To a fucking dancer?
Wasn’t he the same person who texted me he was not marriage material after he ditched our wedding?
Yes, he did it over a text.
I’d thought he got cold feet and simply wasn’t ready, so I’d gone to him, telling him I was willing to wait. His answer had been a plainI would never be ready.
I stared at my grip squeezing Kate’s in a handshake as Russell crowed about planning a summer wedding. My blood simmered. My chest heaved with a nine-year-old pain. It was my wedding day all over again. Same humiliation. Same confusion. Same heartache. I yanked my hand out of hers so I wouldn’t hurt her. She was not at fault here. She was a woman who had fallen for an asshole just like me.
I wanted the floor to crack open and swallow me as I couldn’t bolt for the door. They would notice if I just left, and Russell would think he’d won. I couldn’t let that happen. But the pain threatened to spill from my eyes. I couldn’t let them see that either.
Leaving my seat, I lifted my chin and took a deep breath, three pairs of eyes examining me. I did the best I could not to show how I truly felt or say something mean or pitiful. “Make sure you have enough rope on the day.”
Pattison smirked. Russell frowned. And Kate had her big smile on for a few moments before she giggled, finally getting the joke. “To tie you up so you wouldn’t run.” She tapped a red manicured finger on Russell’s shoulder as she linked arms with him.
I uttered a sound that was more of a gurgle than a laugh, the asshole’s eyes sparkling with triumph. He knew he’d gotten to me. I had to go. That was all I could handle for now. If I stayed one more moment, I’d snap. I was losing this battle. I needed to retreat to regroup. “I’d better leave you to that lunch then. Professor Pattison, thank you so much for the opportunity. Nice meeting you Professor Turner. And Russell…I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you join us?” she offered abruptly, her voice too cheerful to endure.
Seriously now, where the hell did that come from? “Some other time. I need to…call my boyfriend to tell him the good news...about the job…not your wedding.” I pretended to laugh as I grabbed my things, cursing myself for lying like that. “He’s a pilot, by the way. He just landed in…Kuala Lumpur. We have like thirty minutes tocelebrateover the phone, if you know what I mean,”WTF? Please stop talking.
Russell narrowed his eyes at me as if he was gauging the level of truth in my words. I waved at the three of them before he could read me and hurried outside, writhing in shame.
I ran like Cinderella at midnight, unsure how I did it in my heels. Fear of anyone seeing the tears rimming my eyes helped, I believed.
Just when I thought I was winning and nothing could ruin my mood for today, I was slapped in the face with wedding bells. For nine years, I thought Russell was a douche that couldn’t commit. Now, I realized he could. Just not to me.
The pain heightened tenfold, slicing to the bone as I reached an exit. I got my phone out of my pocket and wiped my face. I needed to get my car and see my brother. Malcolm’s surprise to see me would brighten my day. His embrace would push away the pain.
As I tapped the screen to book a ride, an obnoxious booming sound echoed forth.
No. Not again.I looked up from my phone, and I saw him on the motorcycle, dashing toward me. Slasher.
“What the hell are you still doing here? Were you waiting for me all that time? That’s a stalker mover.”
He took off his shades, his feet on the ground. His creepy beautiful eyes stared at me. Then he smiled. God damn it.
No. Nine years of shit bubbled inside me. I was too angry to fall for the charms of that mouth. “You were stalking me in the morning, and you’re stalking me now at my workplace. You’re a stalking ss-talker,” I hissed, jabbing my index finger in the air.
He ate me with his stare with the same male hunger I saw earlier. “You done?”
I squared my shoulders, lifting my chin, fluffing my hair. “Yes.”
“Good. Hop on. Let’s get you to Dasher.”
He had this authority in his tone that made me want to submit to his orders yet defy them at the same time. I folded my arms over my chest, raising a brow. “How do you know that name?”
“What name?” he asked, one foot off the ground.
“Malcolm’s nickname. Nobody called him that but me and Mom. He hates it. There’s no way he’d let anyone else call him Dasher.”
Mom loved reindeers and wanted to name him Dasher for real, but Dad intervened and named him after grandpa. However, when I came, Dad couldn’t intervene again—because it was just my luck—and I became Vixen. Yay me. I couldn’t carry that shame alone, so I took it on Malcolm and refused to call him anything but Dasher. It was only fair.
Long story short, he hated it. Mom loved it. He couldn’t say much to her. The name stuck. To retaliate, he made everybody call me Reindeer. As we grew older, we’d agreed on a truce. No more Dasher or Reindeer unless we were home to please Mom.
Then she died, and I left. I hadn’t heard either name since till today.
Slasher shoved his glasses back on his face. “You can ask him when you see him. Give me your stuff. I don’t have all day.”
