Tainted Love (Book 1) (5 page)

“Why are you so fucking cold, Sullivan? Is it another
guy?” He was always so insecure, hounding my every move, not wanting to give me so much as breathing space at times. It was exhausting.

“No, it’s no
t another guy, Paul. It’s you.”

I step in front of Joélle’s to see Rachel by the wind
ow. We wave at each other. It’s time to end this rather irritating conversation.

“Move on, Paul
,” I tell him.

“But, I love you,” he whines
.

“You don’t love me, Paul. You love the thought of me. I was arm candy for you and I made you look good. I was your doll, not your girl. So go find yourself a Barbie, ‘cause I’m not the one,” I huff, gesticulating angrily in the air.

Hanging up, I let out a frustrated breath, inhale, and gather myself. Through the reflection of the restaurant window, I see a man in a trench coat and quickly spin around. By the time I pick him up, all I see is his back as he walks away. Call me crazy, but it almost looked like Rick…

I shake off the unwelcome thought. I won’t let him ruin my day with my best friend. He’s miles away, probably with a needle stuck in his veins and bleeding out –
please God
.

Another deep breath has me relaxed once more and
I step into Joélle’s as the doorman holds open the doors. Joélle’s is an intimate restaurant colored in orange and cream. Furnished with round cream mahogany tables and plush orange chairs, Joélle’s is incandescent and always seems to uplift my mood whenever I dine here. It was already uplifting my mood from that god-awful conversation with Paul.

“Who’s responsible for that face?” Rachel asks as I sit down. “Is Ben annoying you already?”

“Huh? No, not Ben.” I wave off the assumption. “I told him he was a one-night stand so I don’t expect to hear from him anytime soon. It’s Paul…” I hedge on telling her about Rick. If she knew that I thought I saw him, she’d want us to leave again.

I’ve only got a few months left of school, it would be stupid to pack up and leave only to start all over again.
But, you’re in danger,
a small voice says to me. I shake it off before it takes root and take up the menu, perusing it, even though I already know what I want.

“God, it’s been two weeks since you guys broke up. Can’t he take a hint?” Rachel says with her head in the menu.

“I know, right?” I scoff guiltily, glad she didn’t notice my hesitance. “He’s impossible. He’s like a child. Ugh, let’s not ruin our yearly dinner date with talks of that cretin. What’ll you order?” I take a welcome sip of water, my throat parched from having to lie to my best friend.

“Hmm, I dunno. I think I wanna change things up. Maybe fish,” she mutters.

“Hmm,” I mumble in agreement.

“Are you ladies ready to order?” A waitress in a tight orange mini skirt and an even tighter rouged white blouse with an orange bow tie around her neck readies to take our order. Her red hair matching her Joélle’s garb perfectly.

I eye the curves of her breasts in the blouse with satisfaction and watch her heat up under my gaze. She tucks a loose lock of her hair behind her ear and fumbles with the notepad in her hand. Rachel shakes her head at my successful silent seduction of the poor girl.

“I’ll have the poached salmon with watercress mayonnaise, new potatoes and a cucumber salad,” Rachel answers.

“And for you?” She stakes her eyes at me, her flush decreasing.

I crook my finger and call her closer. I stare at her name tag which is pinned to her left
breast. I feel her breathing grow ragged and watch her throat dip as she swallows.

“Arianna. Beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Your boyfriend’s a lucky man,” I flirt.

I reach up and tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. She flinches at the contact and flushes all over again.
I am so enjoying this.

“I’ll have the braised flounder in green curry with potatoes. And a bottle of Pinot Grigio.”

“Um, d-dessert?” She stutters, leaning up and jotting down our order.

I chuckle at her question, just to make her squirm a little more. And, success! She starts flushing again.

“Uh…um,” she fumbles on her words, nervously stroking her finger behind her ear as there is no hair loose. She clears her throat then says, “May I interest you in our dessert special?”

I nod amused by my effect on her. Rachel squints her eyes at me and nudges my knee with hers under the table.

“Um, we have the red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting, coated in strawberry sauce and varnished with diced strawberries,” she describes.

“Sounds good. Sweet, but good. We’ll have that. Thank you,” Rachel requests.

The red-head walks away, breathing a noticeable sigh of relief.

“Why do you have to be so troublesome everywhere you go?” Rachel asks. “You had that poor girl blushing and nervous. You should apologize.”

“Yeah, I guess. When she comes back I’ll do that. Are we gonna go upstairs to Joélle’s Night Life after this?” I ask, hoping she would say yes as I was dying to go clubbing.

“Oh, definitely. I need to get as much dancing in my system before work on Monday…
” Rachel stops and looks at me.

She takes my hand, tangling her fingers between mine. “Happy anniversary, babe.”

I smile at the sentiment. January 2
nd
commemorates the first time we met. It’s been ten years, thick and thin, with me and Rachel. She was there through my suicide attempts, through all my runaways, through all my boyfriends, throughout that one month I had a girlfriend, and throughout my re-telling of my gory past. She is my rock. My constant through it all.

“Happy Anniversary, Rae,” I say, tearing up.

“And you say I’m the baby,” she scoffs, taking a handkerchief from her purse and dabbing her eyes before her welling tears spoil her makeup.

“Babe, I could not have survived half the shit I went through without you,” she tells me and I think she’s crazy because I couldn’t have survived without
her
.

“You made it okay to be me. When my parents could hardly stand to be around me, you gave me a safe place to just be Rachel. You didn’t judge me, even when you caught me giving your twenty year old brother head at fifteen. You didn’t tell either of our parents or your brother when…” Rachel trails off, closing her eyes to the pain of what happened when she was just seventeen. I felt every ounce the pain she felt that day in that seedy abortion clinic. To this day Marshall knows nothing; just us, that doctor and that nurse and if she wants me to, I will take it to my grave. I owe her that much.

“Hey,” I whisper, clutching her hand. She opens her beautiful grey eyes and the tears she was trying to keep at bay, flow out the corner of her eyes.

“You’re my partner in crime,” I tell her.

“Literally,” she adds, smiling.

“Hell, literally,” I agree. “I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side through all the mess we went through Rachel. You’re my other half. You balance my crazy out.”

“And you make me responsible,” she says, bringing my hand to her lips. I wipe her tears and she wipes my own, though I didn’t know they had been falling.

“Let’s enjoy tonight, huh? Ten years’ worth of enjoyment in one night, ok?” I suggest, rubbing her cheek. We look like lovers and I could care less.

“Definitely,” she agrees. She takes a deep breath in to gather herself then raises her glass of water to me. I raise mine as well. “To a wonderful night.”

“To a wonderful night,” I repeat, clinking my glass to hers.

Upstairs Joélle’s is hot. People are on the dance floor shaking what their momma’s had and hadn’t given them. It is dark, only lit by the multi-colored lights that flash. We sit in a plush lounge chair that threatens to put anyone to sleep if they sit in it long enough.

It is 9:45, but we aren’t yet ready to go out on the dance floor. We order three rounds of drinks each, drinking them in succession. A few more of these will certainly get the juices flowing for us and in the mood to dance the night away.

“This place is so cool!” I shout to Rachel over the techno music that blares around the room.

“I know!” she shouts back.

“And the guys are hot!” I continue to shout.

“I know!” she gushes.

We let the music sink into our bones for thirty minutes longer and then we rise from the sofa, ready to take the dance floor by storm. Downing our fifth round of drinks between the two of us, we head to the dance floor, as David Guetta and Akon blasts through the speakers.

When I d
ance, nothing else matters. It’s like I am in a different world. My mom made me take dance classes when I was fourteen to teach me structure and discipline and it worked for a couple of years. But I was intent on driving everyone up the wall, purposely deviating from what everyone expected of me. I dropped dance as a result, but she followed with piano lessons and voice training. The woman was relentless, but I’m thankful for everything I’d learnt because of her.

As I grind my waist to the beats I hear, I feel a hand caressing my body. I sink into the touch, gyrating my hips. The person turns me to face them. He is tall; typical blonde hair and blue eyes, fairly muscular upper body. He sports a long-sleeved navy blue t-shirt with faded blue jeans and a pair of black embossed suede Louis Vuitton moccasins. Eh. Not a Ben, but he’d have to do.

I chastise myself for thinking about Ben. He shouldn’t be an after-thought, despite the wild time we had together. Yet, I wished I were dancing with him instead of this young, arrogant, rich kid, who was probably decked out and at the club courtesy of his hefty trust fund. I scowl at my thoughts.

Arrogant or not, this boy can move. I am enjoying my dance with him. After four songs I decide to rest my feet and he follows me.

“Can I buy you a drink?” his voice vibrates in my ear.

“You can, and I have no doubt that you can. But buying it is up to you,” I sass, amusing myself.

A smile shadows his face as he picks up my correction of his grammar. His white teeth are partially crooked but, still, he is handsome. I have to give him that. “
May
I buy you a drink?” he corrects himself.

“Yes, you may, since you’re offering. I’ll have a
Bacardi and cola on ice, hold the cherries.”

I look around for Rachel as he leaves to get my drink. I spot her dancing with an equally attractive guy. Dark hair, supple white skin, hairy, black jeans, white button down shirt and black boots.

Rachel is in her zone. She has her eyes closed and is grinding so far on him that you’d think she was trying to give him some on the dance floor. Her strawberry blonde hair is wet around her neck. Her short grayish-blue cocktail dress that hugs her hips so nicely is riding up with every bump and grind of her body.

Upon entering Joelle’s, she had stashed her leather jacket at the baggage/coat area, where the attendant handed us both tickets to collect our stuff when we were through dancing. Such great service here. They think of everything.

So she was free. Dancing until a voice said dance no more.

“Here you go.” The blonde guy returns and hands me my drink.

“Wow, that was fast,” I say, quickly perusing my drink.

I had learned my lesson while in high school when a guy drugged my drink. I didn’t see it fizzing, but thankfully, Rachel spotted it and we both kicked the guy’s ass. Since then, if a guy buys me a drink, I look for anything strange before drinking it. Sometimes, I end up not drinking it at all.

“I know the bartender,” he gloats.

“Rich kid, huh?” I assume.

“I won’t brag,” he sniffs, brushing off invisible lint off his shoulder.

“Oh, you don’t have to. You ooze spoiled rich kid,” I retort, growing weary of his arrogance.

“Ooh, smart mouth. I know what to do with smart mouths,” he coos, drawing closer.

I tilt my head to one side, perusing
him seductively. Poor boy, he is in for a rollercoaster ride and doesn’t even know it.

“So, why are we here talking about it?” I set my drink down on the table in front of us.

Rachel comes over in that moment with her guy on hand. “Hey, we’re leaving. You ready?” she asks.

“I’ve
been
ready,” I state, staring pointedly at Blonde Guy.

He gives me a smirk and extends his hand to me. I take his proffered hand, rising, and he grips and squeezes my waist. I flash him a sultry look that earns me a gasp and widened eyes. Yup, now I’m in my zone.