Page 1 of I Love My Mistake
Chapter One
On A Night Way Back When,
In What Seems Like Forever Ago…
“Stop fighting me. Why do you have to make me work so hard?” Grant whispers heatedly, holding me by both arms, lips close to mine despite my not moving in to meet them. I can smell his breath – beer before it goes bad –the heat of short panting whips of air hitting my skin. If he thinks this is how to woo me, the man must be out of his mind.
“Let go before someone sees us,” I say with less volume and far more sanity. My head is straight and high, unwavering in my stare, my power stronger than his. Animal to animal is the only way with guys like him. I can see from his eyes – a familiar look I’ve seen before– that’s he’s teetering on the edge of self-control, can barely listen to reason, so I hit him where I know he can hear me. “Grant…You don’t want an audience, right? That would be humiliating, right? Imagine how ridiculous you’ll look if your friends find you manhandling your date in the kitchen… right?”
He jolts with the image and lets go of me quickly, hands falling to his sides. He looks around to nowhere special in an attempt to make sense of what happened. He’s a money-guy, works on Wall Street. Always wears a button-up if he’s not wearing a suit. Looks clean, but something in his eyes is dark. It’s what drew me to him, if I’m honest. But that sexy stare of his is gone now as he teeters on the brink of sheepish and pissed.
I’m planning my exit strategy, instantly. I have to get out of here. I reach up instinctively to touch the skin his fingers had pressed into, just above my elbows. He hadn’t squeezed too tightly, hadn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t do that. Yet. If he could have just controlled his inner beast, we’d be in there playing Balderdash for game night like everyone else…having a good time.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, confused.
He follows my glance to look over to the room where his friends are. Nice group of people, too. How’d they get mixed up with this jerk? I should be asking myself the same thing.
“I wasn’t trying to…”
“I know,” I interrupt, because I don’t want to hear it. I’m lying, though. I don’t really know. I have no idea what he was trying to do. I just know I came in here and he tried to pounce on me like we were alone. I’ve never met these people! What did he think? I’d be caught making out in the kitchen with him, by strangers who seem pretty nice, and who would judge the fuck out of me?
He’s still got a hungry look in his eyes, and has the gall to follow up his brutality with, “Let’s get out of here and I’ll take you for a drink – just the two of us.” This is only our fourth date, and Grant’s a good lay, but I will not be held hostage by a man who wants to control me, so much so that he’ll lash out when he finds he can’t.
“No, thank you. I think it’s time for me to go.” I step past him.
He reaches for my arm. “Nicole!”
I swing my head, yank my arm away quickly, and give him the look I got from my mother – the one that says, don’t even think about it, buddy. He pulls his hand back and lays it on his head. “God, what the fuck’s getting into me?”
“Good question. You’ll have a lot of time to think about that. We won’t be seeing each other again. I don’t mess around with this shit.” I turn and as I leave the room, I catch a glimpse of fury flash across his eyes before his mask snaps back into place. That’s what I thought… this was a recipe for me ending up with a fist in my face when I least expect it, sometime when my guard is down.
I stride into the living room, adopt a warm smile and slow down as I walk straight up to the host who’s standing amongst the group of twelve or so nice strangers I’ve only just met a half hour ago.
“Danny!”
The room’s chatter comes to a stop. I take both his hands in mine and smile into his sea-foam green eyes – normal for a redhead like him, but still beautifully compelling. “I’m so sorry. I just had a call from a buyer who wants to look at one of my paintings. I have to go, and I’m so bummed, because this is such a lovely party.”
Moans of disappointment echo around us… mostly false. People were still sizing me up as to whether or not to like me, and now they don’t have to, so mostly they’re relieved. Everyone else is part of the group; safe. I could see it in their faces when I arrived, as I have so many times before: Who’s the pretty girl? Is she a bitch? Does my boyfriend want to fuck her?
Danny looks genuinely sad to see me leave. His smile is real, and I appreciate it. I need a friend in this crowd right now, as I’m feeling shaky on the inside. He gives my hands a strong squeeze and pulls me in for a friendly, quick, goodbye hug. “You’re a painter? Well, we can’t argue with that. Hope you sell it. But it was so nice to meet you, Nicole. I’m sure we’ll see more of you in the future, with Grant.”
I don’t tell him there will be no more dates with Grant. “Absolutely. I look forward to it.”
“Do you have a card?”
“Oh? Uh, sure. Of course… Here.” I pull out a card from inside my wallet/phone case and hand it to him. He smiles and examines it as I tell everyone in a voice I hope is sweet enough, “You all have a good night.”
They chorus back, “Thanks.” “You too!” “Night.” Etc. Some of them even mean it.
Danny smiles. “Thanks for coming, Nicole.”
I wave to him and walk to Grant, who’s standing by the door waiting for me, looking like he wants to leave with me. Grant gets a hug and a kiss on the cheek, for the benefit of probing eyes. I hear them come back to life behind me, getting back into the game. Grant barely hides a glare, mumbles, “I’ll give you a call later.”
“Night,” I say lightly, but my eyes tell him calling me would be a waste of time. His mask slips off again and fury stares back at me. I pretend like I don’t see, walk out and close the door smoothly behind me. As soon as I’m in the hallway though, I start walking fast, lest he decide to chase me down. As I speed down the stairs, my breath gains on my steps, remembering the one time in my past where I didn’t know these things – hadn’t learned to run from men like him until it was too late. Listening for the door opening upstairs… Nothing.
As soon as I leave the building, I break into a jog. When I’m about a block away, satisfied he got his inner beast to stay at the party, I turn the first corner and stop to pull out my smokes. Men. Ever since I decided I need a break from relationships, men have been yanking my chain to bind me with it. They say they want freedom but when you give it to them, they’re shocked.
I try to light one, but every time I hold a match to it, the match goes out. This happens four times! I mumble under my breath to my persistently annoying guardian angel, “Just one, okay? C’mon. Give a woman a break.” She must hear me because, like magic, the flame stays lit this time and licks the stick. I take a deep breath and gaze lovingly at the ashen end as it glows brighter in the night. Victory. I close my eyes and feel the nicotine-infused smoke fill my lungs. But after a few drags and a few more steps down the street – as soon as the drug in my system and the craving is gone – regret hits me. “I’m sorry,” I say aloud to my angel, if she’s still listening and hasn’t run off in disgust. I hate the taste in my mouth after I smoke. And the smell on my fingers; that’s the worst.