Skila

I’ve got to get the hell out of here.

We haven't even been here thirty minutes, and I’ve already made a fool of myself by making out with a complete stranger. And then, when I finally get away from that, I get back to Lisa, and a fight breaks out. I feel like a cheap whore and a cheater, even though I don’t technically have a man and haven’t for a while now. I was totally all over some guy because I thought he looked like my ex. It was to be expected, I guess, considering the circumstances, but still. I don’t want to be here. I’d rather be back at home, eating a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and watching reruns of Friends.

Lisa begged me for over an hour to join her for a night out on the town. I didn't want to. I was tired as hell and just wanted to curl on the couch and relax, but she was doing me a favor by letting me use her extra bedroom until I found a place of my own, and I felt obligated to say yes. Now, I wish I had just told her I wasn't feeling well.

It's not really a lie. I feel like shit. I have for a couple of weeks now. My stomach has been in knots over this move. Every day, I question myself again and again, wondering if it was the right decision. I had a good job in Atlanta and a nice apartment, and I was close to my brothers and nana, but damn, I was sick of all of it. I wanted a change—new scenery and a fresh start.

I mentioned it to Lisa one night while we were Facetiming, and she immediately offered to let me move in with her . . . in L.A. I knew she missed me as much as I missed her. We were raised together. Her mom and grandmother lived next door to my family, and they watched my two brothers and me every day when we were younger so Mom could work.

A year ago, Lisa met some uppity shrink and moved to Los Angles with him a month later. It wasn’t until she had arrived that she learned the harsh truth. He was married with two kids. The worse part was that he didn’t see a problem with what he was doing, like it was completely normal to have a mistress on the side, but Lisa wasn’t having it. She kicked his ass—literally—and then, after filing a restraining order against him, she got her own apartment and moved on.

I wish I could be as strong as her and just start over. The thought excited me and scared me to death all at the same time. To be honest, I still don't think I would have ever done it if it hadn’t been for Amryn betraying me.

Amryn. What a fucking piece of shit.

We had seen each other off and on for a few months. Nothing too serious, but I had hoped that was about to change. He had started acting differently, more attentive and caring. If he wasn't at my house, he was texting or calling me. We hadn’t defined the relationship yet, and I wasn't in a hurry to do so, but when he came over Thursday, bouncing up and down with excitement, hope welled in my heart.

Amryn had always seemed distant and refused to tell me the smallest detail of his life. Sometime after the first month, I angrily cornered him. I was sure he was hiding something from me, and if that’s the type of guy he wanted to be, then he would have to be it with another woman.

I was out.

He swore it wasn’t that. He wasn’t married and didn’t have any children. I was pacified, for the time being. That was until two months ago. He showed up, saying he wanted to take me home to meet his family over the weekend. I couldn’t believe it. My heart soared. I couldn’t wait. Finally, we were going to take the next step.

Maybe I would finally get the chance to break through the tight shield he held over his past and present. It had been months since I summoned the nerve to ask him any personal questions—not that it did me any good. I still didn't know what he did for living or if he was an only child. I didn't know anything about him.

Nothing.

Not because I didn't want to, but because every time I asked, he would close up and then immediately make an excuse to leave. I didn't ask anymore. It wasn't worth ruining the sweet moments we had together while he was in town.

I spent the rest of that Thursday night packing. I had no idea what type of people his family were. Were they conservative or exuberant? Should I make sure to cover all my skin or dress comfortably? Were they snobbish? I had no idea, and I was too scared to ask Amryn in fear that he would realize his mistake and change his mind about taking me.

In the end, I packed jeans and a few tanks, as well as some cardigans to wear over them. I was going to take a nice pair of slacks and a blouse just in case, figuring it was better to cover all bases. I wasn’t sure what to expect from this visit, but I’d be damned if someone turned their nose up at me because of what I wore.

I waited by the door for him to come on Friday. My hair was tied back into a low ponytail, and I had applied light makeup. I decided to wear a long, white blouse and black leggings with tall, calf-length boots. We were supposed to leave around two.

At four, I tried to call him. His phone rang and rang until voicemail picked up. I didn't leave a message.

At five, I kicked off my boots and grabbed a tub of ice cream from the freezer.

At six, I texted him. Still no reply.

I couldn't decide if I should be worried or upset. In the end, I was just angry.

Pissed.

I couldn’t believe the nerve he had. Why would he bother coming and inviting me if he didn’t plan to show up? Was it some sort of joke? Did he get his jollies off on raising my hopes and then crushing them in the next moment? It made no sense. In that moment, I hated him. I hated the time I had wasted on him and the fact that I honestly thought we had a chance.

The next morning, I called Lisa and told her I was coming to LA. Her joyous shout made me feel good, like I was making the right decision. This would be a good change for me. I needed it. I was done waiting around for some dickhead to turn into my knight in shining armor. It was time to take my life into my own hands. I wasn’t Cinderella, and the mice living in my house weren’t going to be sewing me a dress to wear to the ball anytime soon.

It took me a week to get everything in order just so I could move. I hate to admit that I sat with my phone ninety percent of that time, waiting for Amryn to call. Of course, he never did.

I was forgotten.

I put in my transfer at work the following Monday. My boss was upset to see me go. He even went as far as to offer me a raise just to stay, but in the end, he accepted my resignation. I let my family know next. None of them liked my decision, but they respected that I needed to do this.

Exactly one week after I was stood up, I packed all my belongings into a U-Haul truck and headed west. Now, I'm here in sunny California with my best friend . . . at a club, acting like a ho, in the middle of a fight. Yeah, this turned out to be the best decision ever.

“Oh my God, Skila. Can you believe that shit?” Lisa asks, her shrill voice making me jump. My heart is still beating wildly in my chest with the adrenaline. “Come on, let's dance and forget this idiot,” she says, trying to drag me back onto the dance floor.

I don’t want to go. I’ve had enough. Rod, the guy she brought out with her tonight, was on his way downtown in the back of a police car, and she wanted to dance? Not that I gave a rat's ass about Rod. He deserved his fate after the way he treated her tonight, snapping at her and yelling at her for smiling at the bartender. I was happy when the man next to us got involved.

“Are you ladies all right? Is this chump bothering you?” he asks. Of course, that just pisses Rod off more.

“Chump? Who the fuck are you calling a chump?” he yells. The new guy just smirks and shakes his head. I can imagine what he is thinking, but he doesn't bother speaking to Rod again. Instead, he turns back to us, waiting for our response. I shake my head from side to side, letting him know Rod isn't, in fact, bothering me. Lisa opens her mouth to speak, but before she gets the chance, Rod shoves her to the side and gets in the stranger's face. I can tell as soon as he does that it’s a mistake.

The new guy takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, then, as fast as lightning, his fist flies straight for Rod’s nose. Even over the pulsing music, I hear the crunch. Blood squirts everywhere, running down Rod’s shirt, coating every inch of it. He grabs his nose, howling in pain.

Several of Rod’s friends jump in then, ready to defend their douche-bag friend. I worry for a minute about the stranger until I see the other two men running toward him. The growing crowd parts for them like the red sea for Moses. I stand rooted to the spot, unable to move even if I wanted to.

Never in my life have I seen someone so . . . perfect. The man in front of me is at least six feet tall—probably closer to six five, and if it weren’t for the tattoos covering his arms, then I'd swear he was a Greek god come to life. My stomach drops to my knees when he knocks the first guy out cold and turns to the next.

The precision of his strikes fascinates me. His muscles bunch under his long-sleeved shirt, pulling the material tight. I squeeze my thighs together in a poor attempt to stop the tingles coursing through my body, going straight to my core. I can’t help but remember the way his hands and lips felt on my skin minutes earlier. My heart is still racing from it. Shit, I need to get laid. Obviously, the silver bullet isn’t curving my sexual appetite the way a hot, masculine god could. I bite my lip, watching him. His entire body is perfectly in tune with the beats of my heart. He moves with fluid grace, tight and perfectly poised like a boxer or a dancer. I wonder for a moment how it would feel to have him on top of me and have all that energy poured into making me scream with pleasure. Chills race down my spine despite the warm temperature in the club.

I don’t know how I ever mistook him for Amryn. They move totally differently. Amryn was bulky and moved like a bear. He was fast, but you always knew he was around. This guy may share the same hair color and he may be close to the same height, but he moves like a panther. Fast and lethal.

Someone hits him from the back, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s the police. I stand there, staring down at him on the ground, trying to shake the feelings his presence elicits in me. His muscles tense under his white tee, and as I watch him struggle to get back up, I see the moment the policeman’s voice breaks through to him. His shoulders slump forward in disappointment. In himself? In the situation? I don’t know, but it tears my heart to shreds.

“Officer, wait.”

Shit.

I didn't even mean to speak, but it’s too late now. My mouth seems to have a mind of its own, and it’s planning on doing and saying whatever it takes to see that this man doesn’t go to jail. I don’t understand it. I don’t usually make it a point to stick my nose in other people’s business, but something about this particular man calls to me. I can’t explain it. If I’d been here long enough to have a drink, I’d blame it on the alcohol, but I haven’t. We literally just walked in the door thirty minutes ago, and I spent most of that getting lost on my way to the bathroom and making out with a stranger. The same stranger I’m about to try to keep out of jail now. The officer turns to me, asking my name, and when he does, he releases the Greek god on the floor.

Startling blue eyes turn to me, wanting to see who has spoken, more than likely. The fire in his gaze makes me squirm. His eyes rake over my body from head to toe.

I know that look. That look is trouble. I turn my back to him so I can focus on the officer. Of course, I have to stretch the truth a tad and tell him that Rod was the one to throw the first punch.

I don’t care. He deserves a night in jail for putting his hands on my best friend. I finish telling my side of things and then follow as the officer leads me to his car to write out a statement. Lisa follows behind me so she can write hers up too. So much drama. I can't wait to get home and strip out of this dress and heels.

The night out was a bust. Glancing up on my way outside, I see another cop releasing the three strangers who saved us. My eyes are drawn back to the man on the ground. He rubs his wrist like the handcuffs irritated him for the five minutes they were in place.

There is something about him, something I can't quite put my finger on, but it’s strikingly familiar. I shake my head, laughing at myself. I just arrived in LA yesterday, and I didn't know a soul other than Lisa. How could anyone here be familiar to me?

Wishful thinking, Skila.

It’s probably just homesickness sinking in.

“I’m just gonna head back to the apartment, Lisa. I’ve had enough excitement tonight.” I say to her, exhaustion seeping into my every word. She seems to notice a moment later.

“Okay. Let me square away my tab, and I'll come with you,” she offers.

“No, no, it's ok. You stay and have fun. I'll be fine.”

“Are you sure? I feel bad.” I laugh at that. Going home sounds absolutely divine. Going home alone for a few sounds even better.

“Yep, I'll see you later. Stay out of trouble.” I pierce her with my stare. She laughs and turns to walk back in the club, ignoring my last statement. That girl has always been trouble. It follows her everywhere she goes. For the millionth time this week, I ask myself just what I’ve gotten into by moving here. Day one, and I’m already in over my head, lying to the police to bail out strangers I don’t even know. I hate to see what tomorrow might bring.

Too late to go back now. I'm going have to see this through, no matter how bad it gets. I’m not a quitter.