Authors: Clare James
“It’s not your fault,” I tell her. This one is all on me.
“Okay, you don’t want to live in the freak show that is my
home anyway.” She taps a finger to her temple. “I know, we’ll go to Nora’s.
That’s what your big sis is for, right?” Tia reaches out, yanking on my arms to
pull me up from the couch, but I can’t do it. I can’t move.
“Not yet,” I tell her. Though I’m thinking, not
ever.
“Daniel
told me to take an extra day off because he thinks I have the flu. And I really
need another day to figure this out.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Stevie,” she says,
rubbing my arms.
“Max is gone all week; I have some time to work with here.”
“You sure?”
“I am,” I say to her as much as to myself.
“Okay, babe. One more day. But when I check on you
tomorrow, I want you showered, packed, and ready to go.”
I nod and Tia kisses my cheek on the way out.
Surprisingly, I do feel better when she leaves. Until Free
starts calling for Max in my voice. “Max, Maaaaxxx,” he mimics from the
bedroom.
I grab a bottle of wine and bring Free back into the living
room.
“Max is an ass,” I tell him, clinking the bottle to his
cage.
He puffs out his tiny white feathers and latches onto the
words. “Max is an ass,” he says over and over. And that is my soundtrack as I
sit on the couch and work on my bottle of red.
It’s not long before I’m restless. I can’t handle the sound
of TV or music, so I absent-mindedly flip through my magazines until a title
captures my attention: “How I Got My Sexy Back in Six Easy Steps
.
”
Now this is something I can get behind. If there has ever
been anyone in need of getting their sexy back, it’s me.
I lean back on the couch and read the list aloud:
#1—Look the part.
#2—Be assertive and confident.
#3—Get away from your normal surroundings.
#4—Flirt with a stranger.
#5—Go dancing.
#6—Have a sexual adventure.
As I read the article, one thing is glaringly true—my sexy
has long left the building. But no more. My mind races, forming a plan and I go
with it. I mean if
Cosmo
can’t help put my life on the right track, what
can?
I finish my wine, rip the article out of the magazine, and
get to work.
The next morning, I’m thoroughly
disgusted with myself. In the shower, I shave every last hair off my
ever-loving body, do a home conditioning and color treatment on my fading
blonde locks, then I paint my nails and really do it up. No shortcuts. Just
because my world is falling apart, doesn’t mean I have to look like a hot mess.
And if I want to keep one last shred of dignity, I can’t
stay here any longer—so I get ready to tackle my list. After all,
looking
the part
is my first step on the journey back to sexy.
I take flat iron to smooth my shoulder length bob into a
style, paint my lips with the reddest tube I can find, and slide into my
itchiest most uncomfortable underwear—the pair way back in my drawer that I
always promised to wear for Max, but never got around to. I wonder if we’ll
have another chance. That fact that this is where my mind goes is pathetic. How
could I even consider being with him again? And why are people more desirable
when they seem unattainable? I didn’t want Max sexually, until I found out
someone else did.
It’s messed up.
I pack up all my belongings and load up my SUV. That’s one
good thing about moving every year. It’s taught me how to live light. I feed
Free and stroke his soft feathers, whispering parting endearments to the only
pet I’ve ever had. Then I leave Max a note telling him I’ll let him know where
I land. One final dose of guilt.
But if all goes according to plan,
he’s
going to be
the one looking for
me
when he returns. And then
I’ll
get to
decide what we do next.
I take one last look around the apartment and say a silent
goodbye. But when my eyes meet Free again, I can’t do it.
Fuck it. He’s mine, and he comes with me.
Despite Tia’s protests, I decide to stay in the Loop for a
few days. My sister’s away on business so I can’t crash there, and there’s no
way in hell am I going to my parents’ house in the suburbs. Plus, there’s a
nice Marriott in the neighborhood, and I have enough points to stay until the
end of the week without having to dip into my measly bank account. Like my list
says,
get away from normal surroundings
.
I check in and bring up my first round of luggage before
sneaking Free to my room.
After I settle myself, and Free, into our new home, I
finish getting ready for the evening. I complement my polished look with an LBD
and my highest black shoes with a million straps. And with a quick, but
appeasing, look in the full-length mirror, I head out and make my way to the
lobby bar. If I’m going to change my life in one week, I need a little liquid
courage to begin.
The cocktail waitress comes over to me. “Hi there, what can
I get for you, hon?”
My first test. I will not hem and haw. I will not ask what
she recommends. I will not change my mind five times. I will be clear. Assertive.
In charge.
“A martini would be great,” I say. “Ketel One, up, dirty,
extra olives.”
Nicely done, Stevie.
“Sure thing. Coming right up. Great shoes, by the way.”
“Oh, thanks. They’re old. On sale at—” I stop myself before
I can get both shoes in my mouth.
First test? I fail with flying colors.
I shake my head. “Never mind,” I say. “Thanks though.”
My bouncy server smiles and goes to the bar to retrieve my
drink, and I pull out my notebook to get to work. But before my eyes can move
to the table, they get snagged on something, or rather, someone. Yes, sitting
at the table to my left is the epitome of
bringing sexy back
. Look out
J.T., this man has brought it to the nth degree. Massive locks of dark hair
frame icy blue eyes—bedroom eyes, as Mom would say. Fuck me eyes, Tia would
call them. His olive skin is covered in the perfect amount of stubble,
contrasting with his impeccably-pressed suit. A striking dark suit that somehow
looks more rock and roll than leather.
My breath actually hitches at the sight of him.
He smiles and then tips his head to look under my table. It
takes me a minute to understand what he’s doing, until he sits back up. He
nods, mouthing the word,
nice
. Ah, he heard my conversation with the
server. And, if I’m not mistaken, he likes my shoes, too.
Hmmm. Let’s see if I can cross off something
else on my list: flirt with a stranger.
I smile with a contrived come-hither glance that I’m sure
looks more like I have a weird facial tick. I’m so not the flirting type. Crazily
enough, that’s how I landed Max. He liked the chase. Little did he know, I
wanted him. I just didn’t know the way to show him how much. Deep down, I think
I’m really hoping that’s what this little experiment will help me do—start over
with Max.
No, I’m not ready to go there. This week is about me, not
him.
Come on, Stevie. Time to get your head in the
game.
I rest my chin in my palm, looking over to the server,
pretending to be interested in the bartender shaking my drink. An easy smile
rests on my lips. I stretch my leg out, offering my shoe aficionado a better
look. But when I steal a glance, I see he’s moved on. He’s deep in
conversation on his cell. I laugh at my ridiculous attempts at flirting. And
when the waitress comes over with my martini, I chug down half of it and order
another.
“I gotcha, doll.” She winks. “This time I’ll bring the shaker,
too.”
Continuing to sip the ice-cold drink, I let it warm my
insides while I stare at the magazine article and make notes about my new
transformation. This may take a while.
A silver shaker covered in condensation enters my line of
vision. Perfect timing, I just finished the last of my drink. But when I look
up to say thanks, it’s not my server standing in front of me.
It’s my footwear fan.
“Care for some company?” he asks, pouring the drink from
the shaker into a fresh, frosty glass.
I clear my throat. He’s even more spectacular up close.
Thinner than Max, but I don’t know, somehow he seems even more masculine in
this tight package. Tailored pants that show off his … assets … paired with a
black shirt rolled at the sleeves. How the hell did he lose the jacket and tie
in all of the ten seconds I was looking away?
“Sure,” I tell him, gesturing to the open chair.
He takes a seat and extends his hand. “I’m Gabe.”
So this is what goes on outside my door on a Tuesday night?
Who knew?
“Stevie,” I reply, offering him my hand.
He takes it in both of his and shivers tingle up my arm to
the top of my scalp.
“So what brings you to town?” he asks, sliding his chair
dangerously close.
“A little stay-cation, I guess you could say. I don’t live
far from here.”
Or I didn’t. But I’m not going to tell him I’m currently
homeless.
“What about you?” I say quickly so he doesn’t get a chance
to ask a follow-up question.
“Not sure,” he says. “I was supposed to have a business
meeting, but my client canceled at the last minute. And I’m not quite ready to
go home yet.”
The server comes springing back to check in. She takes my
empty glass. “Doing good, hon?”
I nod.
“What about you, Gabe?” she asks.
“I’m good, thanks,” he says before swiping the spear of
olives from the glass she’s holding.
Once she leaves, he turns to me and says, “Open up.”
Without thinking, I do as he asks and he slides the
vodka-soaked olives into my mouth.
Hey, I’m doing it. I’m actually flirting with a
stranger.
He smiles. “Don’t want to waste your dinner. I’m getting
the impression that’s all you’re eating tonight.”
“There’s a meal in every glass,” I tell him.
“Well, be careful. Johnny’s martinis have made men three
times your size turn into a drunken puddle.”
“Come here often, then?” I ask. “I see you’re on a first-name
basis with all the staff.”
“Yeah, I’m here a lot. I don’t like to be home much,” he
adds with a trace of sadness in his eyes. “May I?” he asks, motioning to the
chair.
“Yes, of course,” I say, wondering what it is at home that
keeps him away. I let my gaze move from his eyes down to his ring finger. It’s
bare, without a trace of a tan line.
He shakes his head with a faint smile on his lips. “No,
it’s not that. I’m not married. Trust me, if I was, I wouldn’t be hanging out
at a hotel bar.”
“Well, being home is overrated,” I say, trying to make his
sad eyes go away.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Totally.”
He chuckles, and I feel it all the way to my core.
“Is that what prompted this
stay-cation
of yours,
Stevie?”
“Something like that.” I go for coy. I’ve heard it’s a good
flirt tactic.
“Hmmm.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eyes and it
is so sexy.
He
is so sexy. I find myself licking my lips, I’m not
kidding. How cheesy, but I can’t help it. It just happens. Between my sexual
frustration, the break-up, all the crying, and now the plan and scheming, I’m a
complete hormonal mess.
Gabe’s lips tighten in a thin line, like he’s trying to
prevent the laughter. I think he’s onto me. Must remember that licking lips
during flirt session is over the top. But he hasn’t run yet, and that has to be
a good sign.
“So no husband for you I take it?” he asks.
“Nope.”
“Boyfriend?”
I take another gulp of my martini and blurt out, “Not
anymore. I caught him cheating on me and had to move out of our place.”
And
this
is why I don’t drink
in front of people.
“Shit,” he says under his breath. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. I don’t know why I’m compelled to
tell him my shit, but he somehow makes it easy. “I have a feeling after my
little get-away, he’ll be fighting his way back to me.”
“Really?” Gabe smirks. “Interesting. Tell me more.”
“Well.” I take a peek at him from under my lashes. Then I
just do it. I push the magazine article forward.
He shoots me another one of his sideways glances and pulls
the article closer. He turns to me with a blank expression, and I immediately
feel the need to break the silence.
“After I get through this list and make some changes,
there’s no way he’ll be able to stay away from me. And then I’ll be back in the
driver’s seat.”
Oh no. The sad eyes are back. “You mean to tell me that
he
cheats on you and you think
you’re
the one who needs to make some
changes? Come on, Stevie. I know we’ve just met, but you seem smarter than
that.”
“I am. This is not for him. It’s for me.”
“Ah,” he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Good
girl.”
His words cause an immediate flush throughout my body, not
to mention a throbbing between my thighs. I cross my legs and ride out the
sensation, trying not to think about a better way to do just that.
After two more cocktails—when I’m fully tipsy and then
some—our conversation circles back to my magazine article.
“So, what’s your plan?” he asks.
“Hmm?” I look at him, embarrassingly slow on the uptake.
“With this article?” He leans close and I can’t help but
breathe in his scent—sandalwood and citrus. I move closer and inhale his warm, crisp
fragrance.
“Stevie?”
Oh my fucking God, this man is so hot—make that h-a-w-t. I
do my best to lock him into memory for later. He’s better fodder than my
imaginary yoga threesome.
Once I come to, I tap the magazine article with my newly
manicured finger and start to tell him about Operation: Get My Sexy Back.
As I’m talking, his eyes blaze into mine. I don’t think
I’ve ever captured someone’s attention like I have with Gabe. This flirting stuff
is getting easier. And more intense. If he looks at me that way again, I may
have to club him over the head and drag him up to my room tonight.
I’m dying here, which makes no sense considering my heart
was shattered just a few days before. Of course,
this
has nothing to do
with the heart.
“I guess I see where you’re going with this plan, Stevie.
But are you sure that’s what
you
want?”
“We’ll see. It’s all about options. I feel like everything
was taken from me when Max cheated—my home, my relationship, my life—and I had
no say. I need to regain at least some control and maybe get a little payback
while I’m at it. ”
“Well then, okay,” Gabe says, placing his hand on mine.
“Okay, what?” I ask, trying to act nonchalant as I turn
inside out at his touch.
“Okay, I’ll help.”
“You will?” I’m stunned. “Why?”