this
ain’t
the place for you. Let’s step outside for a bit.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” I say, trying to read Hart’s serious expression, “I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.”

“It’s just not a good night is all,” he says, offering me a hand.

I’m on the verge of accepting it when Jason’s boisterous laugh erupts from the back of the room. I ignore Hart and stand, leaning so I can see through a gap in the dance floor. I spot Roxy leaning on one leg against the wall, her beautiful brown hair falling in a sheet down her back. Her graceful neck is exposed as she throws back her head and laughs heartily. I lift my hand to wave, but she pushes off the wall and turns away from me, looking down at someone seated in front of her. She places a hand on his shoulder and trails her fingers toward his neck, the move seductive and sexy. I can’t help but feel a little smug. Obviously the perfume’s working its magic.

I step away from Hart. I want to say hello to Roxy, but he places an arthritic hand on my shoulder. “C’mon,
darlin
’, you don’t need to be here for this.”

“What? Why?” I ask, confused by his persistence. As I look across the room at Roxy and the victim of the Havana
Vanille
, a hard knot forms in the pit of my stomach. I watch as she leans over the person in the chair. I can see the black thong she’s wearing peeking over the top of her jeans as she leans down further, her head moving to the side so she can whisper in his ear. Sam’s face comes into view. I watch, disbelieving, as he listens patiently to whatever propositions Roxy’s murmuring to him. He’s not smiling, and his hands remain in his lap, but there’s an unmistakable look on his face, a look that’s stuck between the past and the present. I know that look. It’s the same one that crosses my face whenever Tim resurfaces, confusing me.

I feel trapped; the soles of my shoes remain stubbornly stuck to the floor, refusing to move me from this spot. A sickening realization washes over me. Sam is Roxy’s ex. I watch as she sways her hips back and forth, touching Sam on the shoulder, then on his face. He looks up to her and says something I can’t make out. She brushes the hair back from his forehead, her hands lingering on him. I gasp for air, not realizing I’ve been holding my breath. I can’t stop watching them. This must be why he’s been so coy about his past. Roxy was telling the truth. Her ex, Sam, is still in love with her.

Confusion, disappointment, jealousy and anger are moving through me all at once. I can’t believe I fell for his act. I fought against every instinct I have and put my faith in him because he told me I could trust him. He told me he was crazy about me, but I’m the one who’s been crazy. I wanted so desperately to believe he would be honest with me. What a fool I am.

My feet finally working, I take a step back and grab the bar to steady myself as Hart brings his hands up to hold on to my shoulders. I turn my head away from Sam and lean into Hart, feeling dizzy.

“He didn’t come in with her,” he says.

“What does that matter?” I gasp, closing my eyes against the spinning floor.

“She just showed up. She’s always showing up, confusing things.”

“I don’t understand. You told me it was all in the past.”

“It is.”

“That’s not what it looks like!”

Luanne approaches me from behind the bar, leaning over the counter to grab my arm. “What’s wrong?” she asks. I can tell by the look on her face she hasn’t seen them.

“I’m such a fool, Lu.”

Luanne looks to Hart for answers and he nods in the direction of Sam and Roxy. Luanne rises up on tiptoe and searches the crowd. She must spot the two of them because her expression turns angry and she releases my arm to duck beneath the bar, resurfacing with a Louisville Slugger.

“I’ll kill him,” she says, slapping the stained wood against her palm.

I shake my head and steady myself, standing tall as Hart releases his hold on me. “No, don’t do anything.”

“Fine, I’ll leave him be and take a practice swing at Miss America instead.”

“No, Lu. They haven’t done anything wrong.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I thought you and he were—”

“We’re nothing, Luanne. I should’ve listened to my instincts. I went and threw my heart at the first guy who was nice to me. It’s not his fault. It’s mine for forgetting every lesson I’ve ever learned when it comes to love.”