“It’s just a date, not like we’re getting married or anything.”
“Yet… not getting married yet.”
Ignoring her, I get my stuff together and prepare for my drive home. I can’t believe I have a date. A real date. Not that I’d have a fake date or something, or that I’m so ugly that no one finds me attractive, but it isn’t often that guys ask me on dates. Usually, I find I have to build up the courage to do it.
“I’m so proud of you, Dove. Maybe tonight will be the night.” Sasha wiggles her eyebrows.
“Shut up,” I say, laughing as I get into my car.
After spending an hour curling my hair, I move on to my makeup. I don’t wear it often, mostly due to my lack of skill when it comes to putting it on. Taking my time, I apply the foundation, add some eye shadow, and only manage to stab myself twice in the eye with the mascara. After, I walk into the bedroom and start pulling every dress I own from the closet.
Yes, I know it’s just a date, and we see each other every day at work, but I want Shawn to see me as more than the girl in always sees in jeans and a T-shirt. I want him to maybe wonder what’s underneath. Shaking my head at the thought, I find a cute dress and decide to pair it with some dark tights and heels.
For a moment, I stand in front of the mirror in my bra and panties, trying not to look at my reflection, but like a magnet, my eyes are drawn to it. It’s like the sun, you know it will hurt your eyes, but you still want to look at it.
As soon as I see myself in the mirror, my eyes find the ugly scar marring my otherwise smooth stomach. My hand raises on its own to touch the raised skin. It’s an old habit I can’t seem to shake. Running my fingers over that horrendous scar, I try not to let the memories of how I got it bubble up.
Instead, I worry about what Shawn might think if he gets a chance to see it. Will he think I’m disgusting? Will he ask questions? Would I be able to answer? Pushing all of those concerns aside, I grab the dress and start slipping into it.
Once dressed, I smooth my hands down the front of the dress and look at myself in the mirror.
I can’t help but smile at how well put together I look. Applying a thin layer of gloss to my lips, I give myself the once over one last time and then make a beeline to the kitchen for my phone, purse, and a light jacket.
Checking the time, I bubble over with excitement, realizing he should be here soon. Sitting on the couch, I wait like a child on Christmas morning. Max greets me with a purr as he brushes against my leg, begging for attention as he always does.
Scratching the top of his head, I look down at him. “I can’t believe it, Max. I’ve got a date.” I’d hate to be that crazy cat lady who sits at home and talks to her cats, but if I don’t get a roll on this whole dating train, that’s the path I’m headed down.
Anxiously, I watch the clock, and my excitement slowly turns to disappointment as the minutes continue to tick by without any sign of Shawn.
Opening my text messages, I check to make sure I gave him the right address, which I did. I contemplate sending him a message, and after going back and forth over it, I decide to keep it simple and just ask if he’s still coming. Maybe he had something come up? Maybe he can’t figure out where I live? I try and come up with any excuse I can, but deep down, I know it’s not really any of those things.
It’s pitiful how long I stare at my phone, waiting for a text message to come through that never does. An ache forms in my chest after a short time, and stupidly, tears fill my eyes and slide down my cheeks. I swipe at the treacherous tears, wishing I didn’t care so much.
There must be something wrong with me. I know I’m not that pretty, but I don’t think I’m worthy of always being left in the cold. Every time I have a date, they either don’t show, or there is never a second one even though the first goes great.
Swallowing down the pity I’m feeling, I change out of the dress and into an oversized T-shirt and then go into the bathroom and wash my face. It’s obvious, he’s not coming, and even more obvious, he doesn’t plan to apologize for standing me up.
When I’m done, I crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my head.
What is wrong with me? Am I that repulsive? I don’t want to think about it, but maybe I’m not meant to be with anyone. Maybe I’ll actually become the cat lady with thirty cats, and her virginity intact. God, I hope not, but what are my other options? I can’t find a guy who wants me if I can’t get him to ever go on a second date, let alone a first.
After a while, I doze off, hoping tomorrow will be a better day.
4
Her tears kill me more than anything. I’m a bastard for doing this to her, but I can’t help it. The thought of seeing her with another guy is unbearable. It’s easier to make the guy disappear than let her think she’ll ever have a future with him.
The organ in my chest tightens as I watch her crawl into bed on my cell phone screen. I wish I could wipe her tears away. Tell her that everything is going to be okay. That she has me forever and doesn’t need anyone else.
I doubt she would welcome me with open arms into her life. If she knew the things I’d done, and continue to do, how obsessed with her I am... how closely I watch her, and how often I’m inside her house, she’d be terrified, and I never want to see her look at me with fear in her eyes.
Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I look out at the bright neon sign that’s flashing back at me. I had just finished with the Shawn guy when Christian called me for a job. He asked me to swing by Venus, the mob’s strip club.
Upstairs is the strip club, but downstairs they maintain a brothel. Everyone in this town is paid off, the cops, the judges, any one of importance is paid blood money to keep their mouth shut because when you fuck with the wrong people, they send me to take care of you.
Forcing myself out of the car, I make sure my gun is secure in the shoulder holster hidden beneath my jacket before I walk up to the back door. I make sure I have at least one weapon on me at all times. You never know when shit will hit the fan, and I’d rather be the one with a gun than without one.
Lifting my closed fist to the door, I knock three times in quick succession. A moment later, the door is pushed open, and Diego, Christian’s right-hand, greets me. He looks more like a bear than human; huge, and muscular, with a face full of hair. His arms alone look like tree trunks, reminding me I should probably spend a little more time in the gym. Every inch of exposed skin is either tattooed or scared from the hundreds of fights he’s been in.
“Zane,” He says gruffly.
I nod my head to greet him. “Diego.”
He gestures toward the hall. “Boss has been waiting for you. He’s in his office.” As if the boss would be anywhere else. Girls rush past me completely naked, but I don’t even glance their way. I lost my appetite for other women years ago. I used to fuck girls that looked like Dove, but even that wasn’t enough. There’s only one fucking woman for me. And if I can’t have her, I won’t have anyone.
When I reach the door to Christian’s office, I don’t even knock. There’s no point, not when he’s expecting me. Opening the door, I find him sitting behind his desk, a glass of amber liquid placed in front of him. His face is blank as always, refusing to give away any emotion.