Kayla

The car ride back to my home is quiet. The minute we hit the highway, Kathy passes out. I try my hardest not to laugh out loud but fail miserably. Rusty looks at me in the rearview mirror before he speaks.

“What’s so funny back there?”

“Your sister. She snores like a man and drools like a Saint Bernard.” I start laughing all over again at my comment, only this time, I snort. “Oh shit, ignore that, please.”

I’m totally embarrassed by my snort, while Rusty starts to laugh as well. I’m about ready to tell him to stop laughing at me, but I’m immediately silenced when he reaches over and turns up the radio.

“I love this song. Hell, I love this band. What do you think, Kayla? Do you like this tune?”

How am I supposed to answer that question? I love the song, and if I let myself admit it, I love the singer of the song. The thumping of the drum solo from ‘Rocking Between The Sheets’ shakes the inside of the car. I have to yell for Rusty to hear me because the music is so loud.

“Yeah, great song. Can you turn it down just a bit, Rusty? I don’t want you to wake Kathy up.”

Rusty does as I ask and turns the volume down to a reasonable level. It’s just loud enough to drown out Kathy’s snoring, which I can’t believe she is still doing. Luckily, my home is just a few more miles down the road. My heart is beating so fast that it feels like it is about to burst out of my chest, and all this from just hearing the first part of this song. This is the reason I’ve avoided listening to the radio since I’ve gotten home. I don’t need reminders of Cayson, and now that I’ve heard his voice, I can’t get him out of my mind.

I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift back to the first night I met Cayson Razor. He owned the stage; everyone was mesmerized by him, and that included me. Cayson paced back and forth across the stage like a lion teasing his prey. His voice was so sultry that it made everyone feel like he was singing just for them, and Christ, when his hand reached between his legs to grab his package, I wanted to yell out to him to take me. But I didn’t. What did I do? I just waved and gave him a shy smile.

My thoughts are immediately halted when Rusty pulls into my driveway. I don’t wait for him to put the car in park or to even say good night. My hand is on the door pushing it open, so I can get away from the reminder of Cayson playing on the radio. I sprint to my front door as fast as I can, only turning long enough to wave good-bye. When the door is finally closed behind me, I drop to the ground, landing on my hands and knees, and begin to cry. I am frozen in place, Cayson's voice lingering in my mind. All my senses are immediately reminded of him. The way his skin smelled as my head lay against his chest after our bodies clung together in sated, orgasmic bliss. The salty taste of his skin on my tongue as I licked and kissed down the center of his chest, and the feel of his body as my fingers traced over the taut skin of his abdomen, and the velvety soft skin wrapped around his hard cock. The ache in my chest is unbearable, and the tears begin to fall once more. When it seems like I’m unable to cry one more tear, I roll to my side and curl into the fetal position, begging God to make the pain go away. Too tired and too sad to get up off the floor, I fall asleep exactly where I’m lying.

The sound of a dog barking wakes me. I’m still lying on the tile floor entry of my home. I hear my phone beep, indicating I have an incoming text. My muscles ache from sleeping on the hard floor. Trying to ignore the pain, I crawl over to my purse and reach in to retrieve my phone.

PATRICIA: Don’t forget, your deadline is in two weeks. How is it coming along? I haven’t heard from you lately.

That stupid text is a reminder that reality needs me back and crying over Cayson isn’t going to miraculously cause him to call me or seek me out. There is nothing there between us, and I need to move on. My book has been done for days, except for the ending. The writer's block I had yesterday is gone, and I now know the ending. It’s time for me to sit down and finish.

* * *

Three days have passed since I wrote the words “THE END.” I don’t know why I haven’t submitted it; maybe I’m just hoping that Cayson will reach out to me and I can change the ending so that the hero and the heroine will find their happy ending. Things aren’t going to change, and for the first time, one of my books isn’t going to end with the couple finding their way back to each other. Richie and Lara don’t find their happily ever after. Cayson told me that I needed to live in the real world. Not everyone lives happily ever after, Kayla. The words haunt my soul. He was right; there isn’t always a happily ever after. Cayson got his wish. I’m living in the real world now, and it hurts like hell. Taking out my phone, I send a text to Patricia, since the deadline is tomorrow.

ME: It’s done, Patricia. I’ll drop it off tomorrow.

I punished myself today with an intense workout. Lately, I’ve been hiding my feelings behind the pain I inflict on myself at the gym. The minute I walked through the front door, I dropped down on the sofa and became a couch potato. Now, as I stand, shooting pains radiate from my lower back down my legs and up to my shoulders. Placing my palms against my ass, I lean backward to stretch until the ache subsides. I wish my heart could heal as fast as my muscles just did. I walk toward my bathroom, anticipating the long hot shower I’m going to take. Turning on the water, I let it run until steam is flowing from the open door. Quickly, I remove my clothes and step in. Jumping back, I scream, “Fuck!” out loud. The water is scalding hot, and I wasn’t prepared for the blast that hit my body. When the temperature is just right, I find myself slumping to the floor and letting the water cascade over my head and down my body.

What am I doing to myself? I’m not a workout freak. How can hearing one little song on the radio a couple of days ago have my heart breaking all over again? The answer is simple. It isn’t breaking again; it never healed. I make myself a promise right then and there that today will be the last day I sulk over Cayson Razor. No man deserves to own my heart and break it the way he did.

* * *

It’s been a week since I dropped my manuscript off to Patricia. She called two days later to tell me how much she loved it, but that she wanted to see a few changes. They were simple modifications that didn’t take me very long to correct, and now that everything has been updated and sent back, I feel a huge sense of accomplishment. I’m about to call Kathy to see if she wants to do lunch when my phone rings. The caller ID reads RANDY. I inwardly chuckle before I accept the call.

“Hi, Randy”

“Hey, beautiful.” His words are as sweet as sugar when I hear them and make me smile bigger.

“Hey to you, too. How have you been?” I ask with a bit more enthusiasm than I normally would, but to be honest, I’m enjoying the fact that he called me.

“I’ll be better once you agree to have dinner with me Friday night.”

Thinking about his request for a moment and running through my schedule, I reply, “Friday is fine. Where would you like to meet?”

“I’ll pick you up. Tell me where you live,” Randy asks, to which I immediately reply.

“Nice try, mister. I’ll meet you. You’re not getting my address out of me just yet. We only met just a little over a week ago, and I’d prefer to get to know you better.” I’m sure he is probably regretting he asked me out now and thinking I’m a freak because I won’t give him my address. But I have a few quirks, and one of them is not giving out my address or inviting men over to my house before I really get to know them.

There is a light chuckle on the other end of the phone before Randy speaks. “Okay, Kayla, you said you liked Italian food the last time we spoke, so how does seven o’clock sound at Abbiati’s off Central in downtown Phoenix?”

I love Italian almost as much as I love my parents, and I’ve wanted to try Abbiati’s for a long time now, so I’m more than excited about his choice of restaurant. “Sounds perfect, Randy. I’ll see you there.”