Trashy (9 page)

Roxie

I dozed off and on all night, but every noise I heard had me jolting awake. When the sun finally started to rise, I fell asleep on the couch, still wrapped up in Adam’s jacket.

A few hours later, I woke up feeling stiff and severely
unrested. I hated getting up in the morning. It was my least favorite part of the day. I liked to sleep in late, hit the snooze button, and sleep longer. Morning was not my friend, but coffee was.

As I trudged bleary-eyed into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee, my fuzzy brain reminded me that when I became a nurse, early mornings might be a must. I stood in the center of the kitchen, grouchy and brooding, while the coffee dripped into the pot. When there was enough for a cup, I snatched it out of the base and dumped it into a clean, white mug.

After adding a little vanilla creamer from the fridge, I cupped my hands around the cup like it was my savior and breathed in the sweet, strong aroma.

I felt sorry for people who didn’t have coffee in their life.

It was tragic.

After a few hearty swallows, I sighed. Feeling slightly less disgruntled, I went and peeked out the blinds. No one was outside watching me. There was no red car. In fact, in the light of day with a comforting cup of coffee in my hand, I was left wondering if perhaps I had imagined it all.

I almost wished I had, but I knew better.

Craig wanted something. This wasn’t the first time we’d broken up. We’d ended our relationship on several occasions. Sometimes it only lasted an hour. Sometimes a couple weeks. Once it lasted six months. Then I went back to him.

If only I’d been strong enough to not let him get to me. If only I’d realized then that loving someone didn’t mean having to be with them. It was entirely possible to love someone from afar. And sometimes it was safer.

If I had stood my ground and not let him sweet talk me back into his life, then I wouldn’t be having all these thoughts right now. I wouldn’t be flinching every time the phone rang or waiting for him to show up in random places.

The truth was those six months we’d been broken up had been painful. I never felt free of him. I never felt relieved or like I was better off. I had missed him. I almost mourned our relationship and what could have been. He was my first love, my only love. The first few months we’d been together had been unlike anything I’d ever known.

He was my entire world.

When I wasn’t with him, I counted the minutes until I was. He made me feel beautiful. He made me feel special and wanted. The chemistry between us was undeniable.

Until things started to change.

But even after that, it was hard to let go of what we had because there was this part of me that always thought it would come back. That if he loved me like that once, he would again.

I was naïve.

I was innocent.

And during those six months, I did everything I could to move on, to forget about the hurt he caused me, to forget about how much I loved him.

It wasn’t easy, and then he started coming around again. He’d show up at my job. He’d leave presents on my windshield—things he knew I loved.

I was foolish because I thought he was the only thing that could take away the hurt. The hurt he inflicted. When he put his arms around me and I laid my head on his chest, that little bit of hope, that piece of my heart that he would always own, made me overlook the truth.

And so I went back to him.

Things were good.

For a couple weeks.

And then they were worse than ever.

But instead of spiraling down into a bleak hole, I realized something.

During those six months apart, something inside me had changed. Something hardened. I was no longer the innocent girl I was at seventeen. I was jaded. I was cynical.

Around that time, I met Harlow. She was my first friend in years. My only friend in years. One of the downfalls of being with Craig was when he became my entire world, there was no room in it for anyone else.

Yeah, I got out of the tiny town I grew up in. I thought I was moving to better, more exciting things and that Craig and I would be on an adventure.

I ended up with no friends, no family, and a guy who tried to control my every move. And the adventure I thought I was getting? It came in the form of a stripper pole.

Not in a million years did I ever think I’d be a stripper.

It was just another example of how my life had somehow changed—how I changed—and I’d not even realized.

But I met Harlow. She was hell-bent on being independent, on taking care of herself. I wanted to be that way. When I heard she needed a roommate, I knew it was my chance, maybe the last chance I had at getting out.

I knew Craig wouldn’t let me go that easily, but after several months of living here and settling into my friendship with her and making plans for my life, I started to fall into a pattern of security. The night he showed up at the bar and Adam treated him to a punch-fest that led to him being hauled away in handcuffs, I thought he’d finally gotten the point.

I thought he’d leave me alone.

Then the phone calls started. The voicemail messages pleading for me to call him back. I ignored him. This time around, the pain wasn’t as bad. The mere thought of him didn’t make me ache. Like I said, I was harder, more jaded. I’d gotten back with him that last time, but there was a large part of myself I hadn’t let him back into. It was almost as if, when we got back together, I realized it wasn’t him I missed. It had been the memory of what we’d been all those years ago.

Maybe he sensed I wasn’t coming back. Maybe he sensed he no longer had me under his thumb. It was making him desperate. Instead of calling, he was following me. The best thing I could do was ignore him. Pretend he wasn’t even there. If he wanted to follow me, fine. I’d go about my life and let him see there was no place in it for him. He’d get bored. He’d move on. He’d shack up with one of his many “side items,” and she would take over the position of being bullied by him.

I felt sorry for whoever she was.

I lifted the cup to take another sip of my coffee, but none flowed past my lips. I yanked the mug away and looked down. It was empty.

I shuffled back in the kitchen to get another cup and wandered into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror.

My reflection made me wince. I took another swallow of coffee, hoping it would fortify me for the sorry sight I made.

My eye makeup was rubbed around my eyes, making me look like a raccoon. My cheeks were pale and sunken, my lips looked chapped, my eyes were bloodshot, and my contacts felt entirely too dry.

I won’t even tell you how bad my hair looked.

I wasn’t an unattractive woman, but right now, I was downright hideous. After I pried the coffee from my hands and peeled off my clothes (carefully hanging Adam’s jacket on the door), I got into a steamy hot shower.

I groaned out loud when the hot spray hit my back and tense muscles. After standing there for a long time just letting my body relax, I got to work with shampoo, deep conditioner, body scrub followed by moisturizing body wash, and a hydrating mask on my face. By the time I was done, the water was cool and the bathroom was filled with steam.

Once I was dry, I smoothed on my favorite coconut lotion and combed out my hair. Instead of covering up with my towel, I hung it up and pulled Adam’s jacket around me and padded into my bedroom.

I laid the coat across my bed and looked at my fluffy pillows longingly. It was going to be a long day. After I dressed in cutoffs and a tank, I went back in the bathroom to blow-dry my hair and pull it into a high ponytail. I was too tired to do anything else with it.

I no longer had chapped lips (thank you ChapStick) or raccoon eyes, but they were still bloodshot and itchy. I took out my contacts and tossed them in the trash. After using a few eye drops and letting my eyes rest for a few moments, I put in a brand new pair. I just didn’t feel like myself without them. My signature violet eyes were just so much better than my brown ones.

Since it was almost time to be at the club, I decided to stop on my way there to grab something to eat. Once I cleaned up the coffee and made sure the pot was off, I brushed my teeth and headed out.

It was hot, the air was thick and muggy, and the sky was overcast and gray. As I climbed in the car and started the engine, I couldn’t help but anticipate seeing Adam today. I wondered if things would be different between us after that kiss. I wondered if he’d kiss me again.

I sat there with the car on for several minutes, waiting for the A/C to start cooling. As I sat there, I went through my phone to make sure I didn’t have any missed calls or texts. I also got distracted by some video on the Internet about a kitten and a puppy.

Kittens and puppies make everything seem happier.

I backed out of my space and drove out to the main road. Sweat was gathering on the back of my neck, and it made me uncomfortable. “What the heck?” I said, glancing down at the A/C controls. It was on. I turned it on full blast and returned my eyes back to the road.

Something fluttering on my windshield caught my attention. I frowned and sat forward, trying to see what it was. It looked like a wrapper or something.

It had probably just gotten blown there last night in the rain.

As I was waiting for the traffic to clear so I could pull out on the main road, my eyes kept going back to the wrapper. Why wasn’t it floating away? It was pinned beneath the windshield wiper.

Like it had been placed there.

I put the car in park and opened the door. I had to lift the wiper blade off it in order to pick it up. It was a piece of a SweeTarts wrapper. I frowned down at it as the traffic on the main road whizzed by. I flipped it over in my fingers, expecting to see the plain white wrapper on the back.

Call me.

The words were written in handwriting I knew all too well.

Another car pulled up behind me, and I hurried to get back in, shoving the note in my bag and getting back to driving. It was still hot as
hades in here. I held my palm up to the vent. It was blowing hot air.

“Seriously!” I yelled. I just had this A/C fixed a couple months ago. They charged me out the ass for the repair. They said it needed a whole new pump or whatever.

I was pretty sure brand new air-conditioners worked longer than a couple months.

I rolled down my window and shut off the non-working I-got-ripped-off piece-of-crap A/C. Maybe instead of some food, I’d just get a smoothie. A cold one.

As I contemplated my flavor options, a red sports car pulled up behind me.

In the light of day, I didn’t react like I had the night before. Or maybe I was just expecting it this time around.

I could see Craig sitting in the driver’s seat, and while I really wanted to either:

A)
Slam on my brakes and let the front end of his car get smashed

or

B) Stick my middle finger out the window and wave it at him furiously

Instead, I did what I promised myself I would do. I ignored him.

That didn’t make him go away. By the time the smoothie place came into view, I was no longer hungry. I knew if I stopped, he would just pull over too. I didn’t feel like dealing with it. I’d end up yelling at him for scaring me so badly last night. I was done yelling at him. It was a waste of breath.

He followed me all the way to the Mad Hatter.

My stomach churned when I signaled to pull in the lot, because I knew if he followed me, a conversation would be inevitable.

Surprisingly, when I turned, Craig kept driving. Thank you, God.

I parked right next to Adam’s motorcycle near the entrance to the club. Just knowing he was inside and that I was going to be alone with him was enough to make me forget all about my stalker ex.

Adam

She might as well wear a label that read “handle with care.” I’d never met a woman so prone to being an oxymoron as Roxie.

One minute she was strutting across the stage, almost naked and looking like a fierce sex kitten and then the next… the next she’s pulling clothes around her and closing up the part of herself she doesn’t want anyone to see.

But that part wasn’t what my jacket covered.

It was a part deep down within her, buried beneath her skin and bones. For all of Roxie’s sexy, independent, and quick-witted ways… there was another side to her. A side I often wondered if she even knew was there.

She was vulnerable. It was as if everything she let the world see was just armor to cover up the parts of herself she most needed to protect.

I told myself for years I didn’t date her, didn’t do anything about the heat she created in me, because she was my dancer. I told myself it was because she was taken. I told myself it was because I was taken.

As I lay awake last night, my dick refusing to soften, I realized something. Those things had only been excuses. I let those things keep me away from her.

Truth was she scared the shit out of me.

It only took one kiss for me to realize it.

That one kiss altered everything. I knew it would. I’d been dodging that kiss for almost two years. It didn’t really make sense that I would run from something I wanted so badly.

Maybe Roxie wasn’t the only oxymoron around.

It was that soft spot inside her that called to me the most. The intensity in which I wanted to protect her, to possess her, and to…
love
her made my body break out in a fine sheen of sweat.

How did a man not lose himself when someone like her was in his life?

She had the ability to consume me, to occupy my every waking thought. Hell, she already owned my cock. I’d already jacked off twice, yet it was still throbbing for her.

These last few months, things shifted between us. The desire I felt for her somehow grew, changed. It became more urgent. It was almost like something deep inside me was pushing me, telling me it was time for us.

I’d never admit it out loud, but I was still scared spitless. I wasn’t sure it was the time for Roxie and me, but timing no longer mattered.

I kissed her.

I claimed her.

There was no going back.

Out in the club, I heard the heavy door open and bang shut. I moved automatically, pushing out of my desk chair and going to the open door. I knew it was probably Roxie, but I wasn’t expecting her this early. She was padding across the hardwood in a pair of gray and neon-yellow sneakers in some sort of animal print. Atop her cutoff jean shorts sat a loose white tank halfway covering a neon-yellow top that sort of looked like a bra. What the fuck was she doing showing her bra off for everyone to see?

“Is that your bra?” I barked before I could think better of it. Women hated when men talked about their clothes, unless of course it was to tell them how awesome they looked.

Roxie stopped in her tracks and looked up. Her eyes widened and she seemed startled that I was standing here. Had she not seen me?

“What?” she said.

“I want to know why your bra is hanging out.”

She gave me a look like I might have grown another head and then glanced down at herself, like she had no clue what she was even wearing. What the hell was wrong with her?

“It’s a tank top…” she said, like it was obvious.

“That yellow thing is not a tank top,” I growled.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a bandeau top. It’s made to go under loose tops like this. It’s stylish.” As she talked, her dark ponytail bounced around on top of her head. Her dark bangs were pushed over to the side, revealing more of one purple eye than the other.

What the fuck was I doing talking about her clothes? “I don’t like it.”

“Too damn bad,” she snapped. Then her shoulders slumped just enough for me to notice the movement. “You know what?” she said, straightening them. She huffed out a breath that ruffled her bangs, and she looked fucking sexy doing it. “I’ve had enough of men to last me a lifetime. Always trying to boss me around. I’m leaving.”

She spun on her sneaker, the oversized white bag on her shoulder swinging around with her, and she marched toward the door.

I rushed after her. “Oh, no you don’t,” I growled, grabbing her elbow. She snatched herself out of my grip, but not before I felt her shaking.

“Hey,” I said, gentling my tone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“It isn’t nothing.” Now that I wasn’t staring at her hot body and way-too-revealing outfit, I focused on her face, on the way her mouth was drawn tight and the circles beneath her eyes. Added to the way I felt her trembling beneath my touch, I knew she was lying.

“I just don’t feel that great,” she said. “Can you train me tomorrow?”

My eyes narrowed as I considered ordering her to stay. And see, this is what I knew would happen. I was already rushing after her, trying to read her mood and gauging my words before I let them out of my mouth.

One kiss and I was already wrapped.

Fuck me.

She didn’t wait for me to reply. She pulled open the door, ready to barge out into the sunlight. But she didn’t. Instead, she froze. Her eyes seemed to focus on something outside, and then she slammed the door shut. “On second thought, let’s just do it now.”

“Woman, you’re giving me whiplash,” I rumbled. “What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, avoiding my stare.

“Fair enough.” I shrugged. If she didn’t want to talk about it right now, fine. But she was going to tell me eventually.

“Really?” She seemed relieved, to the point that it made me feel bad.

“Yes, babe. Really.” Remembering how she jerked away from me just seconds before, I made my movements deliberate, reaching for her hand and tangling our fingers together. She looked down at where we were joined and then back up at me.

I didn’t know how to read the look on her face. It was a mix between fear, relief, and longing. She didn’t pull her hand away.

“Come on,” I said, leading her toward the office. “Let me show
ya how to run this place.”