Sledgehammer (Hard to Love 2)

“I sure hope so,” I answer with a smile.

“Took you long enough,” she says, her open arms ready to wrap around me.

“I’ve been busy trying to stay out of trouble.” Walking into her embrace, I hug her back.

“By trouble I hope you mean that delicious lawyer you had bail me out.”

“He is delicious, isn’t he?” I grumble sourly.

“Cinder, that’s some prime beefcake you’ve got yourself there. What I wouldn’t do to wrap my lips around––”

“Whoa.” I hold up a hand, putting the brakes on whatever she was about to say next. Looking around, I say aloud what I’ve been thinking since I walked in. “This shop is beautiful. How can you afford this?”

She smiles knowingly. “Hmm, old boyfriend.”

“The one you moved to New York for?”

“Yeah. He left it to me in his will.”

Oh, poop. I stepped in it now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize he’d passed.”

“That’s alright. It’s been years.” She looks me up and down. “Come on, you look like you could use a drink. Tammy,” she shouts over her shoulder, “You’re closing.”

Happy hour is underway by the time we reach the Gansevoort Hotel in the meat packing district. The bar is jammed full of hipsters and suits. I recognize one or two from One Maple.

“Are you, or are you not fucking him?”

Two suits sitting at the next table turn to stare at us. Cringing. I’m cringing. “Don’t say it like that.”

“How would you like me to say it? With an accent?”

That elicits an unwilling smile out of me. “That’s not the point anyway.”

“I beg to differ. That’s always the point.”

“I’m moving. If I start something with him, then what?”

“Oh…” Her dark eyes perform a thorough examination of my face. Elegantly, she crosses her long slender arms, after which I get another raised eyebrow. “You’re in love with him.”

“I’m not in love with him.” My eyes dart to the skull themed art on the wall.

“You’re in love with him,” she repeats, disappointment in her tone.

“I may have developed an affection for him. Small, tiny little thing.”

“That was stupid.”

“I know,” I say morosely. I’m cringing again. She keeps echoing back all my concerns.

“Don’t sleep with him.”

“What??” My eyes full of surprise cut back to her. Needless to say, this is not what I was expecting.

“You won’t move if you sleep with him.”

My heart sinks. Feels like she just hit a nerve. “You think?” I say, and suck down my vodka gimlet.

“Cinder, face the facts, you’re a romantic. And from one recovering romantic to another I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that if you sleep with him, you’ll eventually give him everything else as well––in other words, you’ll give up your career.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Anticipation is a two sided blade. The butterflies, the giddy rush, all good things. The waiting? Mmnot so much. I’ve been wavering between elation every time the phone rings and bone deep loneliness when it doesn’t since he left. In other words, I miss him something terrible.

It’s your typical Saturday night at One Maple. The bar jammed three rows deep, the customers demanding, the money rolling in. Until I spot an obscenely handsome man walk in. Then it’s no longer typical because Ethan has never come to visit me at work before. Just being in the same room with him makes me feel better.

I take good measure of the man. Navy suit, impeccable white shirt, no tie. Then again he could make a dishrag look sexy. His almond shaped eyes roam until he finds me, his lips mirroring mine curve up. Walking through the room, he catches the attention of every pair of female and some male eyes in the general vicinity. Reaching the bar, he pushes his way past the crowd to the front, never breaking eye contact.

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world,” I say, openly beaming.

His smile fades, his expression suddenly grave––the happy vibe we were sharing a minute ago nowhere to be found.

“Hey? What’s wrong?”

“I missed you.”

My stomach bottoms out and my throat closes up. It was a direct shot to the heart. “I missed you, too.” The words tumble out of my mouth without any thought to the consequences. Something is happening. The question is, what?

“Abby! Can we get some drinks here?” someone shouts over the ruckus of the crowd.

Ethan’s face darkens, adopting an expression I’ve never seen on him before. His narrow eyed death glare turns in the direction of the screamer.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell him, though it doesn’t look like he’s heard me; his attention still glued to my two favorite customers. I make my way over to them wearing a fake grin.

“Howdy, fellas,” I cheerfully chirp as I wipe down the bar. “What’s going down? I mean––besides you two on each other?”

The dark flush running up jerk number one’s neck tells me he finally gets it. The daggers his eyes are throwing tell me he won’t be going away quietly. Whatever. Nothing I can’t handle. “What can I get you?”