Unrequited (Chosen #3) Read online

  However, my eyebrows lifted when two young guys crowded too far into her personal space. Just as I was about to get up and play caveman, a leggy blonde approached me at my stool, and she finger walked my chest. I regarded her with surprise and she smiled largely at me. She had such white teeth, I wondered if she was a dental hygienist. They were always on top of the latest teeth whitening products.

  “Hello beautiful,” she cooed. “I haven’t seen you at The Crimson Club before. Can I buy you a drink?”

  I laughed, took her hand from my chest, and held it gently between us.

  “Isn’t that supposed to be my line, sweetheart?” I asked smoothly. I knew how to play the game. I’d been doing it for my entire adult life.

  “Well, honey, if you want to buy me a drink, I would love a Samuel Adams on tap,” she said as she scooted her stool so close to me that I think part of it actually sat on mine. My stunned face at her extreme closeness must have been obvious. Were women really like this? I can’t remember them being this forward. It startled me to think that I actually fell for this type of come on night after night. This is a woman I definitely would have taken home before Lizzie.

  I put my hand up for the waitress just as Legs started to finger walk my thighs. I leaned back on the stool and let her do her thing. I crossed my arms, inspecting her like she was a lab specimen. I really had no idea why I was ever such a frigging man whore.

  “What the hell are you doing?” an extremely familiar voice barked out.

  I peered up to find Lizzie with her eyes practically crossing themselves as she toggled between Legs and me. I smiled sheepishly at her.

  “You were wonderful on stage, baby,” I exclaimed and I saw the moment she registered that I was playing our game. She knows I adore her. She knows I didn’t ask for this woman to come on to me. She knows I am just playing.

  Lizzie grabbed a stool from another table and put it on the other side of me just as the waitress came up to take our drink orders.

  “This one will have a Sam Adams on tap,” I said pointing to Legs. Then I pointed to Lizzie. “This one will have a Jack and Coke, hold the Jack. I will have a Jack and Coke, double the Jack.”

  “Who the hell is she?” Legs asked incredulously.

  “Oh, I am no one special. Nick and I just hook up and have crazy animal sex occasionally,” Lizzie stated nonchalantly while she flicked her eyes around the room for her own victim. I could tell she was disappointed that one hadn’t found her yet. It was eating at her and I loved every moment of it. I purposely feasted my eyes on the enormous rock on her finger and realized the answer for Lizzie. Poor girl has no idea that an engagement ring is red flag alert.

  My smile must have been a full 200 watts as I turned to Legs and shrugged.

  “It’s true,” I concurred. “This girl gives the best blow jobs this side of the Mississippi River.” Legs balked at me and then Lizzie coughed while I tried to suppress my urge to bust out laughing.

  Lizzie angled her head at me seemingly perplexed. “Did we decide on the Mississippi River because I could have sworn you said it was the Rockies the last time I gave you one?”

  She regarded Legs and continued, “I am trying to get to Hawaii but it will take a few more times.” She winked at her, shrugged, and went back to scouting out the crowd. It was epic. I had never seen Lizzie that stone cold in actor mode. I almost believed her.

  “Well, baby, I can get you all the way to China if you give me ten minutes in the bathroom,” Legs promised as she inched her hand up my thigh a little higher. Lizzie eyed the hand just as the waitress put down our drinks. I tossed down the black credit card, told her to keep a tab, keep us happy, and my tip would take care of her electric bill for the month.

  “Ah, I am not really into the bathroom thing,” I answered with a sympathetic smile. “But I would love to get to know you a little more.” Lizzie snorted off her straw and I could tell I was losing my game. Maybe I lost it when I met her.

  “What do you want to know sweetheart?” she cooed.

  “Yeah, Nick, tell us. What do you want to know?” Lizzie asked all smiles. Sweat, freckles, and love beautified her face. I stared at her with heat in my eyes. She knew I didn’t have a clue about questions.

  As I pulled my mind from the obsessive Lizzie trance, I started to think about what to ask. Lizzie popped off her chair and kissed me on the check. She bee lined it for the front corner next to the stage. I saw her target. He looked just like me and I laughed to myself.

  “God, I am so glad she is gone. What is her deal? She was acting like you two were seriously involved but I can tell you weren’t all that into her, right?” Legs asked.

  I shrugged and took a swill off my drink. As I started to tap my fingers on the table, Legs got a little anxious and I could tell it was do or die time.

  “Actually, I am engaged to Rockies so I suppose I am very into her,” I said, taking another swill off my drink. “Most nights, actually.”

  It took her a moment to realize what I had said.

  Half a beer in the face. Shit, Lizzie won. Legs was throwing up her hands and walking out of the bar, yelling about married men, and her life being fucked up. I tried to wipe off what I could with bar napkins and failed as people watched the whole the whole train wreck. I saw Lizzie laughing at me from across the room. I gave her the finger and she faked a sad face.

  An hour later, Lizzie soaped my face and upper chest off in our bathroom at home. She wouldn’t stop laughing at me. I looked around for anything to plug into her mouth to shut her up. When I couldn’t find anything, I sighed, and rolled my eyes while I endured her banter.

  “Why do we even play that game?” I asked annoyed.

  “We play it so that we know we still got it,” she said playfully as she poked me in the shoulder.

  I huffed out a breath and stared into her eyes. “You still got it baby. You don’t need another man telling you that,” I said.

  Her face turned serious and she leaned into me for a gentle kiss. When she backed up, she placed her hands on my lower waist.

  “I know.” She whispered with a smug face. The next second was a blur as she immediately bolted out the door when she heard Lily come in with Niall.

  I would normally chase after her to greet them but I couldn’t muster the energy. I was exhausted. My life was crazy. I was working, tending to Niall at night ever since he started teething, Lizzie’s ups and downs, and now going out to gigs with the band. I glanced at my watch and realized it was only ten o’clock. How could I, Nicholas Sawyer, desire bed over anything else on a Saturday night?

  I walked out into our lavish living room in our Walnut Street apartment that scanned Boston Commons. It was decked out with leather couches, hardwood floors, a fireplace, a monstrous plasma television, and a redheaded beauty sprawled out on the floor watching a show about furry little animals that resembled small guinea pigs or rats. I turned my head sideways to figure out what the hell they were. Oh, lemmings.

  “Do you think that lemmings really commit suicide?” Lizzie yawned.

  Lizzie was practically drooling out of her mouth she was so tired.

  I shot a look to her and then proceeded to cozy up next to her. I pulled her head up so that it was gently placed in my lap. She put her arms around my legs and sighed. I stroked her red curls and thought about her question.

  “Why would any living thing want to die on purpose? Not to mention that the myth would bring mass suicide into question. Like…like the mass suicides back in… what 1996?” I thought to myself.

  “1997. 39 bodies and it was Heaven’s Gate, a cult. They knew that the Earth was going to recycle itself or some shit. They had to get out before they were part of the destruction or something.” She stated.

  I paused stroking her hair and looked down to her. “How and why do you know the specifics of a mass suicide?”

  She smiled at me wickedly. “I have a bit of a dark side, Nicholas. I like to know what makes people tick. So? Answer my question.
Do you think those little furry rodents know that they are flinging themselves off ledges before they do it?”

  “No. I don’t. I think they are just too stupid to see where they are headed,” I muttered as I looked back up to the television. I was so damn tired.

  “Where is Niall?” I asked after I had been rubbing her belly for a few minutes.

  “He was so tired that he was knocked out at eight. Lily raved that he was a perfect gentleman. That means that he will be up half the night again,” she exhaled loudly and I knew she was just as exhausted as I was. Something had to give. We needed a full night’s sleep.

  We didn’t say much the rest of the night. We snuggled into one another as we watched a few more shows about animals and survival. She fell asleep and I carried her to bed around midnight. I watched her chest rise and fall with her breaths and tried to match mine with hers.

  The blonde leggy girl’s face popped into my head and I realized in that moment that I never actually checked her out in any way. Lizzie still ogled guys occasionally and I would playfully give her shit about it. But I didn’t even look at that girl’s ass tonight. I didn’t check to see if she was sporting cleavage. I used to watch every woman walk by me. Now it was like the lights were shut off, it was pitch black, and the sizzling spotlights were only on Lizzie.

  FOUR - SAMANTHA HUGHES –please, call me SAM.

  I despise sitting in coach when I travel. Coach seating is the armpit in the sky. The common people with their coughing and sneezing are so irritating and repulsive. I constantly douse my hands, my face, and my arms with anti bacterial gel. Of course, all travelers from Texas blame it on allergies. I know better. If they really had allergies, then they know what medicine works for them when they travel. When the screaming baby starts, I just want to stick a sharp needle through my eye. Of course, the mothers blame it on the popping of ears. There must be some type of medicine to give them, too. Valium.

  I know that my father, Mr. Martin Hughes, was making a point by not reserving me a first class seat. The past few months, I suppose I haven’t lived up to standard of a first class girl. I have been depressed, paranoid, agoraphobic, and suicidal. Maybe I do belong in an armpit.

  This return trip to Boston is my last ditch effort and if I fail, I will be lucky to get on a flight standby to anywhere in the world. In fact, I will most likely take a bus to some secluded place where he can hide me and disown me at the same time. Poor me? Not really. I have a nice trust fund, anything at my disposal when I am home in New Braunfels and well, I am a self efficient young woman. I can get whatever I want whenever I want from whomever I want.

  I am on a mission for my father. Like any other beauty queen Southern Texas girl of a millionaire mogul, I must follow his instructions to the letter. I played the piano when he told me that was what proper girls play. I dressed for social functions in the attire that his fashion consultant picked for me because he didn’t want his daughter to look like anything but royalty. Now I must persuade Nicholas Sawyer to marry me. Nick and my parents have been friends for fucking ever and they always told me that I would one day be his bride. The problem is that Nick is already engaged to a Bostonian otherwise known as the ungrateful Yankee. That is what my father calls her now. She doesn’t even have a name in our house.

  To be quite honest, I want to marry Nick. It will be the best distraction from the pain of losing the only other man that I truly loved. Conner, the man I believe I killed, died in front of me over two months ago in a head on collision. It was the worst night of my life. At first, I was scared because I was driving the car and worried that I would get in trouble with the law.

  I bought a burner phone and tried calling Nick a few times to see if Conner’s family was investigating the accident. He hinted at nothing in particular other than he was concerned for my well being. Plus, my father quickly saw to the fact that I was never actually in that car. He covered the whole thing up and I was sent back to Texas immediately. I felt I deserved to pay a price for killing Conner. I didn’t even get to go to his funeral and I will feel guilty for that as long as I live.

  Conner and I met at Nick’s house the last time my father sent me to Boston to woo Nick into being my husband. That night, I tried like hell to make him notice me but he was clearly distraught over a woman. The next morning, as he politely asked me to leave and find another place to crash, Nick introduced me to Conner. We were both smitten immediately. If I never believed in love at first sight before, I most definitely believed in it then.

  During the best love affair of my life, I ignored all of my father’s calls and even had forgotten about the mission to gain Nick’s affections. Conner was the most kick ass guy I had ever met. He was a rock star in all ways. He wrote songs for me. He made sweet love to me. He kissed my feet, both literally and figuratively. Now he is dead and there will never be another Conner.

  So, I sit here, on my way to claim Nick as my own. Call it PTSD, call it being a selfish bitch but I couldn’t care less about breaking up Nick’s engagement. I need the distraction from the horrible nightmares I have every night of when I watched Conner’s head shatter the windshield. Nick and my future together will ease the pain and hopefully, I will eventually forget that whole night.

  I look around at all of the passengers on this flight and wonder if the plane went down, would they care any less than I would? I don’t think I could be so lucky. I pulled out my Vanity Fair magazine and flip through it. I smelled some of the perfumes and pulled out the ones I would immediately purchase when I got to Boston. My father gave me twenty five thousand dollars to get myself all done up for Mission Marry Nick Sawyer. My only hope is that I don’t ever have to actually speak to his fiancé, since she is, was Conner’s sister. The wonderful Lizzie O’Malley. Conner and Nick obnoxiously spoke about her daily. She doesn’t seem that great to me. She has tattoos and buys her clothes at thrift stores and um…Target. What suitable wife for Nick does that?

  She is a red headed, freckle faced mother of a child she had with another man and Nick is totally in love with her. I have to agree with daddy that he has gone out of his mind. Nick Sawyer, the walking epitome of wealthy hotness, likes a damn red headed Yankee. It doesn’t make any sense. Plus, her family doesn’t have any money.

  I am 100% positive that Lizzie doesn’t even know what Fifth Avenue looks like. Any Cosmopolitan girl would know what this season’s trends are but not Lizzie. I think she is a girl transported from the 1960’s. Conner showed me a picture of her once and she had her hair in braids, like she was twelve. She wore a flowery tank top and ripped up jeans that had paint on them. She was wearing Ked shoes for Christ’s sake. What Nick sees in her is beyond me.

  Growing up side by side, I know he only dated the most put together girls in school. They were high society class. I understood I couldn’t be in his sights then because we hung out together as friends. Our friend, Mitch, Nick, and I were constantly at each other’s houses. When Mitch died, Nick basically screwed every woman that walked. My father insisted that it was the right time for our move. I was to step in and help Nick in his time of need. I needed to transform our friendship into a romantic discovery. That was a bust. That night, I went to his place in San Antonio and he was already drunk. I didn’t have to come on strong for him to notice me that night. We were in bed within an hour. It was amazing.

  He was a careful but passionate lover up until he left the next day without any warning. Even his parents didn’t know where to find him. I don’t know if he wanted more from me and thought I was only offering sex. I don’t know if he was too embarrassed to sleep with an old friend and had to leave. I left countless voicemails and sent hundreds of emails telling him it was okay that we had made love and we needed to talk. It wasn’t until about a year ago that he returned emails and answered the phone. He insisted that he had been going through a rough time and hoped that we could still be friends.

  Since he moved to Boston, I heard through people, mainly his parents that he was seeing women
here and there but didn’t appear ready to settle down yet. So my father and I waited patiently to make our move. I helped my momma out with her DIY projects and partied in Austin with all the beautiful UT boys at night. I took pills and slept for days and hardly ate.

  I didn’t need to work, although my BA in Marketing from Texas A&M University was a black cloud over my head. I did want to do something with my degree because I loved to create designs and I enjoyed being a socialite. Marketing was a career made for me.

  I wasn’t encouraged to find a job because my father insisted that it wasn’t necessary. Proper women have college degrees but those diplomas are only meant for show. I overheard him tell my mother once that University of Texas at Austin was stupid when they didn’t accept his donation for my admittance. I suppose the University of Texas at Austin’s diploma would have gone better with the color palate in our sitting room. I was a fucking puppet in his theater show.

  To retaliate, I dated a movie star, Finn Bradshaw, who was in town for a shoot. That was for show, wasn’t it? Finn, all 6’2” gorgeous muscle of a man, insisted that I follow him to California to continue our relationship. I was already thinking about Malibu beaches and actor dinner parties two minutes after his proposal.

  Alas, my father commanded that I could never leave Texas for any man except for Nick Sawyer. Finn’s heart was broken or at least he acted like it was broken. I suppose he was rehearsing for a role since I never heard from him again. Nevertheless, I promised myself I would never lead a guy on again. My trysts with men have been quick and on the down low. I never spoke about another man to my father, especially Conner. Daddy would have torn him to shreds.

  A few months ago, my father counseled my mother and me that, according to Nick’s mother, Margaret, Nick couldn’t stop talking about a woman named Elizabeth. To confirm Nick’s relationship status, Daddy delivered me to Boston to take the man that was always supposed to be mine in my father’s eyes.