The Hardest Fall (Roadmap to Your Heart Book 3) (4 page)

T
he following morning
I couldn’t stop thinking about Sebastian as I dragged my laptop over the comforter and rested it on my knees. I couldn’t shake the image of him being some old school shoe-repair guy rather than an uptight businessman. The juxtaposition was so strange and certainly piqued my interest, especially the way he had stood up, ready to defend my integrity at the bar.

I couldn’t help wondering what he would’ve done had security not escorted the guy out. Of course, I could’ve handled the dude all on my own but imagining Sebastian’s bulky forearms taking a swing in my honor was a huge turn-on.

I logged onto my social media accounts and then clicked over to my Etsy page, noticing I had a couple more T-shirt orders to fill today.

My roommate, Tori, knocked briefly on the door before bouncing into the room and sinking down on the bed. She was fresh from the shower and wearing her fluffy pink terry cloth robe.

“How are the pumps working out?” She was an assistant to one of the editors in the New York Times style section and the couple of occasions I’d met her for lunch at work, I had seen that huge designer castoff closet near her cubicle, the one they used for photo shoots.

“Ugh,” I said, wiggling my toes, which were peeking out of the covers. “You see that blister forming on my big toe?”

“Bummer. Designer shoes should not pinch,” she said, scrunching her cute button nose. “They cost an arm and a leg.”

“Tell me about it.” I threw off the covers, stood up in my striped boxer shorts and reached for my white tee. She had seen me in the buff more than once over the years so it was no big thing.

Tori followed me to a small table set up near the sofa, which I turned into a makeshift area about once a week for mock-ups of my designs. I didn’t need a lot of space for my business, just plenty of imagination, which I had in abundance.

I used to make screen-print designs in North Carolina when I had more room to work with in my spacious apartment. Nothing was spacious in Manhattan, unless you had the cash to dole out for an apartment in one of those luxurious buildings with a view. Like the one my mother currently lived in with her husband, George.

For now, I created simple graphic tees using the World Wide Web even though I missed the creative side of inventing my own designs. But paints were messy and the process involved several steps including drying time. Once the stencil was made it was all about color and light and fabric placement. The constant clean-up was sure to drive both of us mad. Or at least me, since I was the neat freak in this place.

“So guess what?” Tori asked, sinking down on the edge of the couch and propping her feet on the coffee table.

“You and Richard finally sealed the deal?” I asked with a smirk, while I unloaded my printer, iron, and transfer sheets. “And he’s hung like a fucking horse?”

Tori had been crushing on the beat reporter from the Post for months now and he finally asked her out.

“Funny,” she said, pretending to throw the cushion at my head. “You just want to know how big his weenie is. I’m actually okay with going slow. You could use some of that advice.”

“I went slow for a man once, remember?” I sneered as I counted my transfer sheets, wondering if I needed more supplies. “Didn’t work out so well.”

Tori was one of only a handful of people who knew about my very painful relationship with a married man. To my credit, I didn’t know Alan was married when I first met him. But then I fell for him, hard. And I just…struggled to walk away because of his supposed troubles, which I now knew was manipulation. He said he wanted to come out of the closet but was unable to because of his position in the community and his standing as a wealthy businessman. Nothing about having a wife. At least not at first.

I hung in there with him for the better part of a year until I decided I couldn’t hack the emotional rollercoaster any longer and my friends had talked some sense into me about his supposed
open marriage
.

After that, I moved away to finish my degree at NC State. I hadn’t been serious about it before, only taking classes here and there at NYU while I worked at bars and performed drag. But setting a goal to earn my BA had cleared my head, pointed me in the right direction, and I fooled myself into thinking that I didn’t need love or a relationship. Love hurts and all that bullshit.

Which was why moving back home had been difficult. I missed my friends and my mom, though she was busy with her new family—I had a half-sister from her current marriage. But I figured as long as I avoided places that reminded me too much of Alan it wouldn’t be so painful and then I could recapture a portion of my life that I once enjoyed. At least Ruby Redd’s had been remodeled since I last performed there, so the memories weren’t as fresh. The drag queens were new too; only Bethany and Maurice remained the same.

“So I mentioned you to my boss,” Tori said, breaking me out of my thoughts. She had disappeared into her room to change for work.

“What do you mean,
mentioned
me?” I asked, heading to the coffee pot for a steaming mug of caffeine. Not that I needed it, I was a ball of sunshine all on my own.

“Sometimes we do special features with up and coming entrepreneurs so you never know,” she said as she slipped into her low-heeled
sensible
shoes. “Just a simple shout out could hike up your online business.”

“Shut up.” I grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her cheek. “You’re the best.”

“Just trying to help out my boy,” she said, heading to the bathroom to get ready for her day. “Lord knows you need somebody to manage your life.”

“Don’t I know it?” I asked from the doorway. “Though I’m not sure you’re even up for the challenge.”

She smoothed out her dress, as she reconsidered her outfit for work. She went through the same routine every day and I kept my mouth shut because in my eyes she could do no wrong. Clothes hung like magic on her petite frame and over her pert breasts. Her short and stylish hair, which she wore in a pompadour updo, was fierce. Still, the industry could be a cutthroat business and if you didn’t wear the latest style, you were seen as
so
last year, which was fashion suicide. “You know what else you should consider doing?”

“What?” I asked, watching her dab concealer under her eyes. She always complained about the circles beneath them that were mostly hereditary.

“Here, let me do it,” I said, reaching for the tube and instead of using my finger like she did, I pulled out a thin brush from my own makeup bag sitting on the counter.

“This is exactly what I was going to talk to you about,” she said. “You have a communications degree. I know you feel lost about how to use it but
hello
, YouTube videos. Not only do you have amazing presence but the camera loves you.”

“Yeah well, Channel Five News in Carolina didn’t love me,” I said, clutching her chin to reach her eyes better. “I was too edgy with a dose of effeminate and you know it.”

“Would you really have wanted to be stuck in a stuffy newsroom?” she asked, fluttering her long eyelashes at me. “That is not you, my love. It’s time to pave your own way.”

“What the hell would I do on YouTube?” I asked, sweeping the brush around her eyelids and then down the bridge of her nose, creating a contour effect. “Show my designs?”

“Nope, though you should probably wear one of your shirts each time you record an episode,” she said, her arms flailing excitedly.

Each time? What in the world? “Still lost, girlfriend.”

“I think you should do makeup tutorials,” she said as I used my thumb to blend the concealer with the foundation.

I took a step back and scrunched my nose. “For drag queens? They don’t exactly need my…”

“No, dummy. For women in general,” she said, gesturing to herself in the mirror. “Look at how much you’ve helped me.”

I stood motionless and stared at my face in the mirror, which was devoid of all makeup, because a queen knew not to get in bed without clean and properly moisturized skin.

Holy fuck, the girl had a point. It would be a hell of a lot of fun, and if nobody tuned into my brand of fluff, then so be it.

My mind lit up with a firestorm of ideas, like a blaze spreading through a dry forest. “I could wear my designs and even mention my show at Ruby Redd’s for local fans. Might bring in more business.”

Tori beamed at me. “Now you’re talking.”

I
t was
near closing time at the shop, and I was in the back office finishing up some accounting on an Excel spreadsheet. We had been slammed with orders this week, most likely because the weather was picking up and people were preparing for their trips abroad or to the Hamptons.

Annie had some pop music playing in the background but I heard her plain as day when she mumbled
hot damn
under her breath as the bell above the front door jangled. She’d said countless times to my father over the years, “Honey, I may not want to sleep with men, but I can still appreciate them.”

My office door was propped open and as I glanced through the space, I spotted a guy standing at the entrance to the shop wearing faded jeans and a fitted black shirt that stretched comfortably across his lean shoulders. Anybody glancing at his profile could notice that the man was handsome, with his square chin and sculpted cheekbones. He was carrying a black messenger bag and when he spoke to Annie, the sound set all of my nerve endings on edge.

I stood from my chair to get a better view and as my gaze caught on the purple streaks running through his metallic blond hair my heart thundered in my chest. The man standing in my store was Tate.

Tate as himself. I had never seen him without his long eyelashes, painted lids, and cheekbones. My chest felt tight and achy as I gaped at him through the door jamb.

I mean, Frieda was beautiful, but Tate was
gorgeous.
His eyelashes curled over his pale blue eyes and his cheekbones were high and rosy from either the sun or maybe the walk over. But my gaze kept snagging on his lips. Those soft, full lips that were not painted in red or orange or pink, depending on the night.

The memory of jacking myself off to that video the other night hit me square in the chest and I sank back down in my seat, wholly lost and confused. What the fuck was happening to me? I needed to stay back here until I got myself under some measure of control. I shut my eyes tight, trying to get a grip on all of these tangled sensations barraging me at once.

Tate was a guy I happened to seek out because my best friend asked me to retrieve a secret envelope when he passed away. It felt right at the time that Tate should understand what Alan felt. He should also know he passed away, unless he’d already seen the obituaries last year for himself, which was entirely probable.

But now that he was flesh and blood standing inside my shop, I didn’t want to turn his life upside down, the way he was turning mine on a dime right now. It was the main reason I had waited this long to find him and tell him. Destroying the contents seemed dishonest at the time. Handing it over to Alan’s family seemed even more wrong—upending their lives after they had lost him.

Why the hell was I so damn interested in what Tate’s relationship had been with Alan? Maybe because they seemed as different as night and day. Alan was a workaholic, who walked in the same circles as other wealthy and sanctimonious businessmen, in addition to being a seemingly dedicated family man. Tate was flashy, flirty, brazen and appeared equally proud of who he was. How did he and my former best friend even fit?

Most puzzling of all was why Tate had become so alluring to me. Was it because he represented something clandestine? And why was I so damn attracted to him? There—I said it. I was drawn to this guy who probably went through a pile of men a week. He was likely only here for help with his damn shoes and I needed to get out there and stop hiding.

So what-the-fuck-ever if I had discovered something about myself in the process. I’d wondered for weeks if it was just Tate as his persona—he was a beautiful woman in drag. But now here, with his face devoid of any color, his skin smooth and pale, his hair tame and demure, he still made my pulse thump wildly in my veins.

“Sebastian?” Annie called to me from the front of the store. “This customer says you recommended me?”

I stood unsteadily and told myself it was time to stop hiding like some chickenshit. Toughen the hell up and do the right thing.

When I stepped to the front of the store, I noticed how Tate eyed me up and down and it lit a fire in my belly. Damn, how long had it been since I’d slept with my ex?

“Hey, Sebastian,” Tate said.

I smiled and couldn’t help staring now that I had a close up view of him. How his lips were pale pink and his tongue made them gleam as he swiped the tip across them.

“Bet you don’t recognize me, huh?” he asked, as he flounced across the space and his hands showcased his body.

Annie scrunched her nose up in confusion. My mouth went dry; no way did I want her to know anything I was up to on weekends. What a hypocrite I was, though. Big deal, it was a bar mostly frequented by gay men and women and sometimes tourists. But the truth was, I didn’t share much of myself with anybody.

I cleared my throat. “Um, Tate is—”

“He met me once through a friend,” Tate said, jumping in to save me. As if he’d caught on that I was uncomfortable. “And I had makeup on—I perform drag shows at Ruby Redd’s Bar and Grille.”

Annie’s eyes widened and I had no idea what was going through her mind. “Karen and I haven’t been there in years. The food was pretty darn good.”

It had never occurred to me that Annie would go to that restaurant; how pathetic of me. She wouldn’t even care if I did. But it would definitely surprise her.

“Only the food?” Tate said, swaying his hips, and grinning. “Guess you’ve never seen my act before. Although I’ve only been back the past year.”

Back? Suddenly I wanted to know where he’d been. I wanted to know everything.

Annie laughed and clapped her hands. “Well maybe we should go there for dinner again, sooner rather than later.”

Tate winked at her and all I could think to do was stare like some mute.

“So you brought the shoes,” I said, finally snapping out of it and changing the subject. Annie was holding the pair of stilettos in her hands so it was a dumb question.

“You wear these?” Annie asked as her gaze scaled down Tate’s denim clad legs. His feet were shoved into a pair of worn flip-flops and all I could zero in on was the light hair on his toes.

“I do, but they’re rough on my feet,” he said. “I’ll probably have bunions to prove it.”

“Your flip flops are also a terrible choice for footwear,” I said, pointing down at his shoes. “No support.”

“Is he always like this?” he asked Annie, and she snickered.

“Sebastian takes the business of shoes very seriously,” she said, trying to keep a straight face. Apparently, Tate had already won her over as well. This guy had charisma dripping from his pores and he knew it. At least I think he did from the way those dimples in his cheeks flashed unabashedly.

Suddenly a flicker of anger or maybe defiance arose inside of me. I would not fall willingly to his charms. He already ruined one family. But as soon as I thought it, my shoulders slumped in defeat. I knew it wasn’t true. That was as effective as blaming the other woman.

Alan was the scoundrel here and maybe Tate was too for partaking in the affair, but he wasn’t the only one at fault. I was just looking for some excuse to thrust my newfound feelings to the side and I knew better than to try to resist and hide from them. It never worked in the end.

“Sebastian takes clothing seriously, too,” Tate said, breaking me out of my thoughts as he looked me up and down. Today I had on a blue button-down shirt from Nordstrom’s and gray flat-front slacks. My father always taught me to look presentable in front of customers and I’d admit, I enjoyed expensive clothes. The look and feel of them and when matched with a gorgeous pair of loafers or oxfords…Christ, listen to me.

“He dresses better than me for sure,” Annie said as if she suddenly had a co-conspirator.

“Better than half of the city,” Tate responded, nodding approvingly.

“You know, I
am
still in the room.” Annie turned to place a tag on his shoes with a snicker and an eye roll.

“They’ll be ready tomorrow afternoon,” she said, clearing her throat and attempting to act professional. “You can either call or I can ring you when we’re all set.”

“Sounds good.” Suddenly Tate looked shy and uncomfortable, like he didn’t know where to place his hands, so he turned for the door, with his fingers outstretched.

“Look at the time.” Annie stood up suddenly. “Off duty—my girlfriend awaits. She’s cooking me dinner tonight; it’s our anniversary.”

“Annie,” I said, feeling flustered. “You didn’t tell me it was a special occasion. I would’ve encouraged you to leave earlier.”

Sometimes I felt like a terrible boss and even more so a friend. I was sure if I actually had a regular conversation with her, I would’ve known the smaller details of her life.

“Nah, it’s no big deal.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Now if we wanted to take a trip, I’d let you know plenty in advance.”

Tate’s eyebrows knit together, as if listening to the conversation with interest and I was embarrassed for myself. It almost sounded as if she was a new employee.

As Tate held open the door for Annie, he asked, “How many years?”

Shit, even I wasn’t sure of the answer to that question.

“Twelve,” Annie said, as she glanced back to him.

“Wow, that’s fantastic,” Tate responded. “Bet you get asked a lot what the secret is.”

“I think the secret is laughter, respect, and communication.” She grinned and waved as she walked through the door and I thought about the attributes she had just listed. Had I had those things with anybody I’d ever dated before? Doubtful. “See you tomorrow.”

Tate and I stood there awkwardly as I fumbled for what to say. He had just witnessed a strange interaction in my shop and I had no idea how I appeared to him now. Besides, what the hell did it even matter?

“Well, I won’t keep you,” he said, reaching for the doorknob again. “I’m sure you have big plans for the evening?”

My face heated as I realized what a damn loner I really was. “Not really, I was heading over to Houston Street to help out some
friends
.”

Well that was true enough. I didn’t talk about my volunteer work that often but it was what kept me in check, made me grateful for my own life, and gave me deep satisfaction.

It suddenly felt too intimate being alone with Tate in my shop. I was liable to do something stupid, like crowd him against a wall and beg to taste those lips. This was obviously some sort of fucked up crush I had on the guy and I needed to get the hell out of this enclosed space with him, that was for certain.

But maybe this was the perfect time to tell Tate about Alan. Again, the usual questions punched me in the gut—what if the information slayed him or made him angry, especially coming from me, a virtual stranger? Those small moments of vulnerability I had witnessed beneath Tate’s outgoing persona were like cracks in his armor and I wasn’t sure I could take the chance of destroying somebody like him.

Some folks kept secrets locked up tight for a reason. But I had always believed in truth and honesty and that might just be my biggest downfall.

“So um, I need to lock up.” I reached for the sign on the door and flipped it to
CLOSED
.

“I’ll get out of your way,” he said as he walked through the entryway and I followed him onto the street.

Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I wanted to ask more questions, to keep him talking. “Where do you live, Tate?”

“On Carmine, off Bleecker,” he said, watching as I pulled out my ring of keys and locked the door. “And you?”

I jutted my thumb behind my shoulder. “Around the corner, on 10
^th
.”

I wracked my brain for something else to say. The real Tate Sullivan was standing in front of me and I didn’t want us to go our separate ways. Not yet. Not when I was just getting to know him.