Born Again Page 22

  By the time he put me back down, Naomi had left the conference table.

  “Okay, can I get back to work now?” I said to him.

  He laughed. “Yes, sorry. Go and be amazing. I’ll see you later.” He pecked me on the cheek, then practically bounced away.

  I hurried back inside, ignoring the salutations from my coworkers, headed straight for Naomi’s office. I went in without knocking.

  She was perched behind her desk, poised, as though nothing had transpired.

  “Naomi,” I started anxiously, “I didn’t know he was gonna do that, I swear.”

  She looked at me, her expression neutral. “Congratulations, Miss Adams.”

  Tears trickled down my face. “This isn’t what I want.”

  Her voice hardened. “You said yes, didn’t you?”

  I nodded slowly.

  “Then it’s exactly what you want.” She started shifting some papers on her desk. “I’m busy, and I’m sure you have work to do.”

  I sobbed a little while longer, wiped my face with the sleeve of my blouse, cleared my throat, straightened up, then left her office like a woman who hadn’t just lost her dignity and her only shot at true happiness.

  TWENTY-TWO

  “Ooh, what about a tiara?” Brit ran to the accessories section of the store, picked off a couple of tiaras from the rack, then ran back over to me, shoving them in my face. “They’re ‘in’ now.”

  I rolled my eyes to the sky. “Tacky. Can we just focus on the dress please?”

  The Royal Flush Wedding Store was a budget bridal shop that sold everything from stationery to honeymoon packages. Full service, they said. I’d never seen anything like it. They even took care of catering. Situated downtown, it had a large storefront with a warehouse feel to it. Chaotic — the type of place where nothing was ever where it was supposed to be. The big red SALE signs in the windows had attracted the bargain bin crowd, so the place was packed. I was almost certain half the patrons were either already married or single. It was pure madness. And naturally, all Brit’s idea.

  “Why did you bring me here?” I’d asked the minute we stepped inside.

  “You said you wanted to keep things cheap, and this place is as cheap as it gets.”

  True, I wanted to spend the bare minimum. It was going to be a small affair, and I didn’t want to make a fuss.

  I filed through rack after rack crammed with wedding gowns of all descriptions, from the plain to the garish, the elegant to the slutty. Nothing wowed me.

  “What about this one? You’ve got the boobs for it.” She held up an off-white gown with an abundance of sequins on it.

  I sighed, gave it the thumbs down. So far she’d suggested more than a dozen dresses, and they’d all been rejected.

  She regarded me curiously. “Why am I more excited about this than you are?”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Because you put the idea into his head.”

  “Well you said yes.”

  “Everyone was watching, what was I supposed to do?”

  “That’s a terrible reason to marry someone, just saying.”

  I cut her a murderous look. If she hadn’t plotted against me at the game party that night, he probably never would have asked me. But, I found out the night of the proposal, that she’d made it seem as if I was ready for marriage. That was three weeks ago, and I still wasn’t over the betrayal.

  A couple of heavyset ladies bumped into me, nearly sent me crashing into a rack. They didn’t stop to apologize in their rush to get to the bargains.

  I groaned. “Can we just get this over with and get the heck out of here?”

  I knew I wouldn’t find the right dress in this cesspit of a store, because it didn’t exist. No dress would be suitable for a wedding I didn’t want to a man I didn’t love.

  “Okay, how about this one? Come on, you gotta love it.” She held it up against her body. An off-shoulder ivory chiffon dress that didn’t look half bad... for a cheaply made gown from China. I took it from her to appease her, went to try it on in the changing room.

  “If we had more time, we could have done things properly,” she said to me from the other side of the curtain.

  I tugged off my jeans. “He wanted it to coincide with my thirtieth birthday. I didn’t have the energy to protest.”

  “That’s because he wants to get some of your, ahem, Hot Pocket.”

  “Ugh!” I grumbled. “It’s always about sex with you.”

  She did a witch-like cackle. “And to the rest of the red-blooded world.”

  The dress slipped on easily, fit comfortably. When I peered at my reflection in the mirror, though, I felt my nose tickle and knew I was about to cry if I didn’t stop myself.

  I’d only ever given marriage real consideration when I was with her. With Naomi, the prospect of being someone’s wife, and all that went along with it, seemed like a dream. A wonderful dream. If she would have asked me on our first night together, I would have said yes before the words were out. Then I would have spent months planning for the most important day of my life, with the most important person in it. Buying the dress wouldn’t have been a chore; I would never have stepped foot in the Royal Flush Wedding Store.

  I shut my eyes, imagined my perfect day, standing face to face with the woman I loved, exchanging vows we’d written ourselves. It all seemed so clear, like I’d already lived it and had gone back in time to relive it.

  When I opened my eyes again, I was still in the changing room of a bargain-basement store, in a cheap dress whose seams had begun to unravel, and whose fabric had started to itch. The perfect dress for the occasion.

  I pulled back the curtain miserably. “This is the one I want.” And the one this farce of a wedding deserved.

  Boxes of Thai takeout covered Dove’s table. A small, secondhand find from Craigslist that wobbled when you put too much weight on one side.

  Colin and Dove loaded scoops of oily goodness onto their disposable plates, while I picked at my own meager offering on one of the three plastic chairs Dove’s neighbor had donated to him. No couch, no real furniture, all very back to basics. It didn’t seem to faze him at all.

  The two men claimed the remaining seats and tucked in ravenously. We ate in silence until Colin said, “Dakota, did you tell Dove you went shopping for a wedding dress today?”

  I sighed inwardly. “No, but you have now.” He didn’t pick up on my mood.

  “You find anything?” Dove said, mouth full of food.

  “Yeah.” Though the food smelled amazing, I had no appetite. For it, or for anything.

  “Hugh’s really looking forward to marrying us. He still can’t believe we’re finally doing it.”

  “He’s not the only one,” I said under my breath.

  Colin was so lost in his excitement, he failed to see that he was alone in it. He merrily slurped his noodles, like a little kid eating spaghetti for the first time. I looked at him, my future husband, with disgust. In just eight weeks we would be married, and every day of my life would be this. It wasn’t just the noodles, it was the way he drove, like an old man. The way he kissed, like his tongue was a serpent trying to hide in my mouth. The way he never covered his mouth when he coughed. The way... the way he wasn’t her.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” I announced to the room.

  Inside the dank, badly lit room that smelled like a sewer, I took a breath, then another, removed my phone from my jeans, and tapped out a text I knew I had no right to send. I’d written the message a dozen times or more but had never sent it. This time, with much trepidation, I hit SEND, transporting the words, “I miss you,” into the digital ether and right to their recipient.

  Then I waited. Five minutes, standing aimlessly in the smelly bathroom. No reply. I flushed the chain and rejoined the others. She would see it and reply, I just knew she would. She couldn’t ignore it.

  It was just after nine when Colin dropped me home.

  “See you at church tomorrow,” he said, and w
ent in for a kiss, but I twisted and offered him my cheek instead. I was in no mood to fight with a serpent tonight.

  I waved at him as he drove away, waited until his car had vanished from sight, then hopped on my scooter. My helmet was upstairs in the apartment, but I didn’t care. My safety was the last thing on my mind.

  I pulled up to the apartment complex in Queen Anne, cut the engine, headed to the entrance and waited. I peered around, hoping that one of the tenants would come in or out so I could gain entry. It was borderline stalker behavior, but I wasn’t thinking straight enough to realize that. My neurosis had pretty much taken over by that point.

  After fifteen minutes, no one came. I could have walked away, hopped back on my scooter and gone home. But before I knew it I’d pressed the intercom button.

  “Hello?”

  “Naomi, it’s me.”

  A beat, then, “Dakota, what are you doing here?”

  “Please, I just wanna talk.”

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  My voice became more high-pitched in my desperation. “Please, let me up. Just five minutes, that’s all I need.”

  Silence. Then the door clicked. I hurried inside. The elevator came as soon as I called it. I could barely catch enough air in my lungs as I rode it up. Nerves attacked me.

  She was waiting for me at the elevator doors, in tight black jeans and a white t-shirt, no bra underneath. Her hair was messy, but she looked sexier than ever.

  “You can’t be here,” she said, her expression a cross between vexed and worried.

  “Why didn’t you reply to my text?”

  She sighed. “I had nothing to say.” She folded her arms. “And you shouldn’t have sent it.”

  “I... I had to. I meant it, and I wanted you to know.” How I longed to kiss her again. I’d almost forgotten what that felt like, what her kiss tasted like. She was slipping away from me. We hadn’t had time to build more memories.

  “Why are you doing this, Dakota?”

  “Because.” I threw up my arms. “Because I miss you, and it hurts like hell.”

  Her brow furrowed, her eyes grew watery. “You need to go home. You can’t be here like this.”

  “Why not?” I demanded. “And why can’t I go inside? I practically lived there once.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, when her door opened and a blonde woman wearing a wife beater and boxers stepped out.

  “Nay, is everything all right?” She looked at me, frowned.

  “Who the fuck is that?” I screamed, seeing red everywhere.

  “Can you go back inside, please?” I heard Naomi say, but her voice sounded distant.

  The woman disappeared while I lost my shit.

  “Dakota, you need to calm—”

  “You’re fucking someone else?” I demanded, my voice reverberating off the hollow corridor walls, tears springing from my eyes. “We broke up five minutes ago and you’re already fucking someone else!”

  “Hey, you don’t get to be mad. Or did you forget that you’re engaged?”

  “Fuck you! You know it’s not like that.” I grabbed my head with both hands. It felt like the walls were caving in on me.

  “You moved on, and I’m doing the same. And you need to leave now.” Her voice was shaky, frightened maybe. I didn’t blame her, I was scaring myself. She tried to touch me, to calm me. “Let me call you a cab.”

  I shook her off. “Get the fuck off me. I don’t need your cab, or your fucking pity. You don’t want me, fine.” I staggered back to the elevator. “I’ll find someone who does.”

  She called after me as the doors slid shut.

  I bawled my eyes out on the way down, and while I rode back in the direction of home. I ran two red lights, nearly went careening into a forty foot truck and a couple of cars, and didn’t stop until I pulled up not outside my apartment, but outside Strobe.

  The barmaid, one I hadn’t seen before, gave me a dubious look. “Six more shots of tequila?” The music was loud, as usual, but she’d heard me just fine the first time.

  I nodded. “Yes. I’m celebrating.”

  The first four shots, just fifteen minutes prior, had already gone to my head, helped along in no small part by the double rum and Coke.

  I turned around and surveyed the club, bobbing my head to the house beat. Beautiful women by the truckload, all mine for the taking. I had my eye on a couple, but so far neither of them had looked in my direction.

  “What are you celebrating?” The question didn’t come from the barmaid, but the woman standing beside me. She’d been invisible to me right up until then, not because I didn’t know she was there, but because she wasn’t my type, whatever that was. The short pixie cut, plaid sleeveless shirt, and full sleeve of colorful tattoos did nothing for me. She was all the way butch. Her smile was her only saving grace — perfect, white teeth.

  The barmaid slid my shots to me and I paid. She shook her head then moved on to the next patron.

  I threw back a shot. “I’m getting married.”

  Her brows rose. “Really? Congratulations.”

  “Nope, not congratulations.” I threw back another. “What’s... what’s that thing you—you say when someone...” I burped, then laughed, “...when someone dies?”

  She frowned with a confused smile. “Deepest sympathies?”

  I clicked a drunken finger. “That’s the one. Come on, say it to me.”

  She laughed. “Okay. Deepest sympathies on your engagement.”

  I bowed. “Thank you.”

  Still laughing, she shook her head. “So why are you so sad about getting married? Is someone forcing you?”

  I nodded, threw back my third shot. I slid one over to her, and she accepted, downed it.

  “Uh-huh. God is.”

  Her confusion deepened. “God’s forcing you to get married? I didn’t know he did that kind of thing.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s his thing, ruining people’s lives. Just ask his son.”

  She chuckled. “You’re either batshit crazy, or stupid drunk. I can’t tell which.”

  “Maybe both.” I knew my limit, and the last two shots were never gonna go down. I slid them over to her. “Here.”

  “You sure?” I nodded. “Thanks.”

  I watched her empty the small glasses, and she started growing on me.

  “You’re not my type,” I said, though no one asked.

  “Thanks for telling me that.” She didn’t seem fazed. “And you’re not mine. I prefer my women less crazy.”

  “I like you though. If you...” Here I leaned forward, brushed my lips against her ear. She smelled like men’s cologne. “If you dance with me, I’ll let you fuck me later.”

  She was going to say no, but I didn’t let her. I grabbed her hand and led her to the dance floor. Any inhibitions I once had were long gone. I threw everything I had into dancing, didn’t care how insane I looked, or who I whacked in the process.

  I pulled her close, hooked my arms around her neck, and we boogied like there was no tomorrow; kissed as the strobe lights flashed around us.

  We stumbled drunkenly into her bedroom, our lips still locked. She threw me on the bed. I licked my lips hungrily as she tore off her clothes, right down to her boxers. Her breasts were small, but pert. I was ready to wreck them.

  I sat up on my knees, and under her ravenous gaze, undressed, taking everything off, receiving a long, aggressive kiss at the end, before she threw me down again.

  The decision to receive was completely taken from me, and I had no desire to stop her when she got started. No longer did that job belong to Naomi.

  She squeezed my thighs so tightly that I thought she would pierce my flesh with her fingers. The pain mixed with the pleasure of a new and talented tongue lashing against my bean was delicious.

  I howled like a wolf, one hand clutching strands of her hair, the other fondling my own breasts.

  My nub was battered and bruised by the time she left it, and I still hadn’t come. But she w
asn’t finished with me.

  She came up for a kiss, a savage claiming of my mouth, and pinned me down by my arms. Everything she did was done brutishly, aggressively, and I loved every minute of it. I needed it rough.

  Her nipples soared over mine, making them rock hard. The fabric of her boxers lightly grazed my sex, sending infrequent but wonderful jolts of pleasure running through me.

  “Your fiancé isn’t gonna be happy with you,” she laughed, as she ground her sex into mine.

  “Stop talking,” I said, and without warning pushed her off me.

  At first she looked apprehensive, but she let me position her on her stomach. She didn’t stop me when I yanked her boxers off. I straddled her back, pinned her arms down, kissed and bit her neck and earlobe.

  “You’re freaky.”

  “I said stop talking.” I grabbed her neck and began, slowly at first, to grind my sex into her ass.

  I rode her like a horse, my grip on her neck tightening, while my moans filled the air. I didn’t care that I was the only one getting any direct pleasure from this.

  Naomi had done this to me just once, but she’d been generous with it, managing to reach down and finger me while she rode. The feel of her sap on my cheeks coupled with her dexterous fingers strumming away at my nub was indescribable. And I had no intention of recreating it with this stranger. Some things were just too sacred.

  I came hard and loud, and didn’t dare make any sudden movements, because I was too sensitive for it.

  Once it was safe to, I dismounted and collapsed on my back, panting for breath. She sat up on her knees and, eyes on me the whole time, began masturbating herself to climax. I’d already turned my head in the opposite direction, so I didn’t see her come, but I heard it.

  She tried to kiss me, but I twisted away. Got up. “I have to go.”

  I collected my clothes off the floor. She watched me climb into them.

  “That was a lot of fun. Can we do it again sometime?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She laughed in shock. “You do this often, don’t you?”

  “When I need to.” I fastened my jeans.