Читать книгу Love Bites - Rachel Burke K - Страница 10

It was almost one in the morning by the time the band was packed up and ready to go. Everyone except for the venue employees and band members had already gone home, so I was left in the smoke-filled backstage room with the Electric Wreck guys while Renee was off settling their bar tab. Dylan must have sensed that I was uncomfortable, sitting alone in the corner, because just as I was about to leave he sat down next to me.

“You like the show tonight?” he asked.

“You know you’re always great,” I said, although I wondered if he really did. No matter how many compliments Dylan received, he still seemed to doubt himself. Typical self-loathing artist.

“Do you have to drive back to the Cape tonight?”

“Yeah. It’s only a little over an hour. Not so bad.”

“Except at this hour.” He smirked. “You’re always welcome to crash with us, you know.”

Renee and Dylan lived in Quincy, which was only a 15-minute drive from the city, but I hated sleeping anywhere except in my own bed.

“I’ll be okay,” I said. “Thanks, though.”

“How are you kids doing over here?” Andy asked, sliding in between Dylan and me. He removed a joint from his pocket and held it in my direction. “You smoke?”

I thought about it for a minute. I wasn’t much of a pot-smoker because it made me sleepy, but I did have a long drive home…

“What the hell,” I agreed. “Here?”

“My car. I think they’re going to kick us out soon.”

I followed Andy through the empty main room, catching Renee’s eye on the way. She abruptly stopped her conversation with the bartender when she saw us leaving, giving me the thumbs-up sign. I made a joint-smoking motion with my hands so she wouldn’t get the wrong impression. She shrugged and gave me a smile that said, “Hey, it’s a start.”

Andy drove a black Infinity with gray-leather interior. It was much nicer than I’d imagined. I guess I assumed all musicians drove beat-up vans like Dylan did.

“This is nice,” I said, running my hand along the seat. It had that new-leather smell that I loved.

“Well, playing in a band isn’t the only thing I do.” He lit the end of the joint. “I also teach guitar lessons. And I taught music theory classes for years at the Art Institute.”

I took the joint from his grasp, looking around before taking a hit. We were parked in the lot behind the club, a dark, inconspicuous place. I felt safe. “Why’d you quit?” I asked.

“If we’re going to be touring more, I need the schedule flexibility. I’ll go back to teaching once we start working on our next album, when I know I’ll be home for a while.”

I exhaled a ring of smoke into the air, feeling much more relaxed. That was the good thing about pot. It made your problems not seem so bad. David felt a million miles away.

“What are you smiling about?” Andy asked, looking at me with hazy eyes. I hadn’t even realized I was.

I took another hit of the joint and shrugged. I was having too much fun in my little stoned world to start unleashing my weird thoughts. My head began to feel lighter. I wondered how long we’d been in the car. It felt like forever.

“Just smiling at life, huh?” Andy asked, stubbing out the joint in his ashtray. It was the furthest thing from the truth, but at that moment, it felt one tiny step closer.

“Yeah,” I said. “Something like that.”

Los Angeles, CA

April 2009

The day had finally arrived. My long-anticipated date with Vincent was here at last.

And I had absolutely no idea what to wear.

He hadn’t mentioned where he was taking me, but I assumed it was somewhere fancy, so I had to dress to impress. The problem was, I wasn’t your typical LA girl. I didn’t own designer bags or shoes or sunglasses. I liked funky shit. Purple pants, glass jewelry, fake fur. Those were my style. Red dresses and strappy shoes… not so much.

Renee was out of town, so I ransacked her closet, seeing as her wardrobe was slightly classier than mine. I decided on a low-cut sparkly gold dress because I had a pair of heels that matched perfectly. Luckily, Renee and I were the same size, although she was much taller. It was essentially a mini dress on her, but on me it ended about an inch above my knee. Just long enough to be classy, but just tight enough to be sexy.

Vincent picked me up promptly at 8.30 in a black Maserati. Very close to the black Porsche I’d pictured him in. I felt sexy as I stepped into it. Like a woman. The red lipstick and curls I’d added to my hair also helped me feel closer to his maturity level and less like an intern.

We valeted at the Huntley hotel on Second Street in Santa Monica. I was officially a Hollywood cliché. A cliché in a tight dress and a Maserati, strapped to the arm of someone 20 years my senior. There was a split second where my senses kicked in and I wanted to haul ass in the opposite direction, but instead I kindly kicked my intuition to the curb and followed Vincent to the elevator.

The Penthouse was located on the top floor of the hotel, and was one of the most gorgeous restaurants I’d ever seen. Everything was white. White tables, white chairs, white floors, white walls. They even had white sheer curtains that enveloped each booth; your own private canopy overlooking the city. The bar was lined with candles, and in the corner was a fireplace surrounded by oversized leather chairs.

Vincent and I sat across from each other in one of the cozy booths, and as each drink passed, I wished the curtains weren’t sheer so we could have a little privacy. I studied him in his blue-and-white-striped button-up, realizing that I’d forgotten how attractive he was in his absence.

Or maybe it was because I had been a little preoccupied developing a crush on a certain someone…

“Did I tell you how gorgeous you look tonight?” he asked, stroking my hand from across the table.

“Thank you,” I said politely.

“I mean it. You look stunning.” He removed my hand to grab his menu. “Have you eaten here before?”

I shook my head, taking a sip of champagne. It was my second glass and I was already a little tipsy. Probably because I hadn’t eaten lunch.

Tight dress = no lunch. The LA way.

“Oh come on,” he teased. “Your other boyfriends must take you to places like this all the time.”

Other boyfriends. That was a laugh. I did a quick, mental run-through of all the bad dates I’d been on in LA, and at that moment, the only boyfriend I wanted was him. I stared into his smitten brown eyes, trying to picture us together. Curled up on the couch in his nice home in Beverly Hills. Watching movies and drinking red wine together. Sharing Italian food. It made me feel happy. Safe.

I ordered another glass of champagne and inched closer to him. The booths were U-shaped, and each drink had us slowly gravitating closer to each other. One more drink and I’d be sitting next to him. Two more drinks and I’d be on his lap.

Damn the sheer curtains.

As I sipped my drink, Vincent slid next to me and casually rested his right arm on the back of the booth. His left hand grazed the top of my thigh. My leg tingled.

“You know,” he said. “I don’t normally do this with coworkers. But there was just something about you…”

Our eyes locked. His hand inched further up my thigh.

“To be honest, I don’t get out all that much,” he continued. “My son is my whole life. As much as I love my job, I hate all the traveling. Being away from him is really hard.”

My heart melted. A good-looking, sweet, devoted dad. He was beyond perfect.

Then why couldn’t I get the image of David out of my head?

Stop it, I scolded myself. David is your best friend’s boyfriend. You are on a date with a good-looking, single man, who is interested in you. A date you’ve been looking forward to for a very long time.

I snapped my attention back to Vincent.

“What do you and your son do together?” I asked.

“He plays baseball, so I go to a lot of his games. He loves the movies, too. There’s a great theater in the Marina with reclining couches and a full dinner menu. It’s his favorite place to go.” He smiled proudly.

“That sounds like fun,” I said.

“Yeah, I know it’s not as exciting as the Hollywood scene, but that’s what happens when you’re a dad.”

I would’ve taken baseball games and Disney movies over bad dates and pretentious clubs any day.

“Trust me,” I assured him. “Hollywood is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Come on. A girl like you?” He looked me up and down. “You must have guys lining up.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, mentally sorting through my dating roster. I had them lining up all right. Let’s see, there was the Brit whose credit card declined and I got stuck with our two-hundred-dollar bill… the jock who was sleeping with my friend and I simultaneously… the actor who spent our entire date reciting his IMDB page…

“Let’s just say the grass is always greener,” I said.

Vincent removed his left hand from my thigh and brushed a loose strand of hair from my face. “Well, do you think any of your boyfriends would mind if I kissed you?” he whispered in my ear.

Before I could answer, his lips were on mine.

It was exactly how I had imagined it. Soft, warm lips, his hand behind my neck. A strong masculine kiss, with a slight sense of aggression. Shivers spreading through my body. The taste of bourbon.

As our lips continued to interlock, I could feel the image of David slipping further and further away.

Vincent pulled back and looked me straight in the eyes. “Well, I hope those boyfriends of yours aren’t too jealous, because I might want to do that again.”

I giggled. “No boyfriends.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He looked over my shoulder for a long moment. “But then again, I wouldn’t know. I’ve been out of the dating scene for so long.”

I shot him a confused look. “Why? Because of your son?”

“No, because…” He cleared his throat, looking down at the table. “You know. Because I’m married.”

If it weren’t for the champagne buzz, I’m almost certain I would have clubbed him over the head with the nearest plate and ran for my life.

“You’re what?” I asked, positive I hadn’t heard him correctly.

“Married,” he repeated oh-so-casually. “You knew that.”

“You’re married.” It didn’t even come off as a question. More of a dead, lifeless statement.

He nodded, casually taking a sip of his bourbon. As though this was the most normal conversation in the world.

This is not happening, I thought, shutting my eyes tight. Not again.

“Wait, I’m sorry, and how would I have known that?” My voice was rising now.

He shrugged. Mr. Casual. “I just thought you knew.”

“Why don’t you wear a wedding ring?” The vocal decibels went up another octave. A borderline shriek. I stared accusingly at his bare left hand.

He shrugged again. “I stopped wearing it a long time ago.”

Just like that. No other explanation. He just “stopped wearing it.” You know, because everyone just wakes up one day and decides to stop wearing their wedding ring.

I stared at him, incredulous. Finally, realizing I wasn’t going to let it drop, he sighed. “Listen, Justine, people sometimes… grow apart. Relationships change over time. But like I said, I love my son. He’s my whole life. So I have to do what I can… for him.”

This heartrending speech was interrupted by our waitress, a tall, gorgeous blonde who looked identical to every other waitress in Los Angeles. She smiled at Vincent, clearly admiring the handsome, dark-haired gentleman seated next to me. Only I no longer saw him as handsome. I saw him as a number. Another number to add to the long list of Neanderthals on Justine Sterling’s master dating list.

“Are you two ready to order?” she asked.

Vincent looked at me expectantly. This was the moment of truth. He knew that at this moment, one of two things would happen. I would either a) decline dinner and demand to be taken home or b) accept dinner, thus insinuating that I wasn’t opposed to his affair proposal. Vincent was a lot of things, but he wasn’t an amateur at this game.

Fortunately, neither was I.

“You know,” I said, grabbing my menu. “I’m starving. Are you?”

A subtle smile inched across Vincent’s lips. He nodded slightly, taking my free hand in his. This was it. I had agreed to dinner. He had me right where he wanted me.

“You order first,” I urged him.

I didn’t listen to his order. Instead, my eyes browsed the page until I found the most expensive item on the menu.

“And for you, miss?”

I smiled confidently and pointed to the astronomically high-priced beef rib. “I’ll have the 32-ounce rib, please. Medium well.” I paused, looking over the wine menu. “And actually, I’d like to order a bottle of your finest champagne, too.” I turned to Vincent. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” he insisted, waving his hand at the menu. “Whatever you’d like.”

I knew he wouldn’t object. Even through my alcohol-fogged glasses, I saw him as he really was now. Vincent, with his expensive car, expensive clothes, and expensive home, was a façade. He was an image. On the outside, he had the perfect life. A perfect marriage, a perfect son, and a perfect job that allowed him to travel all over the world. But in reality, he had an unhappy wife, a lonely son, and a job that did nothing but contribute to both of those factors.

And a man like Vincent certainly wouldn’t taint his ego and decline a beautiful woman an expensive meal. Especially in front of their beautiful waitress.

I waited for our waitress to bring the champagne bottle, then downed one last glass before excusing myself to the restroom.

“Hurry back,” Vincent called after me.

I shot him an award-winning smile before walking away. Luckily, the bar area of the Penthouse was so crowded that it was easy to lose sight of someone.

I snuck around the corner, down the elevator, and hailed a cab home, leaving Vincent all alone with a 32-ounce steak and lots and lots of wasted champagne.