CHAPTER ELEVEN
I wasn’t sure what annoyed me more. The dig of the bag handles on my palms, the aches in my feet, or that Sarah was such an indecisive shopper. Redwater City Mall was huge, selling everything from cigars and books to furniture and computer hardware. It was also busy as hell, and what seemed like thousands of voices echoed all around us.
After a long day dealing with crowds, long lines, bags bumping my legs, and the incessant beeping of bar scanners, I just wanted to rest. My feet hurt, my palms stung, and I was seriously hungry.
My nose wrinkled at the smells of hairspray and chemicals coming from the salon nearby. Right then, I stood at a fashion jewelry kiosk, waiting as Sarah debated which bangles to buy. She didn’t ask my opinion, knowing I’d tell her whatever it took to make her hurry the fuck up so that we could leave.
For her, today had been therapeutic. For me, it had been tiring. Online shopping was more my thing—everything was in the one place, which meant there was no traipsing around on foot that got increasingly sore. You didn’t have to leave home, didn’t have to line up, didn’t have to deal with crowds. And considering shop assistants often said, “Sorry, we don’t have it in stock, but we can order it online,” it just seemed easier to cut out the middleman and do it all online yourself.
Out of habit, I glanced around, looking for any sign of Ricky. There was none. Two weeks had gone by, and it had been an uneventful two weeks. He hadn’t made contact again by email, nor had he tried to get back in my apartment. Maybe he’d noticed the alarm sensors on the fire window or something, I didn’t know.
I probably should have considered the lack of activity to be a good thing, but it instead left me feeling antsy. Left me waiting and wondering if, what, and when he’d act again. That in and of itself was mentally draining. If his intent was to make me paranoid and cause my mind to torture me that way, it had had the desired effect.
Was it any wonder that I was again having trouble sleeping? Worse, my book wasn’t going well at all. Whereas before it had been my escape, I now couldn’t plunge myself fully into it. Couldn’t focus enough to fatten the draft with real life. Not while the need to be on my guard pounded at me. Writing was usually morphine for me, but I didn’t even have that now.
That left me more irritated than ever, because I got insanely restless when my head was full of ideas. If I didn’t empty them out onto a piece of paper or my laptop, I was like a woman who’d had way too many expressos—full of inner energy, twitchy, and increasingly intolerant.
I tried not to let that irritability bleed over into my emails, blog, or social media posts, but I wasn’t sure I was successful. I certainly wasn’t successful with that during face-to-face interaction. That was bad, since I wasn’t particularly social at the best of times.
Hearing my cell phone beep, I fished it out of my purse and swiped my thumb across the screen. My stomach fluttered. It was a message from Blake.
Meet me at the Vault at 7
Anger slammed into me hard. Motherfucker. Why was he a motherfucker? Simple. Because Ricky Tate wasn’t the only one who’d gone silent. I hadn’t seen or heard from Blake even once since the night he left me at my apartment with a “Be safe” two weeks ago. He hadn’t called last weekend to arrange another meet, despite telling me that he would. Nor had he answered the text I’d sent, asking if there was a change of plan.
Sure, he was a busy guy. I understood that. Still, he’d found enough damn time to push me for sex before we agreed to our arrangement. It wouldn’t have killed him to send a quick text to let me know that he wouldn’t be able to meet with me, would it?
It wasn’t that I was expecting regular texts or calls from him to check-in. This wasn’t a relationship. Our worlds would stay separate—I got that. I even preferred it, since my world was kind of complicated right now and I didn’t particularly want to share those complications with him. But if a guy said he was going to call, he should call. It was about basic respect and common decency.
I’d started to wonder if maybe he was bored now that the chase was over. That happened with some guys—they were all about the thrill of the chase, the challenge, and things were no longer fun when they’d run down their prey. I’d met men like that before. Blake didn’t seem to be one of them, but it was hard to tell for sure, since he held so much of himself back. It made him extremely difficult to read.
Another possibility was that he was behaving this way to make some kind of point—communicating what expectations I should and shouldn’t have of him and, thus, staying in control. But that seemed a little childish. Blake had never struck me as childish. And he was far too straightforward to passively make a point. Again, though, I just couldn’t be sure.
Whatever the case, he was one bold fucker to break his two-week silence with a text that didn’t even include a ‘hi.’ He hadn’t asked how I was. Hadn’t apologized for not being in touch or for not replying to my text. Hadn’t asked if I was free tonight. No, he expected me to jump at his order. Not only that, he’d told me to meet him at seven, which was in an hour’s time.
“You okay?” asked Sarah, brow pinched.
“Blake just texted me.” I showed her the message, and her expression hardened.
“What kind of advanced notice is that?”
“The kind of notice that says he thinks I’m sitting at home twiddling my fingers, just in case he calls. And look, he hasn’t called. He sent me a text, summoning me.” Had I really struck him as the type of person who jumped at anyone’s order? If so, he wasn’t quite as perceptive as I’d thought.
“What are you going to do?”
“Exactly what any self-respecting woman would do in my position.” I typed a quick, succinct text:
Can’t tonight. Busy.
Watching me type, Sarah nodded her approval. I had been tempted to comment on him acting like a dick, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it had bothered me. Moments after I sent the text, my phone beeped again. It was yet another message from Blake:
Busy doing what?
Well, Sarah and I had plans that involved Netflix, popcorn, and a bottle of wine. I could tell him the truth that I was having a girl’s night with Sarah. A girl’s night could be anything from a movie night to a club crawl—he deserved the annoyance of not knowing what I meant. As I was debating exactly what to type, another message from him came through:
Where are you?
I thought about replying with something like, ‘My location isn’t important—our worlds don’t mix outside the Vault, remember?’ But it would only sound bitter. Would sound as if I wanted more from him when I truly didn’t. I simply responded:
Out with Sarah.
In a matter of seconds, there was another message:
Where are you, Kensey?
Teeth grinding, my thumbs furiously tapped on the screen as I responded:
Got to go. Speak soon.
Dismissed. I smiled, knowing that would gall him, since he seemed to think I should answer to him. With that, I dropped my cell back in my purse and waited while Sarah paid for the bangles she’d chosen. Happy, she stuffed the small bag in another store bag. That was when my cell rang.
Oh, now he calls.
“Think that’s Blake?” Sarah asked.
“Probably.” I ignored the chiming and chatted with Sarah as we made our way down the escalators to the food court on the ground floor. We both found a table and settled there with takeout boxes from the noodle bar. I was so hungry that I almost groaned with every bite. Of course, I probably would have been enjoying the meal a whole lot more if my cell phone didn’t keep sporadically ringing.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Take pity on him and answer it.”
“Why would I do that?”
“What he did was shitty, but I don’t think it’s something you should take personally. This is a guy who probably never has to explain his actions to anyone. He’s used to having what he wants when he wants.” Using a napkin, Sarah wiped her hands. “I’m not saying that’s okay. He needs to understand you won’t stand for that shit. You’ve made your point. I’m sure he heard it loud and clear. But you won’t know unless you take his call and hear what he has to say. There could be a perfectly good reason why he hasn’t been in contact. Maybe he was in the hospital or something.”
Since I’d recently felt tempted to put him in a damn hospital myself, it was hard to be understanding. Still, I pulled out my phone as I told Sarah, “I need a minute.”
She grinned in a way that made me nervous. “Take all the time you need.”
Casting her a suspicious look, I turned sideways in my seat as I answered, “Hello.”
“Where are you?” It was a deep rumble that made my stomach roll.
“Hello to you too. I told you, I’m out with Sarah.”
“You and I have an arrangement.”
“Yes, but that arrangement doesn’t include me hanging around on the off-chance that you’ll call or text,” I stated, firm yet calm. “If you want me to meet you at the Vault, you need to give me some advanced notice.”
“I did,” he clipped.
“An hour is not enough notice. And I’m not cutting my time short with my friend for no good reason.”
“I’ll fuck you into oblivion—that’s a good reason.”
My pulse spiked. “You know what I mean, Blake. And since I haven’t received a word from you in two weeks, I’m not feeling inclined to—” My phone was suddenly snatched out of my hand.
“Hey, Blake, it’s Sarah,” she said into the phone, smiling sweetly at me. “I’m guessing from what little I heard that you’d like to see Kensey tonight … Yeah, see, we agreed to spend the day together, and she’s loyal to the bone. She really won’t drop me for a guy but well, if I went along with her to the Vault, it wouldn’t be an issue.”
My mouth dropped open, but her smile just widened. I probably should have seen this coming, considering she was quite the opportunist.
“I don’t plan to try and move in on your action,” she assured him. “Being a third wheel is never fun. You guys could go your way, and I’d have my own bit of fun.” A pause. “Understood.” She held out my phone. “He wants to talk to you.”
I snatched it out of her hand and gritted out, “What?”
“I’ll see you at seven-thirty. Rossi will be waiting for you outside your apartment.”
“Giving me an extra half hour to get dressed still doesn’t class this as ‘advanced notice.’ I spend more time debating over what to wear than I do getting ready. And I’m still not sure I want to see you.”
“It doesn’t matter what you wear, baby, because I have every intention of taking it off. You’re pissed at me, I get it, but I can’t talk about it right now. We’ll talk later, face to face.” The line went dead.
I glared at the girl who was no longer my friend. “You did not just do that.”
She held up her hands in a gesture of peace. “Hey, look, I get that you were making a point to him—it was a point you needed to make. But why miss out on a sublime sex session just because he acted like a man and did something supremely stupid? With this Ricky Tate business, you need a distraction; you need something good. Blake Mercier is a hell of a hot distraction.”
I snorted. “You just want to see the club.”
“I admit, I wasn’t being purely selfless, but I do want you to have fun. You’ve been stressing like crazy lately. What better way to burn off stress than a night of hot sex? And it will give us an excuse to wear the dresses we just bought. Come on, Lyons, get with the program.”
I sighed. “Fine, I’ll go.” If for no other reason than I was curious about why he’d been out of contact.
Squealing in delight, she did a little clap. “Let’s go get ready.”
We went back to my place, got ready in record time, and left at 6:55pm—it was the best we were able to do, with such short notice. Rossi, who gave a whole new meaning to the term ‘road rage’ whenever anyone got in his way, then drove us to the Vault.
Before he could take us through the private garage, I said, “Just drop us here. I’d like to go through the front entrance and see what the main floor is like.”
Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, yeah!”
Rossi looked reluctant, but he shrugged his shoulders and pulled up outside the club’s entrance. When he grabbed his phone, I figured he’d be calling Blake with news of our change of plan, but I didn’t comment. Instead, I climbed out of the car and walked to the door with Sarah.
It was only as I was showing the doormen the membership card Blake had given me that I realized I’d fucked up—Sarah didn’t have a card, which meant she couldn’t get inside. Shit. I was about to call Blake, but then the doormen waved us through. My brows lifted, but I didn’t question it. Just took Sarah’s hand and urged her inside.
The place was, as Cade would say, buzzing. Dark, loud, and crowded. On the huge stage, large black speakers flanked the DJ booth. Multiple people tended the long bar that ran almost the entire length of one wall.
Multicolored beams of light lanced the air and seemed to move to the thumping beat of the music—a beat I could feel in my chest. Streaks of neon laser lights illuminated the dance area, which was a little hazy, thanks to the fog machine.
Swarms of people danced, jumped, snapped photos, and ground against each other. The DJ egged on the hooting crowd, demanding they ‘make some noise.’ Oh, and they did.
“Is this fucking amazing or what?” asked Sarah, smile bright as the sun.
A cluster of giggling girls past us, carrying highball glasses with glowing drinks, and headed to a seating area that—
“Oh, shit!”
My head snapped around at Sarah’s curse. “What?” I tracked her gaze. And my gut twisted. Blake was near the bar, standing intimately close to a tall brunette, their faces almost fused together. Bastard.