Burned
Autore
Sarah Morgan
Letto da
15,9K
Capitoli
10
Chapter One
He was breaking up with me.
I shouldn’t have minded. I should have been used to it after all the experience I’d had, and it wasn’t as if I were in love or anything—do I look stupid?—but every girl likes to think she’s irresistible and being dumped hurts, especially after the day I’d had at work.
There is nothing worse than every part of your life going wrong at the same time. You see the whole thing unravelling and you don’t know which bit to grab.
‘The thing is, Rosie, this just isn’t working out. We’re not compatible. You’re not very—’ he squirmed in his seat ‘you know...’
No, I didn’t know, but that was one of the things that annoyed me most about Brian. He never finished his sentences. He stopped before the end and I was supposed to guess the missing words. Of all the infuriating habits I’d ever encountered while dating, not finishing sentences was the most exasperating—and that’s from someone who once dated a delightful individual who threw his beer bottle at the bin and missed every time, despite having perfect aim when glued to the Xbox killing aliens. I’m the sort of girl who reads the last page of a book first to check how it ends, so cliffhangers aren’t for me. Just give me the bad news and get it over with. Don’t make me wait.
I’d blown two weeks’ rent on a dress and now it was going to waste. This place was expensive. Right on the river with a view across to the London Eye. I loved the London Eye. It was a fairground ride for grown-ups, a giant Ferris wheel on the South Bank that offered a perfect view of the city. The glass capsules made me think of a monster with big buggy eyes. I wished it would come and gobble up Brian.
I heard laughter coming from the bar area and saw a group of men, shirts unbuttoned at the neck, jackets slung carelessly over the backs of chairs, drinking champagne like soda. It was Friday night and they were office types with money to burn. Lawyers? Bankers?
One of them was watching me. He caught my eye and smiled.
I didn’t smile back.
What was there to smile about?
The fitness club where I worked had been bought by a company I knew nothing about, which meant the job I loved was threatened. Who knew what changes the new management would want to make? There had been more rumours than workouts for the past few weeks and the uncertainty was driving me mad. And now my fragile love life had crumbled to dust. All in all it wasn’t turning out to be my best week.
Feeling gloomy, I looked away and saw a couple laughing together, lost in each other. The man was handsome, the woman beautiful. His hand sneaked across the table and covered hers, as if he couldn’t bear to not be touching her. Her eyes smiled into his. Their wine was untouched. So was their food. They were too wrapped up in each other to notice anything around them, especially not the girl being dumped at the next table. I wanted to step out of my world and join them in their shiny happy place.
Even as I watched, they stood up simultaneously, gazes still locked. I should have looked away, but I couldn’t. There was something mesmerizing about the intensity of their chemistry. I stared, fascinated, envious, as the guy threw a bundle of notes on the table without counting them. So cool. I’ve only ever seen that happen in the movies. If I’d done the same thing I would have showered the table with receipts, expired discount vouchers, chocolate wrappers and a ton of other crap that somehow finds its way into my purse. He strode purposefully to the door, his hand locked in hers. I knew, I just knew, that they weren’t going to make it to the car without ripping at each other’s clothes. I’d never seen two people so into each other. Or maybe I had. Ever since my sister, Hayley, had got it together with Nico Rossi, the two of them had been like that. I was scared to open the door to our apartment in case I tripped over the pair of them in the hallway. I joked that it made me mildly nauseous, but honestly, I was happy for my sister. Neither of us found relationships easy. I was glad one of us had managed to find someone.
‘Rosie? Are you even listening to me?’
I turned back to Brian, telling myself I wasn’t jealous. Chemistry that intense was a bad thing. It could scorch a person. I knew. I was much better off sticking with this bland version of a relationship, even if it did fizzle out like a firework on a wet night. Better that than being burned.
‘I’m listening. I was waiting for you to finish your sentence. You were telling me we’re not compatible.’ It was like one of those stupid reality shows where they’re about to tell you who this week’s loser is, who is going home, only instead of just doing it, they make you wait and wait against the backdrop of a drama drum roll until the whole nation is yelling, ‘For fuck’s sake get on with it,’ at the TV. To kill time, I glanced round the room. Sleek black tables shimmered with silver and candles. We were surrounded by the low hum of conversation and the clink of glass. A roomful of people enjoying an evening. People who were in relationships.
And then there was me.
Rosie the rejected.
I could hold water in my hands longer than I could hold a man. Not that I wanted a long relationship but hanging on to him until the end of dinner would have been confidence building.
‘Look at you....’ Brian waved a hand and I looked down at myself in alarm, wondering if I’d had a wardrobe malfunction. We’re big on those in my family—just ask my sister, Hayley. But as far as I could see, it was situation normal. Same legs. Same flat chest. When my sister and I were dividing up the family DNA, she got the big-breast gene. Who am I kidding? She got the whole breast gene. All of it. I’ve always liked to put a positive spin on things, so I told myself a flat chest gave me a better view of my impressive abs. I’d worked hard enough to get them.
‘I’m looking. I don’t see a problem.’
‘There isn’t a problem! You’re really pretty. Great bone structure, cute face, gorgeous smile and your legs are—’ He cleared his throat. ‘You’ve got great legs. Great body. It’s not the way you look! On the outside you look feminine and fragile, but on the inside you’re not....’
‘I’m not what? Brian, for the love of all that is holy, please finish your sentences.’
‘I did.’
‘You said “inside you’re not.” What am I not?’
‘You’re not at all fragile.’ His face was scarlet and the colour didn’t suit him. ‘There isn’t even a hint of vulnerability about you.’
‘You want me to be vulnerable?’ I thought about the mess that lay in my past. I thought about my childhood, when I’d spent half my time feeling vulnerable. Looking back on how I’d been then made me cringe. And he was telling me he wanted me that way?
He finished his food and put down his fork. ‘You’re tough, Rosie.’
That didn’t sound so bad to me. ‘So is a diamond. And it sparkles.’
‘I was thinking more of Kevlar.’ He sighed. ‘You have to admit your interests are...unusual.’
‘What’s wrong with my interests?’
‘Oh, come on!’ His expression said it should have been obvious. ‘You’re a girl and you like fighting. How do you think that makes me feel?’ He glanced quickly to the left to check no one was listening, as if simply being seen with someone like me might be enough to knock lumps off his manhood.
I put my fork down, too. Not because I’d finished eating—being dumped wrecks my appetite—but so I wouldn’t be tempted to stab him. ‘Martial arts, Brian. You make it sound as if I’m pounding on people in the street.’
‘What you do is violent! You kick people. You could kick me.’
I had to rein myself in.
I told myself it wasn’t an invitation.
All the same I was tempted.
My shoes had a particularly sharp heel. They deserved a workout before they went back in the box.
A couple had arrived at the recently vacated table. I decided they didn’t deserve to have their evening ruined. I glanced idly in their direction. She was pretty. Blond hair. Elegant. The man had his back to me but I could see his hair was black as night and his shoulders broad and strong. There was a stillness about him, an economy of movement that told me he could handle himself. I spent my day training with men strong enough to lift a small car with one hand, so there was no reason to give him even a second look but there was something about those shoulders, the way he held himself, that caught my attention. Something familiar.
My heart bumped my ribs and I felt a moment of sick panic and then I noticed half the women in the room were also looking at him.
I forced myself to breathe. He was a smoking-hot guy, that was all. Even from the back, he looked insanely good. Who wouldn’t look?
It wasn’t anyone I knew. Just some random stranger who had happened to pick the same restaurant as us.
‘Rosie?’ Brian sounded irritated that he’d lost my attention and I tried to forget about Muscle Man seated to my right. I didn’t need a hot guy in my life. I had enough trouble with the lukewarm variety.
‘Relax. I don’t want to hurt you, Brian.’ I was lying. Right at that moment I wanted to. Wondering what I’d ever seen in him, I sat back in my chair and tried to visualize fluffy kittens and other gentle soothing images to calm myself. ‘We’re supposed to be dating. Why would I want to hurt you?’
‘I’m not saying that you do. Just that you could. And that feels a little weird, if I’m honest. A man likes to feel like a man, you know? And that thing you do...’
‘That thing? Are you talking about Muay Thai or karate?’ I noticed that the man at the next table sat a little straighter. I had a feeling he was listening to my conversation.
‘Both! Whatever it’s called, it’s scary. I don’t mind that you work as an instructor and a personal trainer—’
‘Thanks.’
Detecting sarcasm, he sent me a swift frown. ‘It’s the fighting that’s embarrassing.’
‘You mean sparring? Competitions? Why is it embarrassing?’
‘Let’s say, for the sake of argument, we carry on seeing each other. Eventually I’m going to want to introduce you to my mother. What would I say? This is Rosie Miller—just ignore the fact that she’s limping. She has the best scissor kick on the circuit.’
‘I’m proud of my scissor kick. I work hard on my scissor kick.’
‘For the record, the last girl I dated liked baking and book club.’
Baking and book club?
I stared at him, wondering whether to kill him now or wait until after dessert.
It was chocolate brownie, my favourite, so I decided to wait. I wasn’t hungry, but no woman ate chocolate because she was hungry.
‘Given that you’re breaking up with me, let me give you some feedback here.’ I leaned forward and pushed my arms against my sides to gain his attention—it was the only way I could produce any cleavage. ‘Firstly, I am not interested in any relationship that culminates in meeting a guy’s mother. Secondly, your manhood should not be threatened by who you date.’
‘That’s easy for you to say.’ His desperation was coloured by a hint of sulk. ‘We both know that if we were attacked, you’d be the one defending me, not the other way round. How is that supposed to make me feel?’
‘Er...relieved?’ I heard the man at the next table cough and I turned my head sharply but he was leaning toward his companion, attentive. I wondered if he was telling her she should join a book group.
‘It makes me feel humiliated!’ Brian hissed. ‘All I’m saying is that it would be nice if you at least pretended to be a little vulnerable. Once in a while you could act like a girl.’
It was the lowest of blows.
He was telling me I wasn’t feminine.
I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes and blinked furiously.
Why did I even care? It wasn’t as if I thought Brian was my happily-ever-after. But happy to the end of dessert would have been nice.
And I had no intention of changing who I was to make him happy. My mother had done that and it had led to misery for all of us. I was determined to find someone who liked me the way I was.
Could the evening get any worse?
I sat there trying to catch my breath and then the man at the table finally turned his head and my evening was suddenly a whole lot worse, because it wasn’t some stranger who sat there. It wasn’t some nameless, faceless hot guy who a woman could fantasize about but never see again.
It was Hunter Black. Hunter, the first guy I’d ever dated. The first guy I’d slept with. The man who had taught me that a broken heart was more painful than a broken bone.
My nemesis.
His dark gaze burned into mine and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
Shit, shit.
I’d really believed I wouldn’t feel anything if I saw him again. I’d told myself that if he ever reappeared in my life, I probably wouldn’t even notice him. I’d walk right past, thinking he looked liked someone I used to know.
I hadn’t expected this gut-wrenching reaction. I felt as if I’d been hit by a truck and left in the gutter like roadkill.
Looking away, I stood up, scrabbled for my purse and knocked over my wine.
Brian cursed and tried to save his jacket and tie from the flood. ‘Rosie, what are you doing?’
I was running. Running like hell. ‘You’re breaking up with me. I don’t see the point in hanging around to watch the whole movie when I already know the ending.’ I opened my purse and dropped a couple of notes on the table and, yes, a lot of other crap, too—I was probably the first person to try and pay a bill in old train tickets. ‘As I threaten your manhood, I’ll assume you don’t want me to walk you home.’
Exercising supreme dignity and awesome balance, I strode out of the restaurant as fast as I could on those heels. My legs turned to liquid—not vodka, sadly—my heart was hammering and my palms were clammy.
Don’t let him follow me. Please don’t let him follow me.
And I wasn’t talking about Brian.
I kept telling myself Hunter was with a woman, that he wouldn’t just walk out on her, but that logic didn’t reassure me.
How could it, when he’d once walked out on me?
Hunter did what suited him. If he wanted to walk, he’d walk. And if he wanted to follow me, he’d follow me.
I couldn’t calm the feeling of panic or the wild need to put as much distance between myself and him as possible.
I heard voices behind me and I was so desperate to get away I almost stepped into the road.
A horn blared.
I looked frantically over my shoulder and saw the group of men who had been drinking at the bar appear at the door of the restaurant. Apart from wondering why they’d left when they’d appeared to be having a good time, I barely spared them a glance. I was too busy looking for Hunter, still terrified that he was going to follow me, although why I thought that, I had no idea. I hadn’t seen him for five years and he’d not sent me as much as a text, so he was hardly likely to be rushing to exchange news and phone numbers.
Relieved there was no sign of him, I dived down the alleyway that ran down the side of the bar and connected with the main road. Far ahead I could see lights as cars whizzed past, but here in the narrow street it was dark and quiet.
I walked quickly, heart pounding. What was he doing here? Was he back in London permanently? Did he live close by?
The questions ran through my head and all I could think about was getting out of there.
Hayley was at home. We’d open a bottle of wine and watch the latest episode of Girls.
Scrunched-up newspaper brushed against my ankles and I picked my way through the mess, wondering why people had to be so gross in their habits. A cat crossed my path, eyes glinting in the darkness, and I was trying to remember if that was lucky or unlucky when I heard footsteps behind me.
They came at me without warning. Surrounded me.
And I knew, cat or no cat, my luck had run out.
