I swing open the door to see Jonah and his wife, Raven, hand in hand.
Jonah hooks her shoulder, pulling her body to his side. “Come on, Blake. You knew I was with my girl. Get some clothes on before you scare her.”
“I ain’t got nothing she hasn’t seen before. Although…” I smirk in her direction. “Mine’s bigger.”
Her cheeks flame to match her bright pink, long-sleeved shirt. She laughs, making Jonah scowl so hard I can feel it.
A laugh bursts from my throat. Damn, I’m still drunk. “Fuck, man. Calm down.”
Jonah pushes past me with Raven in tow. They stop in the foyer, and the sound of Raven clearing her throat fills the quiet.
After shutting the door, I turn and see why. Two of the three girls from last night face off with my friends. “Oh, um… Faye, and…”—I’m feeling lucky, so I take a guess—“Sara, these are my friends, Jonah and Raven.”
The girls stare at Jonah like I just introduced them to Channing Tatum. Raven moves closer to his side and wraps her arm around his waist in an act of possession.
I hold open the front door. “They were just leaving, right girls?”
With a few mumbled “nice-to-meet-you’s”, they scurry out the door. I give them each a parting kiss, thankful that my raging headache is holding back my libido.
Closing the door behind them, I turn to Raven and Jonah, who are both watching me with a mix of amusement and disgust.
“What?” I stretch my arms high and yawn. “I had to ring in the New Year properly.”
“Hope you got it out of your system, bro. Training for your fight with ‘The Fade’ starts first thing tomorrow.”
I rub my aching head. “Good. That’s about how long it’ll take me to sober up.” A grin tugs at my lips. “And recover from my extracurricular activities.”
Jonah laughs humorlessly. “You better be careful, man, or your shit’ll fall off and—”
The sound of a door slamming sends their gaze toward the hallway. Ginger strolls out and freezes at the sight of my guests.
I do a quick introduction. “Jonah and Raven are here to pick me up.”
Ginger takes her cue like a good little one-night stand. “Oh, right. Well, you guys have a happy New Year.”
I open the door for her. “You too.”
She mouths, “Call me,” and slips a piece of paper into my palm. After shutting the door, I take a peek at her handwritten note.
If you’re looking for a playmate, I’m game.
Her phone number’s there too, along with a fresh lipstick kiss. Nice. She’ll never get in the room, but I like that she’s open to play. I make a mental note to add her number to my phone for a rainy day.
Only twelve hours into the new year and I’ve got a no-strings playmate at the ready, and the fight of my career to train for that will put me up for title contention.
Yep, this year’s promising big things.
And nothing short of a damn tsunami in the desert will get in my way.
Two
Layla
New year, new career.
I can do this.
I shove my hand between two hangers in the tiny closet overflowing with my clothes. The apartment’s crap because I’m broke. But at least I brought a few nice things from my old life. Wearing designer clothes will be the perfect way to veil my poverty.
I grab a pair of black pants then toss them on the bed to look for a top. It’s colder in the desert than I thought it’d be. It’s nothing like a Seattle winter, but there’s a bite in the air that calls for long sleeves.
Red silk blouse. Perfect. I’ll need a power color to make a strong impression.
I slide my towel off my body and shiver from the chill in the room, or possibly my nerves. Slacks in hand, I sit on the edge of the bed to get—
Black pants are for fat girls.
The sound of his voice knocks around in my head as if he were standing two feet away. My stomach cramps then rolls. With the offending pants halfway up my leg, I shake my head.
No. I won’t let him ruin this for me.
I shove my other foot into the other pants leg—dammit. I gaze down at my body and feel my confidence drain. I’m 110 pounds, far from overweight. Although, I suppose I could lose a little around my waist. Maybe I should start doing a few more sit-ups before bed—no.
I rip the pants off and toss them to the floor. He’s doing it again. He’s not even here, and I’m questioning myself. Baby steps. Today isn’t the day to tackle my black pants issue. I can’t show up at my new job feeling like a whipped dog.
Without looking, I reach into the closet and grab an outfit. Anything will be better than wearing his memory.
“Elle, ten minutes,” I shout towards the hallway while sliding on a cream-colored sweater dress.
“Duh. I’ve been ready for the last ten,” she says from what sounds like the kitchen.