One and a Bit Years Later…
I whip off my apron and toss it on the bar. “I’m done.”
“Cass, stay back an hour. I need you!” Damon shouts, pouring tequila between the breasts of two college girls.
Remind me why I work at a backpacker bar again? Tits and ass is all I see and they’re not always female…or young.
“I’ve already stayed back three!” I call out, squeezing around Tammy and Christy who pour sickeningly sweet spirits into tiny shot glasses. “It’s movie night at my house, you know that.”
I slip from the bar area, push through the staff door, and slump into beautiful silence. Knock off time. My favorite time of the night.
I wash my hands in the dodgy, steel basin and grab my coat. I slip my arms in and wrap it around my body. I really need to talk to Damon about changing the uniform. I can’t keep leaving the house in high boots, a black mini skirt, and a shredded, white tank top—especially not in this weather. It’s freezing outside. Not to mention, I get stopped half a dozen times between Damon’s Bar and my house. I only live a block away so that’s saying something.
I tighten my ponytail and pluck my phone from the pocket of my coat. I text Nick to pick up some pizza on the way home since I no longer have the time to cook his pork. Why he needs to chomp on a pig’s ass while we watch movies is beyond me.
He texts back immediately.
Will do, babe. Will Fiona b home 2nite?
I respond:
Don’t know. Maybe.
C.
Hope not. I’ve had a mad boner 4 u all day.
Charming.
You need to work on your sexting.
C.
He sends me an eggplant emoji and a tongue and I can’t help but giggle. Idiot.
Nick and I have been dating for four months. We met when Fiona, Lukkah, and I finally made it to New York. Lukkah was moving in with his fiancé (now wife) so there was plenty of room for Fiona and I to stay in the loft. We’ve been living comfortably in the loft for a year now and don’t plan on going elsewhere for the moment.
Somewhere between then and four months ago, Nick convinced me dating him was a good idea…and he hasn’t let me down so far.
I race home as fast as I can, desperate to get out of the cold. No one is home when I arrive, but the heater is cranking so I take the opportunity to use the shower to wash all of the booze, saliva, and glitter off my body. I can’t do it in silence because our new neighbor has decided to throw a fucking house warming party and is blasting music like he—or she—is the only person occupying this building. He—or she—is a fucking asswipe and can expect a letter from me in the morning.
Like always, I take way too long in the shower and the water turns to ice without warning. Squealing, I leap from the shower and slip on the tiles.
It’s not elegant. At all.
And it hurts like a motherfucker.
I reach for the towel on the rack and pull it to the floor, using it as a divider between my wet body and the slick tiles underneath me.
After I shut the shower off and dry myself adequately, I slip into a pair of loose, white sweatpants and a black, long sleeved shirt. Because I’m late on the washing, it’s the only shirt I have left and there’s a reason it’s always my last choice of clothing. Every five seconds I have to pull it over my belly button. Somehow, it shrunk in the dryer.
I drop onto the leather couch and scroll Facebook. My mouth waters at the delicious dessert recipes that flood my timeline and I quickly save them to use as a reference for later.
New York has been good to me. Here, I discovered how much I like cooking and looking after plants. As the thought passes, something falls onto the metal landing right outside my window. It lands in one of my pot plants, bending the leaves of my biggest succulents.
“Not again.” I groan, lifting my tired body off the couch.
There’s a crazy woman that lives upstairs who thinks it’s just “so great” to drop her empty tin cans onto my plants. Twelve. I pick up twelve every week, at least.
In the freezing cold, I climb through my window and out onto the landing. The metal grate digs into my knees and my stupid shirt slips up, exposing my skin to the harsh weather.
“That’s new.”
My blood runs cold, freezing in my veins.
It’s not possible.
I grab the can, toss it over the edge, and push myself onto my feet. Hugging myself, I drag in an inhale, and I turn around.
It’s real…this is real…he’s real.
My heart pounds in my eyes, conjuring a devastating migraine. Caleb. Tears well in my eyes at the sight of him. Caleb Andrews.
“I…I…”
I have nothing to say. He’s as handsome as ever—thicker. Less boy, more man. I rake my stare down his body, taking in his black sweater, loose jeans, and white sneakers. In his hand, he holds a cold beer by its neck.
“When you move to New York you gotta get a tattoo, right?”
I grip the railing, as it seems to detach from the brick and threaten to fall. His blond hair is ruffled and messy, sitting exactly the same way it did the last time I saw him.
“How…?”
“I live next door.” He points out, grinning wickedly. “What a coincidence.”
His grin fades into a sincere smile and my heart constricts painfully. How can he be so casual?
“It’s good to see you, Cass.”
I launch forward and slap the beer from his hand. It crashes against the metal and rolls off the edge. Our eyes lock and a second later, the glass smashes against the concrete twenty feet below.
“You sent me a text.” I hiss through clenched teeth. “A fucking text message!”
He steps closer and his familiar smells engulfs me.
“I know and I’m so—”
“Sia?”
Shit. I jump back as Nick pokes his head out the window.
“There you are.” His dark, brown eyes settle on Caleb. “Who’s this?”
I swipe at my face. “This is, uh, this is Caleb. He’s our new neighbor.”
Caleb flinches and the heartbreak in his eyes just about tears my heart from my chest. I scowl at him. I haven’t done anything wrong. He can’t look at me like that. He didn’t come with me!
Being the nice person he is, Nick sticks his hand out. “Nice to meet you, Caleb. I’m Nick.”
Caleb doesn’t move to shake Nick’s hand and my stomach turns. I’m going to puke.
“Nick?”
Caleb chuckles and I glare at him.
Frowning, Nick pulls his hand back. “Yeah…Nick. Hey, listen, you mind turning the music down a little? We’re about to put on a movie and I hate using subtitles.”
My heart pounds in my chest. Nick is such a friendly guy. He’s charming and honest, and doesn’t deserve the disrespect Caleb is showing him.
“You want me to turn my music down?”
Nick smiles, hopeful…but he missed the malicious tone in Caleb’s voice. “Yeah.”
“Not a chance.” Caleb pins me with a glare like this is my fault. “Enjoy your movie, Sia.”
I swallow hard as he turns his back on me and bends low, slipping back through his window and into his loft.
I blow out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and watch as it visibly swirls in front of my face.
Nick snorts. “What a dick.”
Oh, he has no idea.
The End