Greatest Distraction (Distracted #1) (5 page)

I laughed at myself for that text message. Of course she didn’t mind, she’d already offered
… and my friend was not one to offer unless she meant it. Ever.

*
Elle
: Duh. Still have your key?*

*
Me:
Yep*

*
Elle:
There you go then. Keep me updated. Girls just fell asleep, better sleep while I can*

A quiver of excitement started in my belly as my plans became more solid. Even through the fog of sickness, and a little heartbreak, I knew this was the right thing for me to do right now. Get away from this place, clear my head, and come back stronger and more kick ass than before. All that was left now was getting the plane ticket, telling my boss, breaking up with Chris, and packing.

Easy, right?

Chapter Four
 

“No, Chris, I don’t want you to come over to talk about this,” I snapped into the phone, frustrated. I’d been trying to break up with the guy for over two hours now, and I wasn’t any closer now than I was when I started the conversation. You would’ve thought calling someone and saying
I want to break up
was enough to do the job … but with him? Apparently not.

“
Ryen, come on, you don’t really want to end things. I totally see a future between us…”

“Yes I do, and no, no future.”

“But, I love you. You’re Rinoa to my Squall.” His voice was pleading, almost begging me to stay with him despite his use of video game analogies.

“
Chris, I will
not
say this again. I. Want. To. Break. Up.” I’d officially lost my patience. How could a grown man beg and plead like this? At least he was right; even I knew enough of
Final Fantasy
to know that he, like Squall, had the emotional depth of a fingernail. I also didn’t appreciate being related to a girl who never shut the hell up.

“But –
”

“No. No more buts, Chris. I mean it. You’re going to find a girl someday who is completely content playing video games all day, eating pizza for every meal, and
wants to have
Halo
marathons with you. But that girl just is. Not. Me.” My voice rose with every word and I had to take a deep breath before continuing. “Have you ever really looked at me? I like
fashion
and
ballet, opera
and the other arts too. I like concerts and going out to eat. I enjoy working and talking to real people not on a headset during an ‘intense battle.’ I’m sorry, Chris, just … no.”

Silence met the end of my rant and for a moment I thought maybe he’d hung up on me. Sure, that could’ve been a good thing, but then I’d worry he was going to show up at my house and play a
boombox loudly outside my window or something. I needed him to understand.

Sure, I probably should’ve waited until I saw him again to break up with him in person, but that seemed like a long time. Hell, from the time I’d decided to actually break up with him last night
until this morning was a long time … He was lucky I waited this long. I’m pretty sure I broke up with him about twenty different times in my dreams, each a different and more creative way. A part of me was even a little sad I didn’t get to do some of the elaborate plans my brain was craving.

“I’m sorry,” Chris’ voice came over the line, startling me. Hearing him made me feel a little bad, but not bad enough. Yes, he sounded hurt, but there was no doubt in my mind I was making the right choice.

I opened my mouth to speak, if for no other reason than to break the silence that was mounting again, but Chris cut me off.

“I accept your decision, even if I want to fight for you. I will keep my
diggity and that will be that.”

“You mean your
dignity
?” I corrected without thinking.
Damn it, Ryen, shut up!
I scolded myself.

“Couldn’t even let me keep it, could you? Whatever. I’ll see you round, Ry. Happy hunting for what makes you happy.”

With that, the phone went dead. Breathing deep, I reclined back on the couch, staring at my cell phone. I’d stayed home today from work again, having called my boss and told her while I was feeling better I wasn’t feeling great just yet. It was the truth. It’s the reason I had the sudden absurd urge to cry … really. Ugh, what was wrong with me.

Shaking off the odd feelings surging through me, I pulled my laptop onto my lap and reclined back, happy to prop my feet up. I felt like I’d run a marathon, and I had a feeling I’d been moving too much, testing the limits of the Nyquil I was drinking from a shot glass. If you’ve never kept a bottle of cough syrup next to you like it was vodka, you’ve never been as close to death as I was the past two days.

Comfortable, I opened the computer and brought up flight options as well as weather forecasts for the next few weeks in the city. I had a bunch of options, all for about the same pricing, and I was pleased to see that it was supposed to be pretty nice, as far as I could tell. Obviously, weather prediction was about as reliable as solving algebra by chewing gum, but I wasn’t going to let that bring me down. Choosing a flight for next Saturday, a week from tomorrow, I smiled and bounced a little in my seat. I couldn’t help being excited.

I had no real plans further than leaving Atlanta next week and getting to New York City. Time frame hadn’t even occurred to me, which was also why I’d bought only a one
-way ticket. That way, I could just come back when I felt like it, instead of being confined by deadlines. My boss probably wouldn’t like it … but oh well. If she chose to fire me, I’d be sad – I really liked the girls I work with – but I guess it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I could always find a new job.

And again that feeling like I was going to cry. Sniffling a little
, I snatched the glass off the side table and shot back the foul-tasting syrup, immediately feeling better. See, definitely the cold. Turning on the TV, I spent the rest of the day watching bad daytime soap operas and surfing the Internet. It was relaxing and, as long as I didn’t move too quickly, I could almost pretend that I was already in New York, waiting for night so I could go out. Granted, I was grateful I wouldn’t have to get dressed, completely content in my boy shorts and tank top, and brushing my hair sounded like more work than I wanted to do, but still.

I woke up groggy and slightly confused, still on the couch with infomercials demanding that I call and buy the products they were selling. Squinting
, I realized they were trying to make me choose between being fit and not being fit with their thigh squeezer thing.

“I’ll pass,” I told the guy selling it, appalled by his declarations that only women who used it had tight thighs.

Bringing up the menu guide to see the time, I was surprised to see it was six o’clock in the morning. Time certainly flies when you’re having fun … or staying up late to watch an all-night marathon of
Lost
. I fell asleep somewhere between ‘not Penny’s boat’ and Jack demanding to Kate that they go back. Surprisingly though, despite having a repeated urge to press the button in my dreams, I was actually well-rested. I knew I bought this couch for a reason.

Stretching
, I stood, checking my phone, which was now dead. Oh well. As I made my way through the house to put it on the charger I decided that I should get what I needed done today, so I wouldn’t have to do it closer to my trip.

“Shopping!” I squealed to myself, slightly ashamed that I’d made such a sound to begin with. My head didn’t swim when I’d danced a little jig, and my lungs didn’t feel like they would explode. Score one for the remarkable healing ability of over
-the-counter medication.

Almost skipping to my closet, I pulled out my clothes for the day before slipping into the bathroom and starting the shower. Steam billowed out from behind the curtain and I stepped in, letting the hot water wash away the sickness residue I was sure still remained on my skin. It felt divine as it cascaded over me, massaging my muscles. I felt human, and it was a beautiful feeling.

Invigorated, clean, and smelling like strawberries and cream, I stepped from the shower
, immediately cursing the arctic air that assaulted me. I could never seem to remember to raise the air. One day, I’d just bite the bullet and get heat lights installed like a normal person … or, well, a normal hotel.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I chanted, frantically dragging the towel
over my skin. I couldn’t stop grumbling as I made quick work of pulling my underthings on. Towel drying my hair first, I snatched the hair dryer off the counter and reveled in the blessed heat when I turned it on. As always though, the longer I used it, the warmer I got. It didn’t take long before my face was flushed, I was sweating, and surprisingly light-headed.

“You’ve
got
to be kidding me,” I despaired, now feeling like I needed to shower again.
Not. Happening.
It wasn’t hard to see the never-ending loop pattern I could get myself stuck in. Shower, freeze, blow dry, die of heat stroke. Sighing, I pulled on the jeans and black tank top I’d chosen and ran the flat iron down the length of my hair. Once it was shiny and I was somewhat appeased, I slapped some mascara and lip gloss on, ready to go.

Checking my phone, pleased to find it charged, I decided to text Elle.

*
Me:
Think you can get away from the minions?*

I cringed as I pressed send and realized it was only seven. Crap, I didn’t want to wake her. She’d told me a couple weeks ago that the girls were going through
a ‘I-climb-out-of-my-crib-and-try-to-lay-on-your-face’ stage. Because of it, she wasn’t sleeping, spending most of her time dozing and plopping them back into their jails …
err
… cribs.

A minute and twenty-eight seconds later, not like I was counting, my phone pinged, Elle’s name lighting the display.

*
Elle:
Hello? Who are you and where is my best friend?! Do you know what time it is?*

*
Me:
Um… 7ish?*

*
Elle:
My BFF doesn’t simply get up at 7AM on a Saturday.*

*
Me:
Yeahhh… I got Lost*

*
Elle:
?*

*
Me:
Marathon, never mind, woke up on the couch. Can you get away?*

*
Elle:
  Maybe, why?*

*
Me:
Shopping… mani/pedi – my treat?*

*
Elle:
I’ll check if Nick will watch the girls. Sec.*

I fidgeted as I waited, almost wanting to hold my breath. Normally I didn’t mind shopping alone, but knowing I would be in the big city, alone, for a
while, I wanted some good, old-fashioned bestie time.

Looking for something to do, other than staring at the phone screen, I busied myself with brewing some coffee. The bag was cold from the freezer and I sighed
happily as the smell of the beans drifted up.
Ahhh, heaven.
I wasn’t a coffee-shop kid, but I
loved
a nice cup in the mornings. Today felt a lot like seeing an old friend. It had been two days since I’d had any and I hadn’t realized how badly I missed it. Just as I added a touch of peppermint mocha creamer, my favorite, the ping of a message startled me.