He thinks about it for a minute and says, “Maybe something historical like early America or the Mayflower?”
“Wow, really trying to entertain yourself, huh?”
He snorts and says, “Well, surprise me then.”
I think about this for a second and voice my thoughts. “What aboutThe Outlanderseries? Time travel, romance, and some history all thrown in. The perfect combination.”
“Sure, why not.”
“Great, I’ll grab the first in the series. It’s lengthy, so be prepared.”
He looks around the room and then back at me. “Well, there's not much I can do these days, so it’s fine.”
I feel that guilt resurface, and I swallow hard. The lump that resides in my thoughts always seems to be there. I turn around and start putting my stuff away. I grab my cardigan that had fallen off the chair during my dance routine and put it back on. Melissa knocks on the door we left partially open and hands me my drink.
“Here you go, Liv, Lady Gray, with one pump of vanilla and frothed almond milk.”
I look at her adapted version of a London fog latte with a genuine smile. “Thank you so much; it’s perfect.”
“Well, I know it is your favorite, so enjoy.”
“Do you need anything, Brodie, before I settle in?”
He just shakes his head.
“Well, I’ll walk you out, Liv, if you want.”
I run over to Brodie and give him a quick hug. I hear him take in a big whiff of my hair before I pull away. Every time I leave, he does the same thing. He always loved the way I smelled. I have always worn the same product in my hair for years, and he’s grown accustomed to it. The Aveda scent is quite distinctive-earth floral tones. I caught him with an Aveda candle in his room once, and I highly suspected he was trying to remember my scent. All it does now is make me sad to the point of tears. Melissa and I leave the room and close the door behind us as we walk down the stairs to the front door.
I use this time to ask her how Brodie is doing. She looks at me and places her hand on my shoulder with a light touch.
“He’s okay, Liv. He realizes that he is responsible for his mistakes, and he owns that. I suspect that you should realize this too. Have you talked to anyone about this? A professional?”
I shake my head and look down.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. This was a terrible accident and not your fault.”
“I know,” I reply, still avoiding looking at her. “I better get going.”
She opens the door and watches me walk to my car. “Be safe,” she says before I close the door to my Jeep.
I retrieve my phone from my messenger bag and plug it into the charger to listen to my music on the drive home. I see a message from Emma.
You will never believe who I ran into at our after-work sports bar! Jameson from Spring Break, and he wasn’t alone.
Oh boy, I think to myself. I bet I know who he was with. I better meet up with Dax before he finds out where I live, and I don’t have the willpower to turn him away. Would I turn him away? I go to my playlist and hit the song “Summertime Sadness” by Lana Del Rey. The music infiltrates the Jeep, and I hit the button to put the windows down. I drive through the dark residential area listening to the beats as I drive the long way home, lost in my thoughts.
ChapterFourteen
Dax
The crowd increasesas more people make their way into the club. The heavy bass of the music drums in my ears as I shoulder through sweaty bodies, making my way to the bar. I get the bartender's attention and order a couple of shots of tequila. Making quick work of those, I order a third for good measure. My thoughts start to get a little fuzzy, and a smile plays on my lips.
Perfect, I think, pushing off the bar and heading toward the bathroom.
A buzz to take the edge off is precisely what I need. As usual, there’s a long wait for the women’s room, and my eyes scan the line as I get closer. I appreciate all the various beauties from afar but purposely don’t make eye contact or acknowledge anyone. I walk past them all, eyes locked on the men's room door. Thankfully there’s no one in line, so I am in and out quickly. Walking back to the table, I pull out my phone and consider sending Liv a message. I usually avoid drunk texting anyone, but she seems to be the exception to all my rules these days. A warm body bumps against my chest as I type out a text. It’s the red-haired waitress, Simone.
Simone pushes her breasts up against my chest and holds on to my arm to raise her lips up to my ear. “I get off at one if you are still here. I’ll make it worth your wait.” She steps back, winks, and then walks away.
