Everything I Need (6 page)

Sophia

Somewhere, a buzzer is going off. With my face planted into my pillow, I lie still. My head feels like it’s going to explode if I make any sudden movements.
Why do I get shitty drunk?

Turning my face over to the side to breathe in some air, a few strands of my hair stick to the corners of my mouth. The buzzing doesn’t stop and it takes me another moment to realize it’s my phone. I can’t remember exactly where I put the damn thing last night, but I know it’s not in my room with me. It sounds like it may be out in the kitchen or something.

Rolling over onto my back, I rub my face with my hands for a minute, trying to gather myself before I have to get up and face the day. Okay, I was stupid for drinking gin like that last night . . . my head and stomach are both reminding me of that now.

I just wanted to have a good time with my boys. Maybe a small -I mean very small, I think- part of it, was that maybe I was intimidated by Tristan being there, which might have caused me to overdo it a smidge. God, that sounds so fucking dumb! I can’t let old feelings get in my head now and all this deep thinking about it is making my head feel like it’s going to burst.

Cringing, I push myself up with my hands, sitting on my bed. I’m still in last night’s clothes, except my shoes are off. I wanna laugh at myself, but then I remember . . . I didn’t take myself home last night.
Fucking shit!
Tristan drove me home last night! My mouth drops open and I try to remember how it went.

Let’s see. Roger was trying to be all authoritative, which, by the way, I’m so grateful for. I can’t believe I entertained the thought of driving home. I’m going to have to apologize to him later and thank him. Son of a bitch. He’ll just gloat about it.

Okay. After that, Tristan wanted to take me home so I wouldn’t drive, but all I remember after that is that chick hanging off his side more than anything else.

I close my eyes tight, hoping this somehow will bring back more of my memory. I couldn’t help but feel the familiar tickle in my stomach when Tristan wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. I think last night I was pissed off not that he wanted to take me home, but that he was going to go back with
her.
Oh my God, where in the hell did
that
just come from? I instantly feel guilty as I think of Benny.

“What a piece of shit I am,” I mumble to myself.

Exhausted, I swing my legs over. They hit the side table, shaking a glass of water sitting on top of it. What the . . .? I don’t remember getting that last night, either. I slide my fingertips down the edge of the glass and I can feel the condensation on the sides. There must have been ice in it because it’s still kind of cool.

Wrapping my hand around it, I bring it up to my lips and greedily drink it down. My mouth soaks in the water immediately. I chug it all; some even spills over and runs down my chin. Anyone watching me would have thought that I’d just crossed the Sahara.

Breathing in deeply, I stay still so my stomach can adjust to the fullness of the water. Good fucking thing that was there. At least now I feel like I have the energy to move. I really don’t remember getting it though, and then, my heart tightens.

Did Tristan put this here?
I know it’s a small act, but I can’t help but feel cherished. Okay, I need to stop my wandering thoughts right now and call Benny. I don’t hate Tristan . . . well, not anymore. But I can’t open my wounds up again for him, either.

Stepping into my kitchen, I see my purse on the table with my keys lying beside it. I pull my phone out and I have five missed calls and a text. The calls are all from Benny, going back almost two hours, and the most recent was a text from Frankie. I slide my index finger across the screen and pull up the text first. Frankie, all melodramatic, will assume the worst if I don’t answer.

Peering down at it, I smile and shake my head.

Good morning, beautiful! :D Let’s get some shopping done for your sexy self. When are u leaving? Tomorrow, right?

Oh shit! I have to leave in the morning and feeling like this, it’s gonna be hell having to get everything ready. Letting out a sigh, I text him back real quick.

Yep, leaving tomorrow. I have enough clothes, Frankie. I don’t need any more. LOL

I press send then I pull up a barstool. Taking a seat on it, I press Benny’s number. It rings a few times before he picks up. I wonder what the time is there? I know I should be used to it, since he’s always gone on travel.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he coos into the line.

Hearing his voice brings me back to reality.

“Hey, babe. Sorry I missed your calls. I was pretty tired last night.”

Okay, that’s technically not a lie. I
was
tired, but that’s because I was passed out. I don’t want him worrying about me and I certainly don’t want him asking how I got home. Even this little, not-really-a-lie, makes my stomach hard.

“Oh, I’m sorry for calling then, hon. I thought you would be up and getting ready for tomorrow. It
is
tomorrow, right?”

Now he’s apologizing. Great! My sweet Benny, what was I even thinking back there?

“Don’t worry,” I say, shaking my head. “Actually, thank you for calling. I needed to get things ready. Yes, I’m leaving tomorrow. I think it’s five in the morning. Lux is letting us use the company jet.”

I smile at the last part. I now know the difference between commercial and private. And once you go private, there’s nothing else like it. It fucking rocks!

I can practically hear Benny grinning into the line.

“Wow! That’s amazing, Sophia. I have to keep pinching myself that my girlfriend is a rock star.”

I laugh out loud at him. I certainly don’t feel that way and it’s kind of funny that he sometimes thinks of me like that. We talk for about five minutes and while he’s telling me about the cafés, and how he’s thinking of buying some property out there, I hear a text. It buzzes loudly in my ear. I bet it’s Frankie. I talk to Benny for a few more minutes before he has to go, but we set up a time to talk later where he won’t be interrupted and I won’t have Frankie texting me every minute.

Bringing the phone down from my ear, I swipe across the screen and see that he left two more messages. Before checking them though, I grab a granny smith apple from the bowl on my island and take a bite. The tartness of the fruit actually makes my stomach ache more. I need something else, I think, but I will get this into me first. Something in my belly is better than nothing. After a few bites, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and pull up Frankie’s text.

YES U DO!!!

Don’t u wanna look nice? ;P

What the hell?
Don’t I wanna look nice?
I thought I already did. Pouting my bottom lip out, I check myself over. I’m fucking nice. What’s Frankie getting at?

I look nice, asshole!

I set my phone back down on the island, walking over to the trash to throw my apple core away. Standing on my tiptoes, I rummage through my cupboards to find something else to eat. I guess it will have to be cereal, then. Pulling a box of Raisin Bran Crunch from the shelf, I get a bowl and spoon. Once I make my cereal, my phone dings again.

Taking a mouthful, I sit back down on the stool and pick my phone up. My eyes go wide. I sometimes forget how fucking blunt Mr. Heart is.

Of course. But you will be around Tristan for a week. Let’s give him a rager the whole fucking time! LOL

I practically spit out my cereal onto the phone. I choose to ignore his last text.
What the fuck, Frankie?

I finish my cereal in silence, not hearing back from him. When I’m done, I rinse out the bowl and place it in the dishwasher. Now it’s time for a couple of Tylenol and a long shower. As I’m heading to the bathroom, I hear my phone go off again. I’ll check it when I’m done.

Chapter Six

Sophia

I’ve been in the shower much longer than necessary, letting the warm water crash down on me. I kind of just want to take a seat in here and not move, but I know that probably wouldn’t be a good idea . . . I would probably pass out again, or something. After a while, I feel the spray cooling off. I think I may have used up all of the hot water. I hurry up and finish washing.

Stepping out, I wrap myself in a fluffy white towel. My hair is soaked and sticking to my back. I’m so lazy right now that I don’t even want to brush it. I will not, and I mean, NOT, drink like I did last night ever again.

Padding across the tile floor, I open the door and steam pours out into the hallway. Pausing between there and the bedroom, I hear a faint sound, like music being played really low.
What the?
I have to check this out. Creeping into my living area to investigate, I clench my towel tighter to me.

Peeking my head around the corner, I see Frankie, listening to music from his phone with headphones on. He’s arranging books on a shelf, shaking his hips from time to time. He’s wearing tight metallic blue pants with an off-the-shoulder sparkly silver tee. His hair, as always, is flat-ironed bone straight.

Observing him silently, I have to suppress a laugh. I wish I had my phone in my hands right now; I would
so
be recording this. Just then he stops what he’s doing and pulls out his phone. Lifting it above his head, he sings, “Let me take a selfie.” He puckers his lips to the lens.
Oh my God!
That’s the trash he’s listening to?

I can’t hold back anymore. I start laughing from my gut at this sight. It’s not so good for my stomach, but this shit is too funny. Frankie spins around on his heel without missing a beat and dances his way toward me.

Shaking my head ‘no’ at him, I step back, but his long arms reach out and pull me into him, all soaking wet. He snaps another picture. I look up at him and he’s now pulling his ear buds out.

“I love that fucking song! It was so made for me,” he winks.

“That song, Frankie,” I say to him, pointing at the phone in his hand, “is not a real song. Sorry.”

I shrug my shoulders at him, but he just tosses his hair over his shoulder, more for dramatic effect than anything because his hair isn’t quite long enough to reach his shoulders.

“Honey, you’re so wrong. That’s my anthem.”

“I thought Lady Marmalade was your anthem?” I laugh. He always listens to that song when he’s getting ready to go out.

“Well, yeah. That, too. But this is so me. Please girl, I invented selfies. Back in the day with my Polaroid . . . mmmkay.” He snaps his fingers a couple times at me.

Gawd! He’s so funny sometimes. Shaking my head at him, I walk back to my room. As I step through my bedroom door, I hear Frankie calling after me.

“Better hurry, I have plans for us today!”

Fuck.

************

Lux sent a car for me at four this morning. I’m so tired and I slept like shit last night. Benny thought it was just nerves about flying, but I know fucking better. It’s not that at all. It’s fucking Tristan.

I hate that I still have any kind of feelings for him. I try to tell myself to just stop, that he’s an asshole, but I can’t. I’ve had asshole boyfriends before who did the same exact thing to me, but Tristan technically wasn’t my boyfriend.

The question I keep going over in my mind is, how can he, when he says he has feelings for me, just go and sleep with someone else at the first sign that we weren’t going to be together? I thought I’d let that go, but apparently not since the first time I’m around him again sends all those feelings back into overdrive.
Fuck me.

The car pulls up to one of the private entrances at John Wayne where Lux’s jet is waiting. I’m chewing on my lip so hard that I feel it starting to turn raw underneath my teeth. And my stomach . . . fuck butterflies! They’re more like fucking wasps taking flight in there.

Pressing my palms down on my lap, I try to remove some of the sweat that’s built up on them.
Okay, I
can do this. I’m a professional and other than Tristan, I know this is an unbelievable track.
I keep saying this to myself for reassurance. It actually kind of helps when I do this . . . kind of.

I open the door before the driver even comes around. I don’t know, I still feel weird or out of place when drivers open doors for me. I can understand the A-listers, but not me.

It’s kind of cool outside. For fall here, some would say it’s chilly, but since I’m still used to Michigan, this is still like summer. The damp air feels refreshing on my skin. My body is already overheating at the mere thought of being around Tristan.

It can’t be that my clothes are too warm. I’m wearing a pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved, white cotton t-shirt. It even rides up a little in the front to show a sliver of my stomach. I kind of like it. It reminds me of the blue top that Liv Tyler wore in
Empire Records.
My style is very simple- jeans, tees, and anything that reminds me of the ’94, ’95 time period. I’ve always thought that the style back then not only looked good, but was comfortable as fuck.

The driver pulls my suitcase out of the trunk and smiles at me with his warm eyes glowing.

“I’ll take this, miss,” he says to me before shutting the trunk.

This is a smaller airport than LAX and it’s located in Santa Ana. I nod back at the older gentleman, pushing my long hair out of my face and following him in.
Damn.
I just want to grab my suitcase from him and do it myself. I feel silly just walking behind this guy who, by the way, is only wheeling one suitcase. Granted, it’s a large one; Frankie did my packing and I told him to only fill one suitcase. Of course he pouted about it, but then he got back at me by pulling out the biggest one I had.

I smile to myself at the thought. Frankie kicked me out of my room and told me he was in charge of packing for me. I’m kind of scared at what he picked out, but yesterday I felt like shit and decided to just go with it. I ended up crashing on the couch.

As we pass through the doors, I keep close behind my driver. I’ve never been to this airport before and I have no idea where to go for private jets. We came in through a different entrance so it’s nothing like the open space you would typically see when traveling coach. A middle-aged woman with dark brown hair and,
of course
, perky breasts, greets us. I think a majority of the women in southern California have great breasts. Shit, going to a plastic surgeon out here is just as common as getting your teeth cleaned.

“Good morning, Ms. Ariel,” she says, reaching her well-manicured hand out to me. I take hold of it, hoping to God she doesn’t notice how nervous I am and how sweaty it is. Her nametag says her name is Linda, and I give her a weak smile back.

Once my suitcase is handed off, Linda leads me through to another area where she points at these glass doors facing the strip.

“They’re already boarding, miss. I’ll see that your suitcase is taken care of. If you’ll just go through those doors, we’ll have someone usher you to the jet.”

She gives me one last smile before she turns back the way we came. Exhaling, I push through the glass doors and instantly, my ears fill up with the sound of the jet engines. Their force whips my hair around as I stride for the jet.

A young man gives me a nod as I approach the stairs before he goes back to talking with someone else. I take hold of the railing and start taking the steps carefully, hoping to God that Tristan has chosen to do what he did last time we were on a jet together- take the only room. All I want is to just get to my seat on the sofa and crash.