Lost In Me (Here and Now 1)
Right. Janelle. The woman whose clothes I’m wearing. “And who’s Janelle?”
“Janelle Crane? How hard did you hit that head?”
He walks away as the name clicks into place in my mind. Janelle Crane. The actress. I struggle to keep my jaw hinged as I look down at my dress. I’m wearing Janelle Crane’s dress. Janelle Crane’s shoes. Holy. Shit.
“Martini?”
I jump at the voice. A woman is standing next to me with a tray of martini glasses filled with light pink liquid. “Um, no thanks.”
She smiles politely and heads out the door.
Rolling my shoulders back and lifting my chin, I follow her.
The back of the house is as gorgeous as the front. A large pool sits off to the right, surrounded by several tables and countless loungers. The space is overwhelmed with people, mostly women, and pounding music fills my ears. Women dance against each other, drink, and splash in the pool. And at least three look at me like I have two heads and should leave immediately.
I lift my chin and scan the scene for Nate. The only man in a crowd of women shouldn’t be that hard to find.
I spot him in the hot tub, using his mouth to take a shot glass from between a woman’s breasts. I stamp down the jealousy I feel at the sight and want to kick the shit out of myself.
My ego was battered and beaten by my memory of what Max did. Naturally, I thought I’d make myself feel better by visiting a celebrity who buries his face in the tits of whatever woman is handy. This was a stellar
plan. Yet I can’t turn around. I keep moving, keep heading toward Nate and this I-don’t-know-what I’m after.
The click of my heels against the stone patio is muffled by the music and chatter, but I narrow in on the sound, concentrate on it as I cross to him.
He’s laughing about something, but when his gaze settles on me, his smile falls away. And after the way I treated him last time I saw him, who can blame him?
“Well, look who came to party,” he says, his words only slightly slurred.
He’s drunk. I can see it in his eyes. Hell, I can practically smell the booze rolling off everyone in that hot tub.
“Can we talk?” My words come out meek, and I wish I could take them back and replace them with a command. We need to talk. Something. Anything other than sounding and feeling weak and unwanted. I’m so sick of feeling unwanted.
“What do you think, ladies?” he asks the woman around him. “Is there room for one more?”
The women pout and crowd around Nate. “Aren’t we enough for you, Crane?” one asks. Another says, “Things were just getting interesting.” And another complains, “It’s already crowded in here. There’s hardly room for her.”
The jab at my size hurts worse than it would have fifty pounds ago. Because in my size tens, I’m bigger than the rest of them, the kind of women who scour racks for extra-small shorts. It hurts more than it would have before because this is as good as I get and I know it. In fact, this probably isn’t going to last.
I’m so stupid. I have a man at home who loves me. Who is more than I deserve. Who looks at me like I’m his world. Max screwed up. He hurt me. Betrayed me. But I can imagine a life with him, raising our kids in New Hope alongside our friends. So why am I here?
Nate’s gaze rakes over me, from my head to my toes, trailing electric fingers of need in its path. Why does my body react when he looks at me like this? “You want to talk?” he says, lifting heavy-lidded eyes back to mine. “Climb on in.” He turns to the women around him. “Sorry, ladies. I’m gonna need you to leave for a bit. You’re right. No room for her and all of you, and I like her more.”
The women whine in unison and fawn at Nate. He locks his eyes on mine for two beats before pressing a hard, open-mouthed kiss to the woman next to him. It’s wet, sloppy, and entirely for my benefit, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of looking away.
My stomach clenches, but I keep my face impassive as he releases her and the three women climb out of the hot tub, seemingly unconcerned with their bare chests.
He doesn’t even watch them go. HeeHe just he leans his head back, closes his eyes, and says, “You wanna talk, you’re gonna have to climb in.”
“I’m—” I shake my head, which is stupid since he can’t see me. “I’m not wearing a swimsuit.”
He lifts his head, and this time his gaze lands on my left hand. “I guess it can wait, then.”
“I came all the way here,” I say in a hard whisper. I don’t want to call too much attention to myself. “The least you can do is talk to me.”
“A lot of people visit me here.” He picks up a shot glass off the back of the tub and throws it back. “Too bad you didn’t bring a suit. We could have that talk you’re so set on.”
Fuck it. Even in underwear and a bra, I’ll be more modestly covered than most of the women here tonight. I kick off my shoes and peel the dress off over my head. I fold it neatly before setting it in a chair. The last thing I want to do is be responsible for ruining Janelle Crane’s dress.