Layla. She’d be our second incident and the biggest. Almost two months into our relationship and pretty much one month after the first wave of rumors, I was facing yet another occurrence. Jason was in the shower when he got a text from her saying she couldn’t wait for later that night and how she craved his cock again. Again.
I confronted him. Since we weren’t in public and I wasn’t afraid to make a scene, I stomped into the bathroom, pulled open the shower door, and held his phone up as I asked questions. He was panic-stricken and so distraught. He swore it had to have been a mistake and meant for someone else. Like an idiot, I caved and believed him.
“Do you inspect all your clients’ mouths and necks with your tongue? Allow them to hold your hand and touch your thighs? Am I doing business wrong myself?”
“I held her hand trying to comfort her as she told me how her husband died a year ago. It was a hard story for her to tell.”
My laugh is empty. “I’m not an idiot. Please stop insinuating otherwise.”
He exhales heavily. “You’re taking this entire thing out of context. Again. I was trying to be nice and sweeten her up to get her business. She’ll bring in about twenty—”
“I’m done, Jason. We’re done. Save your excuses.”
“Kenlyn.” It’s a plea, one I’m learning the hard way is fake.
“It’s over.” I hang up.
Lucia eyes me from across the office as I push back in. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
She stands to her feet, grinning from ear to ear and claps. “It is about damn time you got rid of that soul sucker.”
It catches my coworkers’ attention and I burn red. Glaring at her, I grab her arm as I drop into the chair. “Sit down. Stop.”
She laughs, but does as I plea. “Fine. Fine. But I’m cooking you dinner and we’re celebrating your freedom.”
Ending things with Jason already feels like a relief. Being with him felt like I was struggling to swim against a current, drowning against waves. Deep down, I knew I was wasting my time, but I enjoyed his company even though I knew loving him wasn’t an option.
At least I came out of this without heartbreak. A bruised ego, but heart intact.
Chapter Two
One week later…
Lucia’s in the kitchen putting the last touches on breakfast. She hums and swings her hips side to side in shorts that barely cover her amazing ass atop long, tanned legs paired with a cut-off shirt that displays her flat stomach and the half-sleeve tattoo on her right arm.
“Buenos días,” she greets me with a smile. “I made breakfast sandwiches. Eggs, ham, bacon, and cheese.”
I love living with her. The woman can cook and I love to eat.
She slides the plate on the counter as I pour my coffee. “Good morning.”
“Are you seeing Dotty today?”
“Of course. Every Saturday morning.”
“What are you doing after?”
“Not sure. Why?”
She beams. “Do you remember that tattoo place Soraya told us about a few weeks ago?”
“Tig’s?”
“That’s it. I’ve got an appointment for some new ink. Wanna come with me? Afterward we can grab drinks and dinner.”
Tattoos and the thought of getting them make my anxiety rise and my stomach queasy. “I don’t know. I thought about working—”
“Lyn!” she interrupts me, throwing her hands in the air. “It’s Saturday. You’re not going to work on any projects and I’m not going to let you sit here and overthink. I’ve given you a week. Now it’s time to get out of your head and quit thinking about Jason via death by work. Come with me.”
“I haven’t thought of him since he showed up at the door and you threatened to castrate him.” I laugh.
The day after I broke things off, he stood in my doorway pissed with a bruised ego. He accused me of cheating and having a guilty conscience, which somehow in turn made me think he was always the one poking around even though he wasn’t. His words. Not mine. He even stooped so low as to say I was using him for his money. Yes, Jason has a bank account with several commas, but I never wanted any of that, nor did I “use” him for it. I make my own commas. His argument was fit with some interesting name-calling too.
That’s the part Lucia heard and came rushing out. She went bad ass crazy on him with head sways, finger snaps, talking way too fast, and a clear promise to “de-nut” him if he set foot within twenty feet of me again. It took some more convincing in the form of me threatening to call the law if he didn’t leave, but he finally did, dragging what was left of his ego behind him. I swear he was only this enraged because he got caught. Not because he actually cared.
She raises her dark eyebrows, not believing I haven’t talked to him.
“I promise I haven’t. I was over him before I called it off and you know it. It just took some swaying for me to follow through with it. I didn’t love him. We barely got along and when we did, it was on his terms. We never clicked because I wasn’t ever good enough for him.”
“¡No te atrevas!” Don’t you dare. Her spine snaps straight and if looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. “Don’t you dare think that. That piece of shit wouldn’t know a good thing if it was handed to him with a shiny red bow. He was greedy. Wanted his cake and to eat it too because contrary to what he told you, he never wanted to settle down. He only gave you scraps to keep your hopes up and keep you intrigued. You deserve better than that.”
“Are you starting a new tattoo or building off the one you have?” Nothing says “I’m done talking” like a change of subject. It’s my go-to defense mechanism.
She stretches out her right arm and runs a hand over the half-sleeve made up of red roses intertwined with a web. “I want a few sugar skulls hidden within the web,” she informs. “The colors will complement the roses. I called and talked to one of the artists up there about what I wanted. After we went over a few ideas, he set up an appointment and said he’d draw something up.” She grabs the orange juice from the fridge and pours some in a glass. “You’re coming with me. The sound of the tattoo machine is super therapeutic. You can meditate while he works and then we’ll get drinks afterward.”
“Fine. But you’re paying for dinner,” I tease.
Her espresso-colored eyes gleam as she laughs. “Deal.”
Dotty. I met her six years ago by way of fate and a rude taxi driver. As I was walking to a little boutique, she was trying to haul her groceries into her building. She was struggling to carry a few bags while she was maneuvering her walker. The cabby? Worthless and never offered her any help. So I did and it was the best decision I’ve ever made in my life. I fell in love with her, with her blunt and crass but very supportive and loving ways. In an instant, I had a grandmother who I try my very best to visit every Saturday morning.
I knock as I unlock the door and step into her apartment. “Dotty? It’s me.” I call out.
“Pea?” Short for Peanut. The origin of that nickname is a mystery.