Life in a Rut, Love not Included (Love Not Included series Book 1) (10 page)

“Stacey, shut up. Listen Sarah. Let’s sit down.” Steve reached for his pants and tugged them up his legs, then jerked towards me to grab my arms. Stacey slowly made her way out of the bed to get her robe.

“This is not happening.” I started to shake. As I began to step back, out of the doorframe, Steve caught my arm and grabbed me in a hard grip.

“Stop. This is nothing. Listen to me,” Steve responded in an annoyed tone.

I attempted to pull my arms away from his rough grasp but he wouldn’t allow it.

“Steve, let go of me! You’re hurting me.”

“I am not hurting you, I am getting your attention. Now calm down. This can be talked through.”

“Steve, let her go, she is fine. She can handle this.” Hearing Stacey’s voice and the way she spoke to Steve, it was as if they had a plan for this day all along, for when it finally happened.

“Get your hand off of me,” I spat out in a strained voice. This was not happening. These two people who I loved were not doing this to me.

Eventually Steve let go, knowing at this point he was probably starting to bruise my arm. I turned around and walked back down the hallway. I heard Stacey and Steve arguing, then two sets of footsteps following me into the living room.

“Now Sarah, listen, this can easily be explained.”

I whipped around to face him. “Easily be explained!? What is there to explain!? Are you going to tell me that I saw different from what I did!?”

Steve stepped closer in an attempt to reach me. “You are overreacting. Calm down. This anger does not suit you.” I went to swing at him again, but this time he caught my arm. “Like I said, Sar, this anger does not suit you. Now you can calm down and listen or you can act like a child and assume what you want.”

He was insane! That was the only conclusion I had come to at that point. I knew Steve was always about being proper and well put together. Image was everything to him. That’s exactly why he had molded me into his perfect little arm candy. At this point I believe I was in shock. I tried to catch my breath, but air was not filling my lungs fast enough. I took my eyes off of Steve and re-directed my stare at Stacey. To my disbelief, she looked away from me.

I turned my back to both of them and made it to the kitchen, then I grabbed my purse and fled the apartment. Without having my own transportation, I practically ran four blocks until my heels started to create blisters on my feet and forced me to slow down. It took me seven blocks until I couldn’t take it anymore and I broke down and sobbed.

As the memory fades and slowly brings me back to reality, I pull my eyes away from the display. Such a great accomplishment tainted by a horrible realization. I probably didn’t even get credit for the end work. I look down at the resume in my hand. During my flashback I managed to crunch the pages, white knuckles to prove it. The heavy weight of failure feels like sandpaper in my hands. I crunch the paper into a ball and toss it in the public trashcan on the side of the street. Always defeated. That’s how I feel. Why I thought I was ready to get back on the horse, I’m not sure. That horse kicked me off, remember?

Getting angrier with every second that passes by, wondering why I even thought to make this step, I storm to the station wagon and get in. I throw myself into the car and bang my closed fists against the steering wheel. “I hate them for doing this to me,” I whisper to myself. I rest my head against the wheel in an effort to regain my composure, then I start the car and set my mental GPS to
home,
because this job search is officially over. I turn up the radio because I need noise to drown out my aching memories. If my life wasn’t already a walking joke, I would have enjoyed a bit more of the humor when Pat Benatar’s ‘Love is a Battlefield’ began blaring though my speakers.

W
ITH MY TAIL BETWEEN
my legs and my mood in the toilet, I make it back home without any accidents. While pulling the big red box into the driveway I notice Jack is sitting in his truck. I look at the time. I would have assumed he’d be done for the day. Being the head honcho of a major construction company, one wouldn’t assume the boss stuck around on small job sites. I get out of the car, attempting to do it in a slow sexy way, only to trip over my foot and stumble down into the lawn.
Go figure.
I stand up and pull myself together while Jack jumps out of his truck and heads my way.

“Hey,” he calls out, walking up the driveway. God, why does his simple ‘Hey’ sound so seductive, like
‘Hey. Let’s get naked’?

“Hey yourself,” I repeat. Seriously, could I sound more lame?

He makes his way to the side of the Stabbin’ Wagon. “You OK?”

“Oh yeah, I dropped an earring in the lawn. Was just picking it up.”

He looks at me and says, “So the other day. We never got to finish our adventure of replacing that top of the line smart phone that somehow bit it into traffic.

“Oh yeah. That. No problem. Seems that the world minus technology is actually working out for me,” I say.

We stand there eye-locked for what seems like eternity. His
sex me
eyes have me in a trance, and my ability to conjure up a sentence fails me. “You still with me?”
Huh?

“Huh? Yeah. So don’t worry about it. Phones are extremely overrated. I’m going to start a trend. No phones. Live free!”
Shut up, Sarah.

Jack chuckles. “Well, then let me make it up to you at least in the form of dinner and drinks?” I’m pretty sure I’m just staring at him again since he has rendered me speechless.
Did he just ask me out?

“Did you just ask me out?”

More chuckling. “Well, I guess you can call it that,” he says. “Unless you have other plans. You do seem to be setting a record with how much vermouth one can indulge in.” My cheeks turn red faster than humanly possible. He steps closer to me, closing in the space between us. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just meant that I found it quite impressive. And if you wouldn’t mind, over some food and drinks, you can teach me your secret.” At this, I laugh. “Nice save?” he asks.

“Nice save,” I tell him. “You look like a good student. I will accept your offer and teach you all my ways.” I notice his body relax as I accept. He returns my answer with a breathtaking smile.

“Great. I’ll pick you around seven?” He wears a smile that might actually resemble satisfaction.

“Yep. I’ll see you at seven.” I then side-step out of his line of vision, because at this point he almost has me pinned to the car, and I’m about ready to move up our plans and invite him to the backseat of the Shaggin’ Wagon. I give him a warm smile and head up to the door. Before I hit the stoop, he calls out my name.

“Sarah?”

“Yeah?” I respond and turn around.

“Try and stay clear of your Aunt Raines,” he says with a hint of humor in his voice.

Man, he’s good. I give him the head-nod in acknowledgment and turn to walk inside. I can hear Aunt Raines in the kitchen shaking up her daily concoction, and I bee line it straight upstairs.

I
MAKE IT TO
my bedroom and slip inside unnoticed. I would really hate to have to turn down poor Aunt Raines, because it’s just simply wrong to drink alone. But I also need to focus. It’s starting to set in that I was just asked out. By Jack. As in get dressed up and go out, and do what people do on dates.

What do people do on dates!? Panic completely starts to set in! I can’t remember the last time I was on a date. I start pulling open boxes in search of my clothes. I should have labeled these boxes with ‘I have given up’ which you will find my shirts and sweats in, and ‘I will eventually be on a date, and I need to look hot.’ I settle with just knocking over all of the boxes until I rip open one and pull out my dresses. I pick out a nice red low-cut, strappy-shoulder dress that stops just above my knees. I hang it up and match a stellar pair of gold Prada stilettos.

I jump in the shower to do a good scrub-down. One can never be too sure where an innocent date can lead to, and knowing me I wouldn’t mind if our date consisted of just the inside of his truck. Pushing aside my dirty thoughts, I scrub, shave, exfoliate and get out. Blow dry my hair, check. Lotion, check. Makeup, simple and . . . check. I grab my dress and shuffle it over my head. As I slip my second shoe on my foot, I stand up straight and give myself a good look over.

Shockingly, my response at my finished product is not what I expected. I look at myself in my dress with my made-up hair and my simple features. I look exactly like the person that Steve would approve of. This isn’t me. This was him. The person he, over the years, molded me into. Before I met Steve, I hated dresses. It was at the hands of Stacey’s money and Steve’s influence that my wardrobe became more sophisticated. Not to brag, but I have great hair. It is full and vibrant (when I kept up with coloring it of course), but Steve always insisted I wore it up and neat. Red was Steve’s favorite color so I would spend most of my paychecks searching for red attire, hoping he would notice and approve. I don’t even like the color red. This isn’t me!

So disgusted at who I see, I rip my hair down, hearing the pins scatter on the floor. I step out of my shoes and tear off my dress. Having a bit of a breakdown after the zipper gets stuck, I literally tear it off. Hearing the dress rip down the back, I throw my body out of it and toss it violently into the trash. I start to breathe heavily and know I am just milliseconds away from having a complete meltdown.

“Why are they still doing this to me?” I whisper sadly to myself. They aren’t even here and they are still pulling me down. Thinking they are probably at some ritzy restaurant right now having a fancy meal with one another while sharing a good laugh at my expense, I slide down to the floor and put my face in my hands. This has to stop soon, right?

“Sarah?” I hear my mom call through the door. “Jack is downstairs waiting. Are you coming down, honey?”

“I’ll be right down, Mom!” I say, trying to hide the strain in my voice. I stand up and try to get my emotions in check. I think for a second to tell my mom that I have suddenly gotten ill and to please tell Jack we have to reschedule, but I know he would just think I was weak and that I took a detour to the kitchen to visit with Aunt Raines when I came in.

I set my shoulders straight and look in the mirror. “You can do this. You are hot. You are funny. You are a good person, and you deserve this.” I repeat this little mantra to myself twice over until I feel some confidence return. I try to remember what I was like before Shitstorm Steve hit; I was carefree and wild. I need to find that girl again and things will be OK.

I reach for my brush and let my hair fully down. I dig into my makeup case and give myself some hot smoky eyes and dab my lips with gloss. I run back into my room and find my tight skinny jeans and green halter top, which pretty much screams ‘I have a fabulous rack, would you like to see?’ I keep the gold stilettos because I love them and they never did anything wrong to me, so they stay. Lastly, I spritz a bit of perfume and exit my bedroom.

I
WALK DOWN THE
stairs and can hear my mom talking with Jack about the progress of the addition. I hear her praising him for the work his men have accomplished. I didn’t think he would produce anything less. He seems so dedicated to his work, and so detailed. His hard work and confidence radiated off him when he spoke to clients and directed his crew. Any person would be proud of him.