Break My Heart (The Heart Series Book 2) (10 page)

Rounding the corner, I spot Chris’s small frame. Her hair is up, raven strands framing her face as puffs of cold air escape her red lips. Her white mittens stick out in contrast to her black raincoat as she adjusts her purse over her shoulder. Her inquisitive brown eyes dart around and the second she spots me, her entire body jolts with excitement. The woman is like a live wire of electricity.

“Hi!” she yells, waving animatedly in my direction.

I wave back, lacking half of her enthusiasm. She bounds across the street, finally reaching me, encasing me with one of her trademark choke-you-with-love hugs.

My arms go around her, wholeheartedly returning her affection. I took Christina’s relationship for granted once. I won’t make that mistake again.

“Ready for some vintage shopping?” I ask, breaking our hug.

I’m not a big clothes shopper, but after those memories—the ones that seem as real as the air I breathe—I’ve developed a love for vintage fashion and music. We follow the sidewalk toward the small industrial building, discreetly located behind a residential area.

“I can’t wait! You know I’ve been up here a bunch of times and didn’t even know this place existed!”

“Let’s do some damage.” We’re back to being college girls living in the moment.

The air seems lighter and the sun brighter with Chris by my side.

قلب

“What have you done to me?” Chris yells from the fitting room next to mine.

We’ve been at this for the last two hours. I should have anticipated this; she’s gone gaga over the boutique. And she’s not the only one. I absolutely love it.

The quaint store has everything from bags to clothes, and even hats.

I push the polka-dotted curtain aside and peek my head out, spotting Chris as she waltzes out of her fitting room wearing a beautiful, tea-length chiffon dress. The soft pastel color highlights her complexion and the hourglass design accentuates her petite curves, turning her into a storybook princess.

“That’s beautiful on you, Mrs. Nelson, and I have just the shoes for it.” The perky saleswoman raises her index finger, signaling for Chris to wait as she fetches the matching slippers for her princess ensemble.

“You heard me, woman. What have you done?” Her stern voice echoes through the partition as I retreat back inside.

“Don’t you pin this on me, Reyes. You’re the crazy person with the credit card,” I retort, my eyes glued on my reflection in the mirror.

She yanks the polka-dotted curtain open. “This place is off-the-charts! Next time—”

Her words hang in the air as she takes in what I’m wearing. Delicate black lace covers the gorgeous pink satin fabric of the strapless cocktail dress. The bodice hugs my breasts perfectly, exposing my collarbone, shoulders, and neck.

“Oh, Ileana, you look exquisite.” Chris’s mood shifts to wistfulness, and she covers her chest with her hands as she admires my reflection.

“That’s a formal cotillion dress from the 1950s,” the clerk says once she’s back with Chris’s matching shoes. “The lace is organdy, very delicate. You look fabulous in that strapless bodice, Miss Harper.”

“I don’t know.” I don’t go anywhere. When would I get the chance to wear this dress?

“Why the hell not? You look
hawt
! Tommy’s going to thank me for this.” Chris turns to the saleslady. “She’ll take it.”

I’ve lost all control. If you can’t beat them, join them. “Fine.”

“Great! I’ve got the perfect shoes for that.”

Of course she does. With the energy of a hummingbird, off she goes again, leaving Chris to fuss over my dress.

“Can we go now?” I ask Chris, glancing at her over my shoulder.

“Yes. We can go.” She grins at me in the mirror and it coaxes a big smile from my lips.

For once, I agree. Tommy will like this dress. I can’t wait for him to take it off me.

قلب

I take her to lunch at an Italian bistro she likes, around the corner from her old place.

The damp May air and low fifties temp keep patrons from enjoying the terrace today, so we dine inside.

“I think you went overboard with the vintage touch, Chris. You think Nelson is gonna be down with that?”

“More importantly, detective, do you think I care?” she replies, straightening her spine and firing a big grin, her chocolate eyes full of mischief.

“Touché.” She sure as hell makes me laugh.

She’s like a great book you’ve read a million times. Even though you know what happens, you still can’t wait to dive back in because it makes you forget it all; it makes you laugh, enjoy, and get lost in the story. Sometimes I feel Chris is the only familiar thing in my life.

“So, no chicken on
anything
,
huh
?” she comments after we place our orders and I stress repeatedly to the waiter that I don’t want any chicken on the day’s special.

“I can’t stomach it.”

I can’t look at, eat, or think of chickens anymore. Chris teases me about my new phobia as we talk about nothing significant. I’m glad she doesn’t pry on my progress, or ask how Tommy and I are doing. She gets me, and I’m grateful. She knows I need time, and I’ll figure things out eventually. I love her for that.

We’re still laughing and joking when our lunch arrives.

After a few bites, she startles me. “So, am I supposed to ask about the necklace, or are you going to act like it’s not there?”

I choke on my ice water.

“So, you noticed?”

“Of course I noticed. Goes perfectly with your new dress.” She leans in for an up-close examination. “May I?”

“Sure.” I pull it out, undoing the clasp and handing it to her, already missing the weight of it around my neck.

She gasps, her eyes, round as saucers, snap to mine.

“Is this what I think it is?” Her finger runs over the pendant in fascination.

“Yes, it is.”

“Sweet potato paella!” she hoots, looking around like she got handed a state secret. “Was this Tommy’s birthday present?”

“Birthday, no. Present, yes.”

I was right. It means something. Something big. Chris is too excited and eager. My chest compresses with apprehension and fear.

“It’s not a ring, Chris.”

She gives me a “
duh
” look, and returns to admiring the charm. “It doesn’t have to be. I mean, really. How does he know about this?”

“After you got me hooked on
Buffy
in college, I made my troops watch it as punishment during deployment.”

“No way!” She chuckles in disbelief.

“
Yes
way. Anyhow, he used to watch, too. Some of them got hooked, and they all knew how much I loved the show.”

I don’t mention how I made Tommy watch after losing his dad in an attempt to distract and keep him with me. I was so afraid of losing him back then. And now? I miss our talks about nothing. I miss sitting across from him at the office. I miss spending every day working side by side.

Her smile slips and a warning glare emerges as she reads my expression. “Do not overthink this, Ileana.”

“Overthink what?” I shrug innocently, picking at my salad with my fork.

“The state of the global economy,” she replies dryly. “This.” She places the necklace back into my hand. “It’s a beautiful sentiment. Don’t ruin it.”

I return it to where it belongs. “Why would I ruin it? It’s not like Angel gave a Claddagh ring to Buffy as a symbol of his love and devotion,” I remind her, each of my words laced with sarcasm, “only to later have Buffy skewer him through the heart, sacrificing the love of her life in order to save the world,” I pause, my fork full of salad mid-air for effect, and glare back at her, “…oh, wait.”

She sighs, stabbing her poor, innocent pasta. “Whatever. Tommy is not a vampire, so I think you’re safe.”

I roll my eyes, but I choose to let it go. She’s right. I can’t overthink it. It’ll get trapped in my brain along with all the other ghosts, ghouls, and things that go bump in the night tarnishing it, soiling it with my bullshit.

“That’s a great idea for Halloween, Ileana. You can be Buffy and he can be Angel.”

“Actually, we did that some years ago. He was trying to cheer me up. He had me dress as Buffy and let me stab him with a retractable stake all night.” The memory makes me laugh.

“Oh my God! Please tell me you’ll do it again,” she pleads.

I think about it. “Only if you and Nelson dress like Herman and Lily Munster.”

For the first time, I’m looking forward to Halloween.

“Yes!” Her laughter shelters me in warmth, cheering up our little corner of the world. “We didn’t feel like celebrating last Halloween—” She catches herself, her sunshine clouding over with the memory.

I wasn’t here. None of them talk about what it was like when I was gone. Not even Tommy.

I don’t want to go there any more than she does.

Temperature dips at the table as my dreaded incident soils the moment, so I quickly deflect. “We’ll make up for it this Halloween, okay?” I attempt my best version of hopeful.

She nods, keeping her gaze on her iced tea, and taking a small bite of her lunch.

“Anyway,” I continue as chipper as I can muster, “Tommy wasn’t Angel. He dressed up as Spike, and he reached into his pockets and threw sand up in the air every time I staked him.”

Chris explodes in laughter, trying to keep her food from flying out her nose.

“Spike
?” she coughs out. “Oh, that’s more like Tommy. This I have to hear. Did he do the accent? Don’t leave out any detail.”

I smile at her, and spend the rest of the afternoon reminiscing about Tommy.

I tell her about that Halloween. About the crazy things he’s done over the years just to make me laugh and the ridiculousness of it all. Meanwhile, my heart squeezes in agony at each memory, leading to a somber realization: I lost my best friend the minute I gained a lover.

CHAPTER 11

Tommy

Seems that tonight is the night the gazelle comes down to drink from the watering hole. Too bad there’s a crocodile waiting under the water. I’m going to break her, and I’m going to make her work for it.

I’ve been around her for weeks. I can go for another month, easy.

I’m standing by the bar, catching her eye every so often just to let her know I’m watching. The more she puts on a spectacle, the more disinterested I act. I can tell it’s driving her nuts. She’s making an ass out of herself to get my attention. Honestly, what self-respecting man would take a girl like that seriously?

What-the-fuck-ever.

When I’m not working for her father, I’m wearing my predator smile and my best single guy clothes—not that they get too much use anymore. Though, according to the guys, I could wear fucking panties and the girls would still hit on me.

She’s making her move. Better act like I don’t care. That shouldn’t be too hard, because I don’t.

“What do I have to do to get you to buy me a drink?” she says, coming way too close for my liking.

She reeks of perfume, her makeup is overdone, and she’s sporting a dye job. Is there anything on this girl that is really hers?

“All you had to do was ask,” I reply, feigning interest, as I call the bartender over to buy her a drink.

“Tony, right? I’m Vic.”

“Nice to formally meet you, Vic.” My hand stretches lazily to her. No hurry.

She caresses my palm, nothing businesslike for our handshake.

Twenty minutes later, we’re on the dance floor and she’s acting like she’s living the dream.

She’s going all out, pulling out every trick, or in this case, every dance move, in the book to seduce me.

Life is such a bitch. If you asked me ten years ago where I wanted to be, I would have said right here, having drinks with hot chicks and fucking a different girl every night. Now? There’s only one place I want to be: in Lil’s arms.

I haven’t seen her in almost a month. And right this moment, I’d kill to be in bed with her, falling asleep after kissing every inch of her body.
Christ
.

I want to go home. I want to hold her. I want to love her.

This doesn’t feel right.

The music slows down, and she’s too close again. I know Marcus is watching us. He’s frustrated with my progress. He doesn’t get why it’s taking me so long. Marcus is all about the bang. I’m all about the conquest. At least I used to be.

The rest of the night, I do my old shtick, when my days were filled with Lil and my nights were empty and hollow. Now, it’s the other way around.

Eventually, we find a booth and get too cozy for my comfort. I check my watch to find it’s almost quitting time, so I’m quick to come up with an excuse.
Got a big meeting tomorrow, so I gotta get home.
She’s more than eager, shoving her tongue down my throat. She’s too quick for me to react, so I let her have her way, until her hands get way too close to
Tommy Dick.

“Come on, why don’t we slow things down?” I cut her off and she’s shocked.

“What? Come on, don’t be like that,” she whispers in my ear, her breath like acid on my skin.

I pull out my phone, check the screen. “Sorry, I gotta take this.”

With a peck on her check, I remove myself from her grasp and rush to the restrooms.

Once I reach the hallway, I take a deep breath and sneak away to the men’s room. There, I glimpse my reflection: same short hair, same eyes, my face covered in two-day old beard stubble. My features are the same but I’m not. I’m not sure I can be that Tommy again.

I take off my jacket, roll up my sleeves, and pump some soap into my hands. I scrub my arms and hands as hard as I can, rinsing them under hot water, but it isn’t enough. I want her off me. I dip my head close to the sink and splash myself with water for a good two minutes, scrubbing my neck, under my collar, my face, my ears, and rinsing my mouth. I can’t get the stench off me. I feel dirty somehow. I need to get out of here and go home.

After drying off as much as I can, I pull my jacket back on. I take one last glance at the guy staring back at me, inhale deeply, and march back out to battle.