Last Heartbreak (5 page)

T
he night air is crisp
, and my face is frozen by the time I make it back to my building. I'm almost to the elevators when someone calls out my name. I glance around and see Mindy standing by the front desk. She waves and slowly walks toward me, taking fast, tiny steps in her six-inch heels and tight, short skirt. She rubs the underside of her nose once. I can't tell if she's just done a line or not. She used to do that right after she'd snorted, but now it's a nervous tick. She's continually rubbing at her nose, trying to hide any traces of her addiction.

We greet each other with air-kisses, barely touching, as if our nails were wet from recent manicures.

"Hey there, chica. I was wondering where you were. Check you out! You are positively glowing and what's with the new threads? I'm loving it! It has a little Neo-Victorian meets street-style thing." Mindy's voice is too loud. She twirls her finger in the air, inviting me to spin around for her. No way in hell will I put on a fashion show here in the lobby. I pull her toward the lounge and head to a table at the far corner. We take our seats on a pair of plush, velvety armchairs. Another benefit of living in a hotel: there's a bar open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

"Yeah, well, my mother went scissors happy on my old wardrobe, so I had to buy new stuff." My hands stroke the buttery smooth leather, surprised at how comfy it feels.

"Oh. My. GOD! She did NOT! I would DIE!" Mindy's voice screeches sounding like nails on a Lamborghini. "Does this have anything to do with the other night and Brandon, please-spank-me-sir, Clayworth? Did you sleep with him? Tell me you've had hot, bondage sex with him. Give me the details." Mindy shakes her head and feigns attitude like she was born in a rap album. I wish she didn't try so hard.

I run a hand through my long hair, trying to divert the conversation away from myself, when my eyes catch a pair of perfectly pressed pants and shiny black leather shoes standing right in front of me. I bite down on my lower lip to hide my smile, and look up, hopeful.

"Compliments of the gentlemen over there." My hope is short lived. Not-Graham extends a tray with two glasses of chilled white wine before laying the glasses in front of us on the table.

Of course it can't be Graham. His shift is over, and he's with his girlfriend, doing whatever normal couples do after working all day.

"Kienna. Hello? Check out the hot men buying us drinks!"

I blink a couple of times, not realizing what I missed. Two extremely good-looking, perfectly groomed businessmen, dressed in swanky suits, lift their tumblers in our direction when I look their way. Mindy is quick to reply with a lift of her glass.

I put mine back on the waiter's tray and wave him off. "Please tell them I appreciate their kindness, but I'm not interested. If you would be so kind as to bring me an Appletini, I'd appreciate it."

Mindy quickly changes her mind, placing her glass next to mine. "Make that two, and please tell those men we're together." She leans forward, puts one hand on my knee, and gestures between her and me with her other hand.

My face burns bright red. This will get back to Graham. Hell, it'll get back to my mother. Father will see this as an opportunity to whore me out to women now, too. Great. I refrain from kicking Mindy. She's laughing so much I doubt she'd notice.

The waiter nods silently and turns away, bringing the two unclaimed glasses to the men. He explains something to them, and they get that look in their eyes, a thirst. The signs are all there: the moistening of the lips, the loosening of the collars, the shifting in their seats to accommodate for the lack of space in their pants.

"Great, Mindy. Now they want us more. Don't you know lesbians are the ultimate fantasy for guys like that."

"Yeah, well, I didn't know what to do. You never turn down a handsome face or a free drink. What was wrong with them? I thought they looked completely fuckable." She pouts and dons a kicked puppy expression.

I cross my legs and wrap my knee with my hands, fingers laced. Why does everyone think I'm easy? My best friend should know the truth, and yet even she doesn't seem to know me at all. I make sure there's no emotion lurking on my face. I can't let anyone know my reputation bothers me.

"Mindy, I don't know—look at them. They just want a romp. I'm not feeling like it."

She glances at them and then flips her hair over her shoulder. They're still looking. "Right. Or maybe it has something to do with your soon-to-be fiancé? You never told me who he is. Is he the reason you're not jumping their bones? Come on, Kienna. It's just you and me. You can tell me."

"Fine. If you must know, my soon-to-be fiancé was Brandon Clayworth, but not anymore. He made sure of that when I caught him with a half-naked woman draped across his lap. I broke it off with him. Right now, the only man in my life is a pillow."

"I'm sorry, did you say a pillow? Seriously? Is that a code word for a dildo?" She tries to hold back a laugh but fails. It comes out in an ugly snort-like hiccup, her overly Botoxed lips twisting unnaturally.

"Laugh if you want, Mindy, but I'm on hiatus from the male species. I've had enough knives shoved into my back that I have an entire steak set.

Mindy's hand goes back on my knee, and she gives it a comforting squeeze. "I had no idea things were that bad, Kienna. If you are so put off by men, maybe it's time you try women instead." Her hand lingers on my leg just a little too long.

Our waiter chooses that exact moment to show up with our cocktails. He clears his throat and places napkins in front of us, followed by our drinks. There's a hint of a smirk on his face. I want to crawl under the table and die.

"Thank you very much, but I'm going to take my drink upstairs. I'll call you tomorrow, Mindy."

I grab my glass and spend the rest of the night in my room, snuggled into my pillows.

M
y eyes snap open
, and I gasp, clutching my throat. Every muscle in my body is tight, and I'm panting, my skin cold and damp with sweat. I try to shake off the last image of my dream.

All that blood, rushing like a waterfall, higher and higher, the levels raising high enough to drown me. I guess there are some things from which you can score only a brief reprieve before your conscience catches up with you.

The note I received in the mail earlier didn't help either. I turn it over in my hands, studying the same teal-colored ink as in the message I received in the ballroom, the same messy handwriting, as if the person was purposefully trying to disguise their penmanship.

It was two words.

Just five letters.

Full body tremors hit me, and I slide deep under the covers, searching for a comfort that doesn't exist. It's the middle of the night, when the demons come out to play. They plant dark thoughts in my mind, convincing me the note speaks the truth. In the dark, demons can be very persuasive. I can't be alone, or I'll start to believe them. I need my crutch. I grab my cell from the bedside table and dial.

"Midtown Crisis Call Center, Deborah speaking, how may I help you?"

I ask for Parker, but he's not there. I politely hang up and tap in numbers and letters impulsively on my screen, without thinking.

In the week since my first non-date with Graham, we managed to have coffee together in our little bistro every day after he got off work. Being around him is easy. We talk and laugh, without the added pressure of seducing or luring the other person into something more. We're just letting this friendship build at its own pace—which is astonishingly fast. He feels like a warm cup of cocoa on a cold winter day.

I've been ordering room service on days he works the morning shift. I love our little morning rendezvous. It's great to be able to talk openly without any fear of having my father's minions spying on us. Plus, a morning dose of Graham to get your day started is highly recommended. I swear he's made of giggles and butterflies.

Before his two days off, we exchanged phone numbers, since we wouldn't be able to see each other. I stare at my phone and frown.

Nothing.

Tonight is the first time I've used his number. I've held myself back from texting or calling. I'm trying to wedge myself strictly in the friend zone. It's a lot of deliberate work not to send the wrong message—the way texting him in the middle of the night would do.

I place my phone on my nightstand and groan. I'm an idiot. Before I can condemn myself further, the phone buzzes.

I place my phone up against my chest and grin, happy I won't have to freak out alone. I flip the light on, pushing my mess of tangled hair out of my face and type.

I bite down on my lower lip, worried I may have woken Lori up, too. What will she think? Damn it, this was dumb!

I do, but how do I say that without sounding needy, insane, or overly eager?

Before I can type anything else, the phone rings. I answer, tapping the speaker button to let his voice fill the room.

"Hey."

"Hey."

There's a moment of awkward silence. This phone call is our first, and, since it's the middle of the night, it feels intimate—especially considering I'm in my bed, wearing next to nothing. Now that he's on the line, I'm afraid he'll start asking questions and poking into my ugly. I expect it. It's the reason I contacted him. I didn't want to be alone in this.

"Want to watch some TV with me? It'll help take your mind off stuff." Graham breaks the silence and eases my worries. His words are always so simple yet have such an intense impact on my emotions. His low and soft voice fills the room, wrapping around me like a security blanket.

I grab the remote control for my TV and click it on. "Okay, what are we watching?"

Graham chuckles. "Sci-fi Channel, of course. What else is there in life?"

I flip to the science fiction channel, and we spend the next hour watching an alien version of the apocalypse. For the following hour, we enjoy a zombie version of the apocalypse. We talk and laugh until my eyes close, and I fall asleep. The next morning, I wake up with the phone stuck to my cheek and the TV still on. It's the apocalypse again, but this time, dark spirits cause it.

W
hen Graham delivered
my breakfast this morning, he looked just as tired as I felt. We didn't get much sleep last night, after our all-nighter TV apocalypse binge, but he doesn't complain and neither do I. He slips me a secret note with my breakfast, giving me clues for where and when our next non-date will be.

At first, I have no clue what his clues mean. I have to Google some of the words and science fiction references he uses. Thankfully, I decipher the destination on my first try, and manage to arrive at Central Park right before Graham.

“So, tell me something,” Graham says, leading us into the park, “were you a rebellious teen?" He turns his head to the side and gives me a questioning glance over his shoulder.

I snort. "Are you kidding? With my father? If I disobeyed in even the smallest way, I soon wished I hadn't, followed by a week at our cabin in Aspen to hide the evidence.” An involuntary tremor runs through my arm. “What about you? Were you a rebellious teen? I have a hard time picturing you as a young delinquent. Unless you consider handing your library books in a day late a criminal offense."

The corner of Graham’s mouth lifts slightly. "I suppose I had my moments in my earlier years, but nothing too troublesome. Yelling at my mother, walking out on her when she asked me to do chores." He stuffs his hands in his pockets and lifts his chin, looking toward the sky. "Then I made a huge mistake. Stuff happened, and I stopped being a teenager altogether."

His head dips down, and his jaw clenches tight, the weight of a memory pressing down on him. I know the feeling. Memories sometimes pop up, unbidden and seize you in a way so paralyzing that all you can do is wait for it to pass.

I want to know what's going on in his head, what memory could trouble him so much, but I don't. He's been excellent at not poking into my deep dark secrets, patiently waiting until I'm ready to let him in, so I extend the same courtesy. I don't say anything, I don't ask any questions, but I want him to know I'm here for him—as much as he's been here for me this past week. It's a small gesture, but I reach out and lace my fingers with his, squeezing his hand in mine. It’s the only way I have of knowing I'm helping him, a slow, soft movement of my thumb, stroking over his. I lean my head against his shoulder, and he drops his head to rest it on top of mine. Whether it's melancholy or regret haunting him, the moment is filled with a shared compassion and tenderness I never thought I could feel toward someone I barely know.

Our moment is broken by the sound of a cab driving by, honking his horn at a yelling jaywalker. By the intensity of his voice, the dude is ready to slash the cab's tires or shoot him. I rubberneck to check out the scene. After a few lewd hand gestures, both parties go separate ways and life goes on. Got to love New York.

With the drama over, I turn back to the front just in time for the wind to spray water from a nearby fountain directly into my face.

I can't see a thing.

“Kienna,” Graham says, a giggle in his voice. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re all wet.”

"Yeah, the wind kind of blows," I say, dryly.

That makes him laugh hard enough to double over.

I put my hands on my hips and tap my foot. "Yeah, yeah. Okay. Laugh it up, Geekster. Is there a washroom nearby for me to clean this off?"

Graham stifles his giggles and says, " Here, let me help you."

He pulls an old-fashioned white handkerchief from his back pocket and begins to dab the water from my face, swiping the soft cotton gently over my mouth, pressing smoothly against my skin. His eyes focus on my lips, his fingers moving back and forth. "You’re pretty even when you’re all wet. Don't let anyone tell you any different."

The way he's looking intently at my mouth is distracting. He rubs my lower lip, and my mouth opens. He traces the shape of my lips with the tip of a finger so gently it gives me shivers. He's no drying off water. It's a soft caress.

His hand leaves my mouth, trailing back up my cheek. He's holding me, still looking at my lips. His hand slides to the back of my head, tangling my hair between his fingers. He leans forward, inching his mouth closer to mine. My heartbeat roars in my ears. All I can feel is his hot breath on my face. I close my eyes and a voice screams inside my head to back away—I don't want this kiss. I don't want it.

Oh, God! I want this kiss.

His phone rings and Graham blinks, breaking the connection. His hand is gone, so is his intoxicating breath. I close my eyes, trying to regain my composure. That was way too close.

He clears his throat, but his voice still comes out like a man just waking from a deep sleep, low and husky. "Hey, baby girl! Yeah, I’m not far away. Sure I can come and get you."

I back away, wanting to give him some privacy while he's on the phone with his girlfriend, but he reaches forward and takes my hand, pulling me toward him. Touching suddenly feels awkward and wrong. My stomach sours and I try to pull back, but he doesn't let me. He squeezes my hand tighter.

"Yeah, Kia's right here with me."

Kia? He pulls the phone away from his ear and makes a face while a high-pitched screech blares through the tiny speaker. When the shrieking dies down, he puts the phone back to his ear and resumes his conversation, laughing. "Whoa! Calm down, Lori." His eyes flick to mine, and a glint of mischief lights up behind those glasses of his. "Do you think meeting Kia is a good idea?" I hear a high-pitched yell, and he flinches again. "All right, all right, I'll ask... I love you, too. Bye." He clicks his phone off and tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans.

"Did you just call me Kia?"

"I guess I did. Sorry. It's this little nickname Lori dreamed up for you after I told her about you."

I choke on my spit. "You told Lori about me?"

"Well, yeah, why not? Oh shit! I forgot about needing to keep this a secret from your parents. I wasn't thinking, but I swear it won’t get back to them."

"No. It's just... Won't she get jealous?"

"Lori? No. In fact, she wants to meet you. You up for it?"

She wailed like a freaking banshee on the phone. I'm thinking she's a little crazy, but there's no way to say it nicely. "Yeah, I don't think this is a good idea. What if she hates me?"

Graham's head flinches back slightly. "How could she hate you? You're amazing."

I open and close my mouth, trying to find the right words. He doesn't get it. The idea of losing this awesome new friendship just as it's getting started hurts more than the thought of never experiencing that kiss. I'd sacrifice a lifetime of kisses to gain a genuine friend. It's all I want.

"Graham, I won't come between the two of you. I still want to be friends, but if your girlfriend doesn't like me, this friendship has to end."

I thought Graham would feel torn, guilty, or maybe even confident enough in his relationship with Lori to convince me to meet her. I wasn't ready for him to bend at the waist, hands resting on his thighs for support while he belted out more uncontrollable laughter.

"Wrong reaction. I'm out of here. Have fun breaking her heart, but it won't be with me."